luvoftheheart

Call Of Duty

Remmick

Boys in the Boat

Masters of the Air

Ocean’s Eleven

Loki and D-90!

Father Patrick McKenna

Father Jud Duplentincy

Din Djarin

Marcus Acacius

lmk and comment below if there’s any other characters or stories you want me to write! Asks are always open :D

Buir-Mother

K’oyacyi-Stay Alive

Alor-Chief/Leader/Tribe Head

Araniik-cord, rope, string

Oya’la Pirun-Living Water (mines of mandalore)

Riduurok-Marriage agreement, love bond

Nuhur-Fun/Good time

Redalur-Dance

Temperatures dropped quickly on Concordia. It required many of the northern clans to wear many layers, not just for warmth but for status as well. Clan leaders and chiefs wore many furs and cloaks to denote their status. Winded ropes of different colors around the necks of them, resting on Beskar breastplates. The chieftain of your northern clan was not extremely powerful, no large army or powerful arsenal. But he was wise, and calculated every decision carefully. Many admired him, his ability to maintain peace by navigating the conflicts of Concordia. You were close to him, not quite an advisor, merely someone who knew what they were talking about. You helped oversee lots of the agricultural planning in the community, which often led to you informing your leader on the daily up-and-comings. The day was like no other, you got up, at your breakfast alone, and went out to the fields. They were being prepared for winter, nothing too major. When you finished your rounds, checking in with many of the others, you headed to the chief’s hut. It wasn’t exactly large, not much bigger than your own family’s, but over the many years it had been adorned with the muted colors of Concordia. Dark teals that wrapped around the poles, purple skins that covered the doorway. When you poked your head through, you didn’t see him, so you called out his name instead. “Ijaat?” You call, and you hear his voice echo your name back. He emerges from a side room with the metalsmith. You smile at him under your helmet and as he walks towards you, hold out your arm for him to clasp it before bringing you into a swift embrace. His heavy gray cloak is strapped over his shoulder, but you can see his dark purple breastplate beneath it, almost maroon. 

The metalsmith nods at you and exits the tent. Ijaat gestures you to sit and you do, before following suit. “So, how are the fields?” His voice is gruff and though you don’t know his exact age, you know he is aging. “They are good for now. We’re preparing them for the winter, we’ll make sure the soil stays healthy until we plant again.” You say, and he nods. The two of you talk for a while, discussing a many of things. But then it goes awry. You hear a scream first. Then another. Ijaat jumps to his feet and you follow, breaking out of the tent. The alarm bell is sounding and you hear blaster shots all around. Invaders. Other Mandalorians with colors you don’t recognize. Pulling out your blaster from his holster, you fire three shots at a Mandalorian who’s got one of your clans people pinned. He doubles over and flinches, and whips around to face you. He growls out a warning to you in Mando’a and you snarl under your beskar helmet before placing a precise shot between his chest and shoulder, causing him to fall. When you rush to the victim, she’s clutching her side. “Maji! It’s okay, it’s me.” You cry, pressing on her wound. Many of your clans people didn’t always wear full beskar, didn’t always need it. She didn’t don her armor today. The wound tore into her clothes, and you dig into the pouch on her waist for the small med pack she always carried. You could hear her pants under the maroon helmet and you shushed her softly as you sprayed the wound with bacta. Commotion was heard all around you and judging by the sounds of screams, your clan was not coming out of this victorious. They were gathering you up one by one and bringing you to the middle of the clan, right by the large fire pit. 

A large man in blue armor came behind you, cocking his blaster and pressing it in between the crack of your helmet and beskar chest plate. You groan internally and halt your movements. “Up. Now.” he says, and your hands draw away from Maji. “She is wounded. Let me care for her.” You reply. The man sighs. “She is coming too. You can care for her there. You both get up or you both are injured.” He says, and your brows contort in anger. Leaning over Maji, she lets you pull her up slowly by her shoulder, and stands shakily with bacta taking effect. The man forces you to the center of the chaos. You can see who is presumably the leader, his silver beskar gleaming under the brown furs on his back. He surveys the take over as the last of your people are forced into the area. Ijaat stands in front of him and you lower Maji to the ground gently before turning to watch. “You know we do not have any goods.” Ijaat yells, walking up close to the other chief. The other one turns to him. “We have come to conquer.” He simply says. “My clan wants no war with yours. We can do this easy, or we can do it hard.” The man’s voice is low and steady. You hate to say it’s somewhat comforting. “What is the easy way.” Ijaat grits out, glaring at the silver adorned man. “We have dinner.” The man says simply.

The fire looms as it cooks a beast for the two clans. Their war party is not large, but they have a larger arsenal and seem to be skilled. Like they’re used to taking over other clans. Their leader in silver you’ve heard rumors of. This is Clan Mudhorn. The leader sits down with Ijaat by the flames. Your people have been released, and mill about quietly, throwing sneaky glances at the two chieftains. You can see the silver man raise his chin and Ijaat’s fist clenches at something said. “These are my people.” He says and the other man nods. “I have heard many things about you Ijaat.” A pause and a shift rippled through the air. “Nothing evil or cruel. You lead them well.” Ijaat sighs. “We have been peaceful for seven generations. My hope is that we would continue to be so. But I will not let you kill them.” The other nods and drops his head. “I have no intention of killing any of your people. My clans needs lie elsewhere.” He says, running a hand over his gloved knuckles. Ijaat looks up, curious.

 “My clan is a warrior bunch. We attack other clans for land, resource, control. But I make alliances with those I chose.” The silver man places his hands in his lap. “I would like to make an alliance Ijaat.” Your chief looks at the man intently, trying to decide if he means it. “But I do need one more thing from you.” Ijaats turn to speak. “If we may have Clan Mudhorns alliance, I will try to give it.” The other leader nods. “My clan…we do not have many women. Most of us are men, picked up from many walks of life to walk The Way. The women we do have are aging, and many of the younger ones we brought from Clan Saxon.” Ijaat nods gravely. He knows the stories. Clan Saxon, when allied with the Empire, had many of the children indoctrinated. The girls and young women were sterilized, to prevent more Mandalorian foundlings and create focus on fighting. To many other clans, foundlings were just as important as land and power, if not more important. Clan Saxon was hated for this. For the prevention of The Way and Mandalore. But Ijaat had his people to think about. “You want to simply take the women of my clan? I will not allow that.” Ijaat says. “No…if there are ones that would go willingly, they can come.” The silver man fidgets a bit. “I have no wife. I wish for a family of my own.” This part is low, almost whispered.

Ijaat approaches where you stand with Maji, who sits on a stool with a fresh bandage on her wound. The Mandalorian from before, the one you shot sits beside her. He apologized many times for attacking her, and introduced himself as Ruus. He was a child of The Way, born into Clan Mudhorn. He was following his chieftains orders. You still thought he didn’t deserve forgiveness or anything from Maji, but she thought otherwise. She’d forgiven him once he had apologized in an instant. He talked softly, and his voice completely dropped when Ijaat approached. You turned and watched your chief beckon you to him. When you had walked away from the crowd Ijaat sighed. “What is it?” You ask softly. “He’s offered us an alliance.” He says. The weight of the offer seems to hang in the air when you look over at the other chieftain, the many furs clasped on his back making him look like a larger figure. “And? Why haven’t you taken it?” You shift your weight to cross your arms over the beskar plate you wear. “He’s asked for women that are willing to go with him. They do not have many of their own.” The wind howls across the trees as winter wind blows through. It can sense what’s happening. “You want me to go?” You ask lowly. 

“If you can. I know there are not many of you that would be willing.” He says, looking at the fire where Clan Mudhorn sits on one side, the smaller number of yours on the other.  “That is not even their full clan, is it Ijaat?” You ask. He shakes his head. “Their war party alone outnumbers us by fifteen men.” You look down at your feet. “I will go.” You say. Your family would understand. If your clan allied with them, it would mean more protection for your people, and the resources would be shared among the two clans. You wouldn’t be saying goodbye to them forever, just…maybe it was something like making a home of your own in a new and foreign land, but being able to return to your native country. 

“There’s more.” Ijaat grumbles. “The leader. He has no wife. I believe he means to take one from the ones that will go.” When you look at the silver covered man, he’s with the large man in blue, talking by the fire. Many of the others have broken off once they received food to eat in private. The ones that remain tend to the fire. The people of Clan Mudhorn linger by their chief, waiting to see what he does. “Is he cruel?” You ask, an edge creeping into your voice. “Not from what he has shown. His people seem to follow him well. He has been fair in his dealings. The only form of violence is what we saw at the beginning.” Ijaat doesn’t have much to offer you. He would rather you stay with the clan, but you would be a good addition to Clan Mudhorn. You could provide useful information for them. Make your clan seem useful to them. 

“I will go.” You say simply. Ijaat nods. “I will inform him. Do you know anyone who will go with you?” He asks and you shrug under your armor. “Many already have husbands, you know this. Others will not leave their families. “Talysa maybe. Maji.” You offer. Ijaat nods softly and you hear him sniff under the helmet. “It’ll be okay. If you want this alliance, you know we need this.” You say, trying to comfort him. “I’ve seen you grow up. Seen you discover so many things about our world. Seeing you leave might be the hardest.” Ijaat says. Leaning towards him, you slide your arm over his shoulders. “You’ll fog your visor if you cry, Ijaat.” You mutter, letting your helmet touch against his. “Go speak to your family.” He says.

The conversation is quick with your kin. Your father, a strategist, sees the value in the alliance. and in the marriage. He knows you’ll be provided for. He also knows you can defend yourself if the man decides to be cruel. Your mother takes some convincing. You are her only child after all. But your father holds her hand in your hut and explains the situation. She doesn’t relent easily. “Buir, please. I will be okay.” You can practically see her mind turning and the tears fall under her helmet. “Will we see you?” She whispers. You nod, even though you don’t know the answer. “Yes buir, of course.” You reply, hugging her tightly. “Don’t forget where you come from.” She says, and you nod into her neck, felling the warmth from under her clothes. “Never.”

Night has fallen. The embers of the fire glow and you can see the makeshift tent Clan Mudhorn has set up in front of it for sleep. You can see Maji by her family’s hut, and you approach her. She greets you and gently touches the forehead of her helmet against yours. “Maji.” You whisper, and she says yours in reply. “Ijaat came to you too?” She asks and you nod, holding her hands in your own. “I am going. Will you?” Maji nods to your question. “That man…he’s not so bad…” she says and you roll your eyes. “Ruus? You mean the one who shot you and had you pinned to the ground?” You say flatly. Maji whines and her voice is pleading. “He didn’t mean it. I would do the same if Ijaat told us to.” She says, leading you inside to the table. There’s a glass of juice on it, the bitter kind that you sip on to have a sweet after taste. She sits and pours you a glass before her own. You lift the chin of your helmet some to let the liquid fall into your mouth. She does the same across the table. “Talysa is going as well.” She mutters, looking directly at you when your helmet is secure. You nod. “It’s going to be different.” You whisper.

The day comes too fast. You blink your eyes open in the privacy of your room before just sitting on your bed. The alliance is useful, it’s needed. But there’s a pit of doubt and nervousness you just can’t shake. You do rise though, and don the thick layers of cloth. Your pants and beskar fittings over them, followed by your overdress. It rests between your base layer and the breastplate, providing extra warmth for your chest and keeping heat trapped in your legs. The hem falls down to your knees to keep some agility. Then you fasten your chest and forearm guard on next, followed your gloves. When you pick up your helmet you can see your reflection in the visor. You’re still going to be you. Being with another clan won’t change it. As you slip it on, your mind begins to wander. Will the chief be unhappy with you? You know he is doing it out of obligation for a foundling, you just hope it won’t make him cruel otherwise. 

Picking up your bag of belongings, you exit the hut to where your parents stand, speaking with Maji. Walking to them, you embrace your father, and his grip is tight. “K'oyacyi.” He grunts, before letting his hands rest where your cheeks would be. “Daughter.” Your mother comes next, and hugs you tightly. “Be safe. I love you more than my world.” She says before pulling away. Maji nods at you when you leave them, and your shoulders nudge against each other as you approach the packing up Clan Mudhorn. Talysa waits for you there, seemingly glaring at every Mandalorian who even tries to sneak a glance at her. When you reach her, she gives quick hugs to you both. “We leave once they pack. The man is with Ijaat in his hut.” She explains. You let your bag rest on the ground. “Maji, you know where they make camp?” She asks. The other woman shakes her head. “No. I’ve only heard of our close neighboring clans. They must be beyond them.” You remember Ijaats words though. “They can’t be that far. They have control over much land. Maybe they border one of the far reaches of our territory.” A Mandalorian in green armor looks up at the three of you. “We camp to the north of you. Our territory borders yours on the northern edge.” He explains. 

Talysa responds first. “Well then why haven’t you chosen to trade with us before? Why invade and just take?” Her words are bitter. The green man shakes his head. “We trade with those to our east. I believe many of us did not know your clan until we had come.” Maji looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. “What is your clan like?” She asks gently.  The man sighs and places down the stakes he was pulling. “It is good. Our chief is a fair man. We work for what is ours.” He says and Talysa scoffs. “And you take what is not?” She asks and the man shakes his head. “We expand our territory yes, but we are only destructive to those who deserve it. Our leader wanted alliance with your clan.” Maji shifts her gaze to where Ijaat’s hut is. “And ours will give that.” The man looks to where she gazes. “And the three of you? You volunteer for your people?” He asks. You nod and Talysa hums. “I do this for my people. But I think your chief wanted to get close with Ijaat.” She says and the man nods. “We have heard many things about him. Clan Ja’med tried to take over but he made them leave before a blaster was even fired, did he not?” You grin at his words. 

Ijaat and the other chief approach the four of you and the green-armored man nods at him before packing up his stakes on one of the speeders near the others. You finally get your chance to see the man up close. A bit taller than you estimated. The silver beskar horns that sprout from his helmet must add to that illusion. Ijaat greets you all by name before looking to the other man. He crosses his right arm over his chest in a sign of respect. “I thank you for your sacrifice. I know it is not easy.” He says, smooth voice drifting across the air. “Then why ask?” Talysa says. The man cocks his head to the side. “Your clan is many in ways mine is not.  The evils of Imperial rule still lay in our foundations.” He explains.  Talysa does wish to go, you know this, but she also wants to know why. “My men will help you get settled on the speeders.” He says. The three of you begin to walk off, but the strange chief calls your name. “Will you speak with me?” He asks, and you nod, turning to him. The pit in your stomach feels a whole lot bigger. 

The man is silent before you. It’s at times like this when you wish you could see what was under another Mandalorian’s mask, to read their faces, try to understand what they mean to say. Finally, he does speak. “I know what Ijaat has already asked of you. What I am asking of you.” You stay silent. “I will not mistreat you, if that is one of your worries.” He says. “It did cross my mind.” You confess, fiddling with the fingertips of your gloves.  He says your name again and you feel his gaze through the visor. “I do not know your name.” You say. He pauses. “My family is of Clan Djarin.” He says and you nod. “Why is that not your people’s name?” You ask. The man looks towards the fire pit, and then to his people working. “We are Clan Djarin. But I’ve found Clan Mudhorn to be useful when there are so many of us belonging to a multitude of families and clans.” A pause as if he’s waiting for you to understand. “I suppose we are officially Clan Djarin.” His weight shifts and the necklaces adorning his chest move with the change of weight. You can see the Mythosaur signet along a simple leather band along with a wooden bead necklace and a roped cord. 

“My father often has told me your tribe is large. How many do you number?” You ask. “I believe we number around one hundred and eighty.” He states, “But we have not had a count in some years.” Nodding, you slowly begin walking back to the speeders. He follows suit, and his steps are heavy on the ground. The speeders are fully loaded, and many of the mandalorians climb on bikes or speeders with room. They still pack light. Chief Djarin leads you to a larger speeder with room next to a pile of blankets. “Will this suit you?” He asks, and you nod, allowing him to offer his hand to assist you. When you take it, you can feel the warmth of his palm. It’s a sweet gesture. An intimate one. You watch him sneakily as he mounts his own bike before speaking some last words with Ijaat. When your chief steps away from the caravan, he waves at you, nodding. You wave back, and smile as you see most of the clan gathering around to say goodbye. They wave and holler as the bikes power on.  Some beat their foregaurds together in thunderous applause, a sign of respect. When they drift out of view, you cling to the sound as long as it will allow. 

The green man was not wrong. You travel north for many hours before seeing signs of civilization again. First it’s a few pastures and small barns. Then it’s the village. Huts and houses, none grand in size. You can see at least three fires burning, and people mill about all over. Some greet the caravan, cheering our Mando’an encouragement or waves. There seem to be people of all clan colors. No one uniting factor besides a silver beskar shouldergaurd. In your clan, the color of your armor was slightly similar on everyone. Many muted colors, mainly dark purples, reds, and teals. Sure everyone’s was different, but it took a trained eye to see that. Here, it didn’t matter what colors they wore. But they were still unmistakably Clan Mudhorn. The caravan slows at the middle of the village, and you look around cautiously. You can see Maji and Talysa looking for you on the ground, and you clamber off the speeder for them, grabbing your bag on the way. Maji grabs your hand in a death grip when you reach them. “Don’t leave me.” She grits out, head on a swivel as she tries to take it all in.

“I won’t.” You reply, and Talysa looks to you. “Where should we go?” She asks. You shrug. Your guess is about as good as hers. Ijaat was correct. Out of the many, many, people now in the square, you can’t even spot ten foundlings. A few small children hiding behind their mothers and fathers. One young girl who has taken the creed, her purple mask covering her face, looks at your trio. You can see frizzy red hair sticking out the bottom of her helmet and you grin under your own. Another little boy, one who cannot yet speak the creed, sits on his father’s shoulders, dark brown hair sticking up in odd directions. His brown eyes dance around the caravan, looking at the excitement of the returned war party. Then chief Djarin walks in front of the many speeders to where the bulk of the crowd gathers. “We have made an alliance with Clan Dra’leik. Their Alor Ijaat will be a strong asset to us in the future.” His voice seems to command the people, and you watch as some nod with his words. “In addition, three of their women have accompanied us. They will be treated like guests.” With an air of finality, he nods and retreats back to where the large blue man stands, exchanging words before walking to where you stand.

“You may follow me.” He says, and you all carry your stuff to where he leads. It’s a home, with wood walls made of Concordian pine. When he knocks, a woman comes to answer, not fazed at all by the chief and three strange woman. She opens the door more and the glow of a fire casts light off her teal armor.  “We are glad to have you.” She murmurs, holding out her hand to each of you. After you shake her hand, followed by the others, the Alor speaks again. “The two of you can find accommodations here.” He says. Maji looks to you, clearly getting the point of your exclusion. Her visor is unmoving as she looks at you and you nod, assuring her.  After they are settled, he leads you out of the house. The walk is silent and your boots crunch the gravel below your feet. “May I carry your bag?” He asks, turning his helmet so he can see you better. “I can carry it.” You reply, and he nods. “I know you can. But will you let me do it for you?” His words don’t exactly startle you, but they are strange. “If it is what you want.” Holding it out, he takes it and slings the strap over his shoulder, over all his heavy furs. “It is.” 

It’s clear his hut belongs to the chief. It’s a decent size, but has so many colors on it. The main pole holding it up on one side has strings tied around it of so many colors. They hang off the sides limply, and the other pole on the other side is decorated in a similar fashion. The walls of the hut itself is made of different fabrics and materials, and vary in shades of color as well. He can see you staring at it as you approach from the way your visor tilts. “My people are responsible for it. When a person comes of age or joins the clan, it has been a tradition to tie a string around one of the poles.” He explains, before pulling back the entrance piece and allowing you inside. It’s cold, but nowhere as cold as the outside. He was gone, it explains the lack of warmth. He leads you past the small kitchen, the stove next the fire pit bare. On the right side of the main rooms lies his quarters. You can see a wooden pallet raises the bed about a foot and a half off the ground, and a padding is placed on top of it. But on top of that, there’s so many blankets. You can see a patchwork quilt peek out over a white shaggy fur of what might be Tauntaun. A navy blanket over it and a patterned throw over it all. 

He gently sets down your items by the foot of the bed and he turns to you. While you stand there, your fingers itch to fidget with something to get you away. It’s all so different. You opt to look at the detailed rug on the ground rather than at him. “Are you alright?” Kriff, you wish his voice wouldn’t be so calming. You instantly want to say that you are, that you’re perfectly fine, but your voice catches in your throat. So you shake your head instead. He walks to you, offering a gloved hand, and you shakily take it. The man leads you to the bed, letting you sit down. “It’s been a long day.” He says, and you shake your head again. “It’s not that…” you confess. It really isn’t. You’ve never left your home before and now you’re sitting on a bed with a man you’re meant to marry.  “It’s different.” He nods at your words. “Do not feel bad about that. I would be surprised if you weren’t uncomfortable.” He says, looking down at the ground between his feet.

“I never learned your name.” You say, keeping your eyes in front of you. “I don’t tell it to many.” You look to him. “Din.” He states. When you face back forward, you let your shoulder rest on his. “Din.” 

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It’s been about a week since your arrival. Din let you have his bed, and he sleeps in the main room on some cushions. You feel bad about it, robbing him of his home. But you are not yet married. You cannot see each other’s faces. The date has been set though. Three days from now. 

The village is not so different from your own. You make yourself useful quickly. The others welcome you eagerly. When you accompany Maji, the two of you usually aid in some daily chores, like watering animals and setting them out into pastures to graze. With Talysa, you help with other’s laundry, running cloths up and down washboards with soap. Talysa likes it because often two of the smaller foundlings hang around the area with their mothers. She splashes water at them when they run by, dousing them in sudsy water. They often squeal and run away, causing the whole group to laugh. Alone, you like to help those who tend to the fields, pulling anything that might interfere with soil during the hard winters. You meet Cina that way. Her armor is painted bright white, and you often fathom at her for choice when she’s surrounded by mud and dirt. She tells you on about the fourth day you help her. “When I was born, I had hair as white as snow. Pure white. My parents, being creative, named me what I am called. Cina, meaning white.” She chuckles. “When I was older, I decided my armor would match.” She sounded proud when she told you, and you could understand why. She had no regrets about the color of her armor. No amount of dirt could change it. She asks you questions about your village, your home clan, and you gladly tell her. It feels good to talk about home.

Maji and Talysa keep you company as the wedding date approaches. It will be a simple ceremony, vows will be spoken and you will say the binding words. But the event that follows after will be grand. The whole clan coming to celebrate like they do every wedding. Music, dancing, and food in private. Talysa comes to you one night when you sit outside Din’s hut. “I remember  when we were foundlings we’d talk about our weddings.” She muses. Under her dark armor, you know she’s smiling. “I remember. You always said you were going to have to make sure your husband was the one by fighting him. If he won the match, he was the one.” You giggle at the last sentence. “I intend to uphold that! I will fight every eligible man here and whoever wins I will marry.” She says proudly. “You could beat all of them.” She nods. “I believe Maji will marry that Ruus man.” She says and you hum in agreement. “In time I believe she will. You know she will deny loving him for at least half a moon cycle!” You joke, leaning into Talysa. “You always said you would marry the man who would make you smile for everyone to see, even under the helmet.” Talysa says. 

“Does he make you smile?”She asks softly. You nod slowly. “Talysa, he is not a bad man. He has welcomed me as his wife and we are not even yet married. He treats me well.” You reply. “The other day…he complimented  me…” Your words trail off as you try to find the right way to recall the story. “We were in the hut. He was cooking dinner over the fire. I was helping stoke the flames.” Talysa watches you carefully. Your tone is gentle and even caring. “I was just sitting there. He said I was beautiful. I told him, ‘You can’t even see my face, you do not know.’ And he said that he knew I was. He told me I was beautiful on the inside, where the soul lives. That my appearance was an extension of that, so he knew.” Your cheeks flushed as you recalled it. “Said I was already such a good person for the village. A good wife.” Talysa hums at your words, pulling her knees up to her chest before grinning under her helmet. “I can feel you blushing.” Your cheeks turn even redder as you glare at her, helmet unexpressionless. “What! You are the one flushing over it.” She grumbles, and you playfully shove her shoulder before crossing your arms and hiding your face. 

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Din approaches his hut from the backside, and pauses silently when he hears voices. Your voice. You’re recalling the other night to Talysa. “What! You’re the one flushing over it.” He hears her say. You cut in after a beat. “I can’t believe I would’ve gotten this lucky in an arrangement such as this.” Talysa chuckles. “Lucky?” “Yes, I could’ve been stuck with worse I suppose. He could’ve been cruel. Or taken advantage of me immediately. He could’ve been cold.” He can hear your voice describe all the fears you had before speaking to him, and he relaxes slightly when he hears you speak again. “He’s been good. I can make a life with him.” You state, and Din straightens before retreating from the hut, opting to go the long way around so he can approach the front. As he walks slowly, Din’s chest warms at your words. He was doing something right. Din thought maybe he’d gone too far the other night, pushed the limit of what could be said. He could be a good husband for you. He could please you.

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When Talysa sees Din approach she stands and nods at him. “Alor.” Din nods back at her. “Talysa.” You stand as well, dusting off your pants. You opted to go without your armor today, instead clad in the dark grays from your home. He holds the front of the hut open for you, and you enter, Din following closely behind. Walking to the stove, you feed the fire another log and sit, gazing at the flames. Din leaves for the bedroom, discarding the many layers of armor and cloth before he’s in a base layer and helmet. He sits beside you when he returns. “The wedding is tomorrow.” He says simply. You nod and rest your head on your palm. “I will…I will not force you…into anything that you do not also wish for.” Din looks to see your reaction, if any. “Isn’t that why I am here? For foundlings?” You whisper, lifting your head to face him. Din can’t find the words he wants.

“It is true we do not have many. They are a blessing not all here will receive. But I will not force you.” He states firmly. You don’t react, merely look back to the fire. But your hand seeks out Dins. He feels yours brush his where it sits on his knee, and you grip it tightly. When the silence becomes too much you speak again. “How many foundlings are here?”you ask, and Din rubs his knee with his other hand. “Thirteen. Aged two until fourteen.” He says, tilting his head back. “We had thirty four in my clan.” You reply. “I loved many of them. I taught the little ones about flowers in the spring.” You say, remembering how’d they giggle when you rubbed dirt in between their hands. “The little ones here are mostly born from Clan Djarin. The older ones have chosen to be here, coming with other fighters.” He says, turning his head to yours. “Ijaat knew the value of family. Of foundlings.” You nod at his words. “He was always focused on the ones of our clan when he could be.” 

“I…I will give you a foundling if I can.” You say, releasing his hand from yours to rise. Din looks up from you on the ground, helmet tilted up. He’s silent though, and lets you retreat to the safety of the bedroom. Din returns his gaze to the fire, watching the fire crackle and burn. He can feel his face flush as he recalls your words. You’d be his tomorrow after the ceremony. You’d give yourself to him. Din would give himself to you as well. He’d be yours. When he took off his silver helmet to lay down on his makeshift bed, he can see his reflection in the visor, illuminated by the light of the flames. After tomorrow, the two of you would be joined. You’d be Clan Djarin. You’d be allowed to see his face. But he couldn’t stop the doubt creeping in. He knew you’d said what you did partially out of obligation. An obligation to your old clan, an obligation to your new one. But he had hoped a part of it wanted him beyond responsibility. When he first came to your clan, he knew what would accompany him when he’d left. When Ijaat had told him of you, he’d looked to where you stood next to another woman and Ruus. Over the years Din had learned to read what a person was feeling through their body language alone. You stood light on your feet that day, at ease once danger had disappeared. He admired it.

When you awoke, Din waited for you in the small main room of the hut. He’d made a pot of caff for the two of you, figuring you’d be tired. You sit by the table, flipping the cups face up and Din picks the pot up, coming to give a healthy pour to your cup. He sits across from you with his own, and lifts up his helmet slightly, and you look down into your lap. Picking up your own cup, you lift your own to take a sip of the hot liquid. It instantly wakes you up and you’re more than happy you have a cup of caff now. Din stands once he’s finished his cup before you follow. He’s by the hut door, placing a heavy cloak on. His mythosaur necklace and others follow, and he peeks at you out of his peripheral. “Do you have another layer? It is cold.” He says lowly, turning to you. You only have your deep purple cloak over your shoulders, snugly over your breastplate and shoulder. You shake your head and Din’s hand drifts to another hooks where a brown fur cloak hangs. He plucks it off and gestures for you to turn. Facing your back to him, the heavy and comforting weight of the fur is placed on your shoulders. One side of it has a metal clasp, and the other a heavy metal chain and hook. When he sidesteps around your body to be in front of you, his hands drift to your shoulders, righting the fabric. You keep your eyes on his visor though, trying to see past it. You want to know what’s underneath.

You feel his gloved fingers snap the clasp into place, but he doesn’t move. His hands linger on the clasp above your chest plate and his visor tilts to yours. Like he’s watching you now as well. You’re so close to each other now,    closest you’ve ever been. With him in such proximity, you’re able to gently press your helmet against his. Keldabe Kiss. Din freezes and his hands drop as yours travel to his waist, creeping up to rest on his chest. You can feel his chest move steadily and your eyes close shut, taking in the moment. “Okay. I’m ready.” You whisper, dropping your palms. Din nods shakily, head woozy from your touch. He pulls open the flap for your exit, and begins walking to the main tent for gatherings. It’s open on one side, allowing others to enter and exit freely. It’s more of a canopy with walls on three sides, air and sun filling the space. You’re right by his side until you reach it. “I believe your friends wanted to prepare you.” He says, turning to face you. Maji and Talysa, your only connection to your old clan would know the rites for you. “They are at their lodging?” You ask, and Din nods. 

They’re waiting right outside the house where they’ve been staying, and eagerly await you. Maji pulls you in as Talysa places a cushion on the rug by the fire. Chuckling, you sit and let Maji grip your hands in hers. “We have something!” She exclaims, peering over her shoulder to where Talysa stands. When the other woman turns, you can see the beautiful neck adornment. It’s mainly a bright teal, with lots of white weaved into the rope. Tassels of many colors hang from it where it can be visible on top of your chest plate. It’s beautiful and you know what it means. One of your clans many traditions is to have a bride wear a corded rope made by family and friends. They must have spent most of their time braiding the precious rope. Talysa comes to you and you stay eerily still as she places it over your head. “Your mother gave us some tassels from her own.” She says, straightening it on your chest. Smiling, you look down at it to touch one of them. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, looking at your two friends. Maji hugs you. “Of course. We couldn’t let you marry without an araniik.” Talysa nods before turning to her left where a small black jar sits. “One more thing.” Maji holds your hand as Talysa opens the lid. “Oya’la Pirun. From Mandalore, brought to Concordia by the forefathers of Clan Dra’leik.” She takes the jar and tips some over the top of your helmet, anointing it. Maji stands and pulls you up with her. “You are ready.”  

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You can hear low chatter as you approach the main tent again. Din stands towards the center of it all. Maji helps lead you through the crowd, and they part when they see who she escorts. When you reach the middle, Din stands there with another man, one in gray armor. He nods curtly at you before walking, beckoning you and Din to follow. You’re lead to a small tent nearby, one bearing the skull painting of a mythosaur above it. When Din pauses in front of it, hesitant, your hand finds his and he seems to remember you’re with him. The gray-clad man brings you inside and the two of you are sat next to each other on a heavy rug in front of a fire. The smoke rises from it and out the chimney rod, and you watch it burn before shifting your eyes to the man who kneels before the two of you. “I am Ranov.” He says to you, extending an arm for you to greet him with. You speak your name back to him and he nods. 

“Alor, you take this woman to be joined with you for Clan Djarin?” He asks, tilting his helmet to Din. The man beside you nods. “I take her.” Clenching your fingers, you release the tension in them when Ranov turns to you. He says your name and you raise your head ever so slightly. “Will you join Clan Djarin to be with this man?” He asks and you nod once. “I will join.” He continues after a beat. “You take this man to join with him?” Turning, you face him and watch the unmoving silver helmet. “I take him.” Ranov hums. “Will you take riduurok for each other?” He asks simply, knowing the weight of his words. Riduurok was important. It meant something when you agreed to it. It was more than just loving another person and wanting to spend your life with them. Riduurok was a binding thing taken only by the most devout. “I will.” You say. 

Din’s head whips to you and he can’t help but stare. Riduurok was not apart of your two clans agreement. But you wanted to take it anyway. He keeps his focus on you as he says the words. “I will.” Ranov inhales deeply. “Recite the vows.” You know the words to which he refers. You learned them as a child. Your grandmother told you them when you asked her stories of when she was young. Your favorite was when she married your grandfather. She had said the words then. You would say them now. Din looks to you and with a nod, you begin. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” With that, you are joined. Ranov nods. “You are one now.”

When you stand, your mind becomes fuzzy with the weight of what you’ve just done. Din tucks your arm into his for support and gently leads you out of the small hut. Most of the clan waits, and cheers fly up when they see your connected arms. A small path forms to the fire pit in the tent. A clearing has emerged and someone yells for music. Then the fun begins. Instruments beat our rhythm and a lively tune. Din looks to you and you chuckle under your helmet. “Will you dance?” He asks and you nod enthusiastically. “I don’t think I could avoid it!” Din shakes his head and leads you down the path at a light jog until you’re in the main clearing. His arm parts and you slip away, stepping back. You can hear someone shouting your name and encouragement. A blessing from your home clan. Maji grins at you when you step forward on your right foot, Din mirroring. The steps are simple. You step around each other in a small circle to the beat of the clapping of the clan, increasing the pace until you can’t keep up, falling forward. Din catches you, picking your shoulders up to cradle you in his arms.

Your feet dance together in a familiar step and you can see others following suit. Your beskar rings against his and you laugh at the thought of your armors being scratched from dancing. Din watches you carefully, minding your steps and the people around you. What he misses is Ruus sneaking up behind him, shouting “Nuhur Redalur!” At him. Din turns and breaks from you momentarily. Ruus carries a dark strip of cloth and you look back at Din. “Fun dance?” You ask, curious. Din nods, chest heaving. “Another tradition. See if the couple can stay connected by the cloth despite everyone else. Good blessing if you can.”He says, and you nod, snatching the cloth from Ruus playfully. You wrap one end around your knuckles and hold out the other end to Din who does the same. There’s a good five feet of cloth still between you. You see Ranov approach your right side, and you turn. “Remember, you’re joined now. Might be useful.” He cocks his head quickly to the side before stepping away and calling for a faster beat.

Music increases in pace as the other clan members become more frantic in dancing, coming closer to you and Din. One woman even jumps over the cloth, causing you to squeak in laughter and dart closer to Din. He comes to you and wraps an arm over your shoulders, keeping you pressed close to him. “Joined, remember?” He says loudly above the music and you nod, letting your head fall back in laughter.

The night wares on, and soon you feel the effects of the night, feeling as though you’re going to collapse. Din chuckles when you tell him and leads you to a stool. “My people are known for their stamina.” He says lightly. “I’ll return.” Din walks to collect a cup and pitcher of spotchka, leaving you alone. Talysa comes up soon after, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I am happy for you.”She murmurs, letting her helmet rest on top of yours. Your hand reaches up to hold hers. “I am happy.” You reply. Talysa can see that now. You were happy, dancing with him. Some bit of her was in doubt of your decision , but you went through with it. It couldn’t have been that bad a choice. Din returns with the two cups and Talysa lifts her head, butting her helmet against yours once before retreating. You watch as he pours the blue liquid into the two cups, handing one to you. He stands in front of you so you can raise your mask slightly to drink, blocking your face from any onlookers. He faces a wall, and raises his as little as he can to drink before lowering it again, looking at you while you finish yours. He hasn’t seen your face yet, and neither you his. He couldn’t care less though. 

“I believe I am done.” You say, your breath finally catching up to you. Din nods and offers you his hand, which you take greedily. He leads you away from the party gently and back to your hut. You’re convinced  you need no layers now with how hot your body seems from the dancing. The hut is still somewhat warm as Din throws another log into the fire before removing his neck pieces, followed by his heavy cloak. You follow suit, shedding the outer layers before you’re left in your base layer. Din removes his armor slowly, setting each piece on a long table near the fire. It seems to take forever. When he finishes, he turns back to you. In the glow of the fire, his gloved hands come up to his helmet.  You take a step closer and mirror his movements before sliding yours off. When you blink, you can see him.  Dark brown and wavy hair. Tan skin unmarred by scars. A strong nose and pursed lips. Then the brown eyes. You don’t know where to look, trying to take him in.  

Din removes his gloves slowly and brings his weathered hands to your cheeks, stroking the soft skin. His lips part as he feels you under his fingertips. Silently, his face moves forward and he kisses your lips gently.

Your cheeks flush with blood as you feel his lips on yours. But you kiss him back slowly, testing the waters. It’s a bit inexperienced and clumsy, but you both are. You can feel his smile when you raise a hand to dig into the hair near his nape, tugging him closer. Your teeth clack together and he takes the opportunity to dart his tongue out, raking his muscle over your teeth. Heat pools deep inside you and you force yourself to pull away to catch your breath. Din pants as well, watching your swollen lips part. You drop your eyes, trying to escape from his stare. It’s odd, being so exposed. Din leans down and reaches for your hands, pulling off the gloves slowly. Your fingers twitch at his touch and you grip his own, squeezing them softly before raising your gaze again. “Are you okay?” He murmurs, and you nod slowly. “Din…” his thumb traces over one of your knuckles and he slowly steps backward to the bedroom of his hut, pulling you in after. The room is dark, barely illuminated by the firelight in a crack of the doorway. Din cradles you close to him, keeping your chests together until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he sits. You shift your knees, pushing them to either side of his large thighs. You can feel all of him against you. 

Din tilts his forehead into your neck, rubbing along the skin there. It gives you opportunity to have him closer, and you dig your nose into his nape, inhaling the soft scent of sweat. His hands rest heavy on your waist, keeping you secure. Your hips drive down slowly and Din groans. You let your fingers dip down below his base layer on his chest, splaying across the warm skin. You can feel his chest move with each breath and his abdomen tighten when you run your hands downward. His mouth presses against your neck, letting out soft groans as you touch him. He lifts your own base layer, pulling away to only lift it off your head. Your chest cover remains, and his eyes drop to look over the soft skin near your clavicle. Then, you withdraw your hands to raise them to the clasps on your shoulders. When they become undone, you remove the last of your coverings. Din hums softly and tilts his mouth down to press a soft kiss over your collarbone. Your hands come around his back and pull on his garment, yanking it higher until he’s forced to part from you, pulling it off as well. You can feel him growing beneath you and you blush more, hiding your face in his neck to keep your lips on the spot beneath his ear. He whispers your name and you sigh against him. Slowly, he leans back until his spine hits the mattress, keeping you on top of him. You would have thought he’d be harsher. More demanding or expectant. But he’s slow and almost gentle. With your crotch directly above his, you grind down softly, testing the waters. He cradles you on his chest, never looking away from you. “Are you sure?” He whispers, hand drifting to hold your own. “Yes.” You reply, drifting your lips to his mouth. You sit up so your fingers can deftly undo the knot of your base trousers. Dins splayed out under you, fingers traveling to do similar. He lets you slide off him so you can pull yours off, discarding them with the rest of the clothes. Dins follow into the pile and you’re kneeling on the bed when he comes to hold your arm, pushing it to the plush bed with the rest of your body. On your back, it’s easy for him to maneuver you onto the pillows. His legs nudge along yours and you flinch when you can feel his member grind on the inside of your thigh.

Din whispers softly to you in Mando’a, drifting his head in between your chest to kiss the fat there. When he finishes with one side, he switches to the other, locking on the rising nipple. Your hands dig into his hair, petting his scalp gently. Din grinds into the mattress, unable to restrain himself. His mouth travels down your stomach and nips gently at the skin. Din moves his hands to your thighs, griping them tightly as his nose rubs down more, drifting to your navel. He goes slightly below it more, just in between your belly button and where your mound begins, and presses a long kiss there, bringing his left hand over the soft area. “Will not be this way for long, riduur.” He looks up at you, eyes dark. You flush and trace his hairline. “You’ll be with my child. A foundling.” He whispers, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Your head tips back when you feel him go lower, hand tightening on your leg when his mouth presses against your sensitive nub. His tounge darts out to feel the soft skin, already becoming more swollen with his touch. Your hand shakes as you bring it to your lips, covering your mouth to stop the noises you’re itching to make. Din swirls around your clit, sucking softly. Chest heaving, you try to sit up to tell him to slow his movements. It’s becoming too much. You pull on his bicep, whining out his name. Din glances up and pulls away to your flushed face. “Y-You have to slow down-“you pant more before continuing. “It’s t-too much.” You say, lifting his chin to kiss him. Din chuckles against your lips and brings his left hand down more, drifting a finger across your dampening warmth. You groan when a finger dips in gently. You lean back into the pillows, and let him touch you. Din feels the slight resistance of your body, and he watches how your cunt squirms on him, clenching softly until he reaches to his knuckle. Even with the one finger, it’s such an odd feeling.

you know it’s an intrusion of sorts, but it feels like the most natural thing ever. With a whine, you try to tear his gaze away from where he looks at your warmth. Din looks up and kisses your cheek before locking onto your mouth again. His finger moves gently inside you, grinding against your walls. The wetnesss only increases, and Din pulls out gently before trying again with a second finger this time. Your hips twitch up as he gets in to his first knuckle. Your body, still unused to the feeling, cramps around his fingers and his other hand cups your cheek. “Relax, riduur.” He murmurs, pushing his fingers in deeper. He’s increasing the pace now, exploring you. Din pulls away so he can hear your noises, gauging to see when he does something right. A pleasured gasp makes him pause when he brushes over a spot a bit deeper. Your eyes are blown out wide as he presses against it again, causing a whimper. That feels good to you. He slowly moves against it more, dropping the hand from your face to your nub, circling gently there. The joined actions make you squirm and jerk your hips up. “Din” you cry, burying your head into his neck. He shushes you and increases his pace. Din chuckles as your body reacts to him, and he tries to bring you closer to release. Once he finds that right spot again, it’s not long before your cunt clenches on his fingers again, itching for the same thing he is. “Come on…”Din whispers, and he can hear you repeating his name like a prayer. Then, you feel something gather deep inside you, building until it snaps. The muscles in your lower abdomen twitch and pulse as you release, all the way down to where Dins fingers are buried inside you. He groans right along with you, savoring the feeling of it all.

His fingers slip out of you wetly, all hot with your essence. Din brings them up to his face, pressing his nose to the fingers and inhaling before pushing them into his mouth, sucking you off them. You grip his waist with one hand and squeeze gently. Din slides back up to you so your chest and legs are even. His aching length is red and dripping, throbbing softly as he looks at you. Your legs shift and you let him press his hips against yours, grinding into you. While he doesn’t stop those movements, Din captures your mouth in his again, taking gulps of air in between kisses. You press a hand against the back of his head to keep him on you, and steadily bring the hand on his waist down, until you brush his tip. It’s coated in pre, and you gently brush your thumb over it, eliciting a groan from Din. Encouraged, you spread the liquid down his length, gripping him firmly. Din continues to shudder with your touch, the muscles in his arms twitching as he resists stopping you. “Riduur…please you can’t-I won’t-ah, last long if you don’t stop.” Din gasps, gripping your cheek. You pause, looking up at him with a coy look. You only increase your movements, hand moving quicker along his length, all the way from his base to tip. Din shudders and glares at you, shifting his legs. He pulls away and captures your hand that’s torturing him before leaning into your ear. You whine when he stops you, confused. “No. Want it to be in you.” He says, hand drifting to your hip. He props one leg over his large thigh before teasing your entrance with his tip. You can’t seem to watch, nerves returning. You lean your head back and shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself. You do want it, honest. It’s just…it seems so new…

Din watches your face carefully, and murmurs your name, causing you to blink your eyes open. His face peers down at yours. “Are you well?” He asks and you nod shakily. “I’m scared, Din.” Din nods at your words before kissing your cheek. “Would you like to stop? We don’t have to do this tonight.” Your lips press together gently. “No…I want it…I’m just nervous.” You confess, bringing a hand to trace a scar on his bicep. “That makes two of us riduur…”he chuckles, digging into your neck. Din pushes barely inside you and brings a hand to your clit, circling softly for you to relax. While he does that, he lets you grip him as tight as you need to, uncaring of your nails or how you might bruise him. Your kiss makes him woozy as you focus on his neck, dragging your tongue over the skin. Din pushes in further, and feels the slight resistance. Pausing, he listens to your breath, to see if he can hear any pain. You clutch to him tightly and whimper at the feeling of him inside you. He hums out a question in Mando’a, asking if you’re okay and you nod, inhaling softly. Din pushes in further, about three quarters inside you now. He’s past the worst, and can feel the depth of your warmth now. It strains and stretches around him, clenching softly when you shift your hips. You release one of his shoulders and find his hand instead, gripping it tight as he sinks in to his hilt. He groans when he brushes against that spongy spot inside you. Din can feel it, and pulls your face away from his neck to see your face. You’re flushed and take deep breaths to steady your nerves. When he pushes in again, grinding against your sweet spot, Din can see your eyes widen and then squeeze shut as you stifle a groan. It’s too much,even like this. You want more and want him to stop all at the same time. Your abdomen twitches at each gentle movement.

You nod at him, needing the feeling of him moving again. “Din, you-you can move.” You breathe out, tilting your head back to the pillows. Din pulls out about halfway and pushes into you again slowly, letting you feel him drag along your walls. He does it again, over. And over. And over until you’re a whining mess, tears pooling in your sweet eyes “Din..mmf!, please I need more.” You cry, digging your grip into his hand. Din groans out your name before increasing the pace, allowing more of him to slip in and out of you. “Kriff riduur…”he groans, hands drifting to your hips to help him gain better leverage. “Can’t last long.” Din confesses. You nod in agreement. “S’okay. M-me neither.” You say, jaw dropping on a particularly hard thrust. He’s turning relentless, mind slipping away. “Y-you feel good, riduur.” Din gasps, leaning his face down to nip at your neck. “Wife.” You whimper and arch your back, trying to get him closer. You’ve noticed that while a sensible and stoic man in public, his mouth loosens in private. Hes so much more vocal now, it’s the most you’ve heard him talk since your first conversation. “Going to fill you. Meant it. You’ll be so round and full. Bear my child.” Din groans, hand pressing on your lower stomach where he can feel his length piston inside you, deep below. His words make your chest warm, the pit in your stomach clawing its way out. Something replaces it, the same spring from before, pooling up warmth and pleasure. “Please, Din.” You say, locking your legs behind his thighs. He barely is pulling out now, focused on hitting your sweet spot to bring you to release. Din groans out something low as you pull him closer. Your chest heaves with every breath as Din pushes his weight on you.

He fills you perfectly, like he was made for you. And you for him. Maybe the Fates decided you’d be together before you’d even met. He continued to rut into you, and your hand pushes back the now sweaty hair that sticks to his forehead to place a kiss there. Din melts and exhales through his nose, smiling softly as he gazes at you. A free hand comes to grip your face, not allowing it to move and thrash in pleasure. “Want you to look at me.” Din says firmly, dipping down to kiss your cheek when he become close. You nod and shiver at his gaze that seems to penetrate you. It only adds to your pleasure, being able to see your riduur, your husbands pleasure. Din stifles a groan as you clench around him, a sign you’re close. “Din.”you whine, hand tightening on his shoulder. He nods and pushes in deeper, making sure to hit the right spot. “Din!” He hears you cry out again and locks back on your face. Your husband groans out your name in return, soaking in the pleasure. You whimper and come undone when you hear it, and your hips squirm under his as they attempt to escape overstimulation. Dins weight holds them in place though until he releases as well, pushing in one last time to coat your insides with his spend. He groans when he does, clenching his hand into your waist. He doesn’t move though, opting to keep himself rooted inside you. You wipe away the sweat from his head and his thumb on your chin swipes over your skin gently. Your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion, and you lay there, Din caressing you into sleep. He stays awake a while longer, admiring you. The beauty of everything you do overwhelms him.

As the quiet night lures him into sleep as well, he shifts your body to where you’re on top of him, length still buried inside you to plug his seed deep in your womb. He will get you pregnant. It just has to take.

Konig unlocked the door to his home and heard a tune playing from the radio in the kitchen, giving a sign there was indeed life inside. His large hand pulled off his sniper hood with a sigh before running a hand over his face, rubbing eyes that were tired of the day. He slings his bag to the ground and plops the keys in his hand into the crystal dish from his grandma. You knew he had come home, heard the door shut and a bag hit the ground. But you wanted to give him a bit of space first.  The baby in the sling strapped to your chest shifted, finding a comfortable position against your breast. Konig didn’t feel the need to hide his footsteps here, and lets his feet find the kitchen first, needing to greet you before anything else. You’re waiting, smiling as you feel his presence approach. His lips press against your cheek and his front connects with your back. “Meine Frau.” He grunts, wrapping his arms around your waist. “My husband.” You reply, tipping your head to the side so you can sneak a kiss of your own to his cheek. Konig opens his eyes and they focus on his child in your arms. He simply looks for some time, in absolute awe of the baby boy. His little peaceful face and soft skin, with hair that was so delicate. Konig still thought he was going to break him, even though it’d been a month. “Go sit.” You tell him, and Konig nods slowly before pulling away. His fingers find the end of the sling that’s tightly tucked into the wrappings, and he pulls it away gently, shifting his arm that’s around your waist to under the small baby. Your weight shifts as you turn slowly and let your husband pull your baby away and into his arms. It’s almost comical how small he looks in Konigs arms. But you’ve never seen Konig look at anything the way he is right now. Not even you. No, it’s a special look. You don’t realize you’re frozen in place, smiling at the two before Konigs lifts his chin and looks at you with a grin. “He’s so small.” He whispers and you nod. “I know. He won’t be forever.” Konig hums in agreement before walking away slowly, like even a wrong step could break him. 

Between deployments and being stuck on base Konig hadn’t had much time to be at home with you. It itched him the wrong way to no extent, knowing you were home alone with your child while he had to be away. Luckily, it wasn’t absolutely terrible. You were okay at home still. Your boy was almost as quiet as his daddy. He still cried, whined, and made funny little noises, but usually not unnecessarily, instead opting to keep his wide eyes looking around at everything. You were tired sure, but it was a blessing when Konig did come home the past week, even though it was close to 10 pm. He took care of your baby through the night, letting you sleep. It was rare he came home before 8 now. It was barely 6, meaning you’d have some time together. You pulled out the Tupperware you had saved for him for later and portioned out the food onto a plate for the microwave. Pot roast. Hearty meat with potatoes, onions, carrots all in a warm broth. When the thing beeped, you gently took out the bowl and stirred the food around before bringing it to your husband. When he sees you his eyebrows perk up. “Ah. Thank you Schatzi.” He murmurs, shifting to sit up straighter on the soft couch. Your baby boy is in his left arm, fully supported while you sit on his right side, arm over his shoulder to stroke his bicep gently. Konig balances the bowl on his right thigh, the large thing creating a steady surface for the porcelain. His free arm on the right side brings a spoon carrying food up to his mouth slowly, and Konig groans when he takes the first bite.

“What do you put in this.” His words are slurred around the food and you chuckle. “Close your mouth.” You reply, and reach with your right hand to get the TV remote, clicking it on. Flipping through the channels, you finally land on some show about surviving in isolated areas, people having to hunt constantly and face the threat of death everywhere. Your husband watches in between bites of food and concerned glances at your son, who’s still asleep. “I could do that.” He scoffs, looking of at you. “No you couldn’t dear.” You reply, smiling. “Yes! Not that hard.” Konig insists, putting his spoon in the bowl and picking it up to drink the broth. He leans forward to place it on the table and lets his arm lift so you can tuck your head under it, placing it right on his chest. When he lowers it, his hand rubs slow circles over your warm thigh, and you sigh softly. Konig draws his focus from the show for a moment, taking in what he has. His son in his arms. Wife next to him. A warm house. A home.

Bonus: tw:spicy stuff, lactation, kinky Konig, sub!konig, nipple stuff, mutual mastrubation, milk drinking, etc, still fluffy tho.

Konig had gotten your son to go down for sleep a while ago after you fed him, and when he walked back into your shared room he saw you with your back rested against the headboard, eyes shut and limbs unmoving. He could tell you were awake though. “All is good?” He asks softly, pulling off his shirt. “Mhm.” It’s good. You’re just too lazy to walk back to the kitchen to where your now clean milk pump lays. Your son normally doesn’t need all the milk you produce, so often you pump the rest for later use. You really don’t feel like getting up though. Konig removes his pants next, coming to plop down beside you, sighing. “What’s wrong?” He whispers, holding your face in his hands. Tears pool in your eyes as you feel a bit embarrassed. You can feel milk beginning to leak again and you look at your husband whose concern is apparent. “They just hurt.” You sigh, dropping your chin to hide your quivering lip. Konig looks confused and checks your body quickly for injuries, finding none. He does find your nipples poking through your tank top, leaking milk and staining the fabric. “Ah.” Konig flushes red and he tries to hide his arousemsnt. “I go get the pump.” He whispers, kissing your forehead softly. You whimper when his arm connected to your face presses against your sensitive breast. Konig hears this and pulls away gently, keeping eye contact with you as his hand pulls from your face. He’s silently asking something and you can see it. His lips kiss your cheek softly as another hand drifts to your tank top strap, sliding it down your shoulder when he feels your hand coming around the back of his neck to force his mouth on yours. You can feel your tank top drifting down your body until it pools at your waist, revealing your heavy breasts. Konig straddles his body over your knees, leaning forward to kiss the top of your collarbone. “K-Konig.” You whisper, hand traveling to pull on his hair. “Mmf. Ich weiß.” He mutters, and pulls away to drop a hand to your chest, pushing up the soft fat there so he can lock his mouth around the nipple. The skin is so tender and you can feel every touch. When your husbands mouth latches on you though, you whimper and groan out his name. The liquid flows freely though, and Konig groans as the white milk travels down his throat. You sigh shakily and run a hand through your husbands hair. All you can hear is the sloppy movement of his mouth on your skin and sucking. As he continues, it seems like you can literally feel yourself becoming lighter. Konigs other hand drifts to his boxers, stroking himself softly while milk dribbles out of his mouth. When Konig feels like he’s gotten all he can from one, he pulls off your swollen nipple with a pop and travels to the other, licking over the skin while looking up at your face. It’s thrown back with a look of pure pleasure. You pant gently and when Konig glances down, he sees your hand in your own pants, gently teasing your clit. He groans when he sees this, and digs his face back into your chest to pull milk from your other breast. A strangled cry leaves your mouth as you become closer to release. Your chest heaves and you groan out his name. “T-thank you Konig.” You whimper, tugging on his hair as your hips lift, chasing release from your fingers. Konigs hand picks up as he hears you. It’s like preening him, every time he hears he’s helping you or making you feel good. He moans around your chest, sucking the last of your milk out of your breast. When he finishes, he pulls away, sitting back on his haunches, minding your legs beneath him. He groans as he looks at you, one hand in your pants and milk still dribbling off your chest. You’re looking at him like he’s everything. You grin softly and whisper his name. Konig doesn’t look much different to you. His hand moves quickly along his shaft and milk coats his chin, a hungry look on his face as he comes to kiss you. You moan when he does though, bucking your hips gently. “Close?” He whispers, and you nod rapidly. “You?” You ask and he nods rapidly.

Steps echo in the gray hallway as the team grumbles about the mission. Gaz chatters with Simon about a scrape on his arm while the Captain walks next to you. “That one did a bloody number on my back.” He says, hand on the small area near his kidney, just left of his spine. “Sure you’re not just getting old?” You tease, smiling. “Nah. Just the ten foot fall off that roof.” He replies, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. When you reach the locker room, everyone sheds their outer gear and bulky vests. John groans as he sits on a bench and unties his boots. You walk to your locker, pulling it open so you can strip off your outer layer of clothes and pull out the folded pair of sweats and tank top along with underwear for your shower. You can distantly hear your boyfriend Simon shut a stall door behind him before cranking on the handle, water sputtering out shortly. John and Gaz talk to each other off as you walk to another shower stall, hanging your dry clothes over the door before removing the rest of the ones still on you, throwing them into a pile on the floor before kicking them under the stall door. The water isn’t hot, but you’ll take the lukewarm over the cold. Simon throws a glance at you as he rubs a bar of soap over his forearms, and watches how your hands deftly undo any knots in your hand under the stream with the help of shampoo and conditioner. He smiles and looks away, focusing on rinsing himself. As his smile fades, Simon can’t help but remembering who he used to do this with. Who used to stand in the stall on the other side of him, rinsing his stupid Mohawk while shouting jokes at you who laughed as water drained. 

Simon slings his duffel bag into his truck bed, and holds out his hand for your backpack. “I can get it Si!” You whine, trying to put it in yourself. The blonde just rolls his eyes. “No.” He grunts, pulling your bag away and throwing it in the bed before opening the passenger door for you. As you climb in, he yanks  the basic medical mask he wears down just enough to press a kiss to your cheek, smiling against your warm skin when you whine. “Soon dovie.” He assures you, pulling the mask over his nose again before walking around to the drivers side. The drive home takes ages for you, neediness growing within. The mission had lasted a little over three weeks, and you and Simon hadn’t had any “alone time”, so you were both anxious to get home. He wasn’t any better than you, having to draw away focus from you constantly on the field. You were just too much at times. And God above when an enemy combatant had come at you when you were clearing a room, you almost made him lose his cool. You saw the man coming, no weapon, and dropped your gun that was holstered to you on a strap, letting it sling around to your hip before catching the man’s arm in your grip, rolling it back so it bent around his shoulder. The man tried to strike and you pulled his arm harder before tackling him completely, pulling a knife from your belt to stab him just under his Adam’s apple. Simon could’ve popped a boner just from that alone. But the mission called for a greater focus.

Your shared home came into view as you pulled into the drive. It was nothing big, just a one bedroom flat that you could call yours. As soon as Simon throws the truck in park you’re out, scrambling for your keys in the pocket of your pants. Simon looks at your hungrily as he reaches into the truck bed, retrieving your bags. He carries both in his left hand, and comes up behind you as you fumble with the lock on the door. His right hand pulls down his mask again and he pushes you into the wooden door, weight crushing your chest into it as his lips press against your neck. You groan and finally slot the key into the lock, and turn it shakily to the left while Simon’s hand creeps up to your bicep, keeping you in place. Bringing your right hand around behind you, you grope at his thigh, panting, while he makes out with the skin of your neck. Simon’s full on grinding on you now as you whimper his name. Something finally gets through to him and he pulls away, letting you pull open the door to your home. 

You don’t get much relief from his attacks though, as you turn to face him, Simon drops your bags and steps to you, scooping you up in his arms. You laugh and wrap your legs around his waist before unhooking his mask from his face, revealing a smile. His teeth shine in the dark as he walks the two of you to your shared bedroom. Your hands dip below the back of his neck, under his shirt, and his feet stutter slightly. He never breaks that eye contact with you, needing to have you in his vision constantly. When you reach your room, Simon’s careful to support your neck as he places you on the bed, face pointed to the ceiling. His large hands pull off his shirt before he descends back to you, cradling your face with his left hand while kissing you softly. A sigh slips from your lips and your hand curls around his wrist, rubbing the skin there. His rough and calloused hand creeps under your top, yanking it up. Simon forces himself to break away to pull your top off along with the sports bra under it. His fingers drift down to undo his belt and jeans, pulling them off along with his boxers. You on the other hand deftly undo the knot on your sweatpants, raising your hips to slip them off. Your eyes don’t leave Simon’s though, and as you watch him, they shift from hungry to something darker. It’s deeper than a want or desire.

When his hands descend on you again, he lifts your further up the bed so his knees can rest on the mattress. Letting your head fall back, you sigh and excitement already builds in you at what’s to come. Fingers travel down below your waistband, and yank off the last of your garments with an effortless tug. Simon’s at a loss for words like he is every time he sees you like this. Totally in his power, yet trusting him completely. His hands hold your hips and one travels between your legs to please you before he just shoves into you like some college kid. But you can’t wait for that. No you need him now. His hands are warm, and only spread a growing wetness. Simon feels it, and smirks. He only watches your face as your hips try to grind down, causing you to whine. “Simon please. Need you.” You whisper, catching his free hand in your own. The blonde chuckled and leans down to only make out with you, letting his chest rest against yours, and his legs slide over your thighs before you can feel his already stiff member grind along your mound. Your eyes flutter shut as Simon kisses you, and the feeling causes you to melt. You couldn’t ask for anything more. Well. Maybe you could ask for someone. Someone not here. The thought flashes across your mind and you bury it again, trying to not drown in the memories as Simon kisses you dizzy. When he pulls his face away, his hand creeps between your bodies to guide himself in your warmth. A synchronized groan leaves your lips. It’s been too long since Simon’s been inside you, and the stretch is so familiar. Whining, you bury your face in his neck and lift your hips to allow more of him to slip inside. Simon pants slightly, knowing he’s not all the way in, but with the way your clenching around him, he could come just like this. “Christ dovie.” He murmurs as his other hand holds the back of your head to keep your mouth on the spot below his ear.

Simon’s gasps lightly whe you pull him closer to you, wrapping an arm under his shoulderblades, making him slip in another inch. It only causes you to shudder and release a whine that sits in the back of your throat. You coo at Simon, petting the short and soft hair just above the nape of his neck. His length rubs on your walls, and the sensation of him filling you is almost overwhelming. You can feel your chest heave as you try to catch your breath. The big man above you groans and pushes more of himself inside you, all the way until his hilt. When he bottoms out he whimpers out a groan, lips pressed together and against your chest while you writhe under him. The feeling of him on top of you, and filling you up, like he’s everywhere, comforts you. Your cunt still pulses on him occasionally as you rock your hips slowly on his. “S’okay Si, doing so good f’me.” Your boyfriend only lets out a shaky breath and nods against your neck before rolling his hips, testing the waters. He won’t hurt you though, he never could. There’s nothing rough about tonight, just savoring the time you finally have. As he pulls out, everything catches on your sensitive walls, feeling becoming overwhelming. “Si, o-oh god, you feel so good.” You whisper, screwing your eyes shut and letting your fingers tug on his hair. Simon groans at your words before pushing into you roughly, causing you to gasp. His head drops back into the crook of your neck in an attempt to hide the tears growing in his eyes. It’s too much, hasn’t felt you in so long. “M’ close dovie.” He confesses, muttering pathetically against your soft skin. He continues his movements, pace quicker now. “S’okay Simon, come on baby, I’m right here.” Trying to egg him on, you whisper more words of encouragement and praise to him, causing tears to actually fall. You can feel them against your skin. “F-fuck, dovie, ‘m gonna make you come, promise. Jus’ mmf, gonna-“ You nod quickly and continue to grind your hips into Simon’s. “Need it, please, Si, please.” The words fall from your lips easily as his tip ruts against that sweet spot inside you. Simon’s grunts turn needy as he pushes into you relentlessly. You can tell he’s close. The tell all way his hands clutch at you, gripping you close to him like if he lets go he’ll fall apart into nothing. You turn and shift your head to press your lips right to his temple. “N-no.” He groans out, the end vowel drawn out. “Gotta make you come lovie.” Simon’s hand drifts to where you’re joined, and his hips stutter slightly when you clench down on him. You whine when his thick fingers rub down on your clit harshly, sending rushes of pleasure through you. “Si!” You cry, head falling back. Simon keeps his head up and watches your lashes flutter as he brings you closer to the edge. The curve of your neck that connects to your shoulder flexes as your arms grip Simon’s bicep tighter.

“Mmmf-Si’ I can’t last much longer.” You say when he doesn’t let up on his motions. Simon’s free hand lets you lay down fully on the bed and instead comes to guide your head up so youre face to face. His lips catch yours and your jaw goes slack as you allow him to press right into your plush face. As you gasp when Simon pushes in particularly hard, his teeth presses against yours, and he says something incoherent. You try to get his attention but tugging on his hair that you’re close, but it seems he already knows. Simon’s mouth travels down to your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin there. Another short groan leaves your lips as Simon’s fingers work you over the edge, causing you to clamp down on him harshly. His mouth pulls from your neck with a wet pop as he groans, hips thrusting twice more before stuttering, spilling white release into your warmth. He continues to grind into you, eyes squeezing shut. Your nose press together as you pant into each other’s mouth. “Fuck Johnny…”he whispers, resting his weight on your soft body. Your eyes flash open.

comfort version————————————————————————

“Simon?” You whisper, moving your hands to grip his face. The blonde seems to realize what he’s done as well. “Y/n…”he whispers, looking up at you. Wiggling your hips, Simon lets you slip away from him. He’s on his knees know, looking helpless as you kneel in front of him on the bed. He looks broken, lips parted and eyes teary. Something inside his blue eyes break you though. It’s a feeling you recognize. The crushing weight of anguish and desperation for something you can never have. You’ve felt it too. Cried silently on your side after you got home from the mission where Johnny died. You can’t hate Simon for this. When you shift off the bed, Simon’s eyes screw shut in an attempt to stop more tears. But it’s hopeless, they slip out of the corners of his eyes anyway. He groans lowly, pressing his hands into his thighs while dropping his head. You come back though, a warm, damp cloth in your hand that you use to wipe Simon’s face. The blonde flinches, body itching to react, but then he sees it’s you. Simon whimpers something out, words incoherent as you gently wipe away the salty tears. “Lovie, please m’ sorry.” He says, gripping your wrist with one of his hands. “S’okay Si, I’m here.” You whisper in return before leaving to place the cloth back in the bathroom. When you come back, Simon’s sat on the bed now, legs swinging over the side but you return before he can stand. “I…I didn’t mean to..” the words are soft and almost silent as Simon looks at you helplessly, more tears threatening to fall. “I know Si. It’s okay. I still think he’s here too.” Something breaks in you as you watch Simon’s frown grow, and see his lip quiver. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, Simon lets out a shaky breath. “He left us.” He says, the last word breaking into a sob. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders you shake your head and tilt it so your mouth is near his ear. “He wouldn’t if he had a choice.” You felt Simon’s pain. The bitterness and the resentment. The anger. The need for Johnny to be back, but being powerless to change the world. You sniffle, but focus on Simon. He hadn’t been this upset in a while. You gently push him back onto your shard bed, pulling up the duvet over the both of you. Face to face it’s easy to see him now. He can’t look at you though. “M’sorry.” He says again. Taking your hand, you hold his tightly and Simon shifts to you, pushing his face into your chest. Your chin sits on this crown of his head and your other hand strokes the nape of his neck as you lay there. “I love you Simon Riley.” You say firmly. “I also love Johnny.” He’s silent still. “I have enough room for both of you.” Simon nods. “You have the same room for me and Johnny in you.” You say. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

angst version————————————————————————

“Yes…”you pause, thinking about what Don had told you earlier. “How’s the training? Don had mentioned that you all hadn’t been doing as much?” Ulbrickson nods. “Giving them a break before we make the announcement for the Cal race.” He says, looking pointedly at his desk. “Ah. So it will be them?” You ask. The man nods silently. “Well, if you ask me Professor…they’re the better team out on that water.” You murmur, circling a mistake on the essay you hold, the spelling of a word off by a vowel. Ulbrickson nods and frowns. “Can’t help but wonder if I’m making the right decision. Just because they’re fast here at home doesn’t mean they’ll perform the same way in a race, whether it’s against Cal or the Germans.” He says, resting his forehead on his palm. “They’re the faster boat Professor. You know it. And you’ll find a way to get them even faster, even lighter, closer to flying on top of the water.” You chuckle, standing and leaving the finished essay in a neat stack with the others. Ulbrickson sits upright in his chair and sighs. “I hope you’re right.” Smiling, you come around his desk and put an arm around his shoulder in a half embrace before saying “I am sometimes.” The older gentlemen chuckles. “Will you grace us with your presence at the boathouse tonight?” He asks when you’re about to leave. “Dunno. There any papers to grade?” You ask, picking up your book bag. “No. But plenty of rowing to be watched.”

The boathouse looms in the distance as you approach. Stub on your right side as Don is on your left. The three of you don’t really talk. Sure, when you do it’s full of smiles and quiet laughs, but you all have a more gentle disposition that doesn’t require the silence to be filled, unlike Bobby or Shorty. Gravel crunches under your feet, making every step heard under the breeze blowing in. You can see Coach Bowles with some of the other boys, some varsity and some from the JV boat. As you approach, Chuck is clearly yelling at one of the varsity boys while Bowles tries to intervene. Your brows furrow and you look at Stub. The giant merely shrugs. “Not sure. We’ve all been at each other lately.” Don chimes in a second later. “Chuck and Bobby are fighting with Robert and Matthew.” The insight doesn’t help you too much, but you understand enough that Matthew, similar to Chuck, can’t keep his mouth shut all the time. You sigh and nod slowly as the voices grow clearer, filled with agitation. Bowles voice cuts over it all as Chuck lets a few curses loose. “That is enough! You both row for the same damn school, you do not need to be arguing like some schoolboys.” Bowles looks between them and around the small cluster of people that now surround him, including you. “My apologies for the language dear.” Bowles says, tipping his fedora to you slightly as he walks to Matthew. “And you. That varsity spot of yours is not promised. Plenty of other young men are just as hungry for that spot, if not hungrier. Get it together or get out.” Matthew’s eyes narrow slightly but he knows who he’s talking to. The boy storms off with the varsity crew up to the path leading to the school, leaving most of the JV crew and you in the boathouse.

“Go get dressed and warm up.” Bowles snaps, causing the boys to scramble away from the scene. “I see Al invited you to a practice?” He asks, holding out his elbow. Nodding, you slip your hand into the crook of it and let him lead you to the dock slowly. “Well. They’re not much to watch now. We’ll get them there though. If they do win against Cal, we’ll have some Olympic reading to do.” He says, guiding you to a bench and letting you rest yourself before sitting down beside you. “Reading?” You inquire, watching as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his coat pocket. “Mm. They have…” he trails off, trying to find the right word as he fiddles with his silver lighter. “Regulations?” You offer. Bowles nods and lights the cigarette before placing it in his mouth. “On every. Little. Thing.” He says. Joe comes out of the boathouse first to stretch along the dock, rotating his shoulders and arms gently. The others follow quickly after, and you catch Dons eyes as he leaves, causing him to smile softly. 

“Say…it’s uh…you and Don, right?” Bowles asks, and you look at him while he blows out smoke. “Yes.” You murmur, looking down at your heels. “Who…?” You begin a question, but Bowles beats you to it. “Al let it slip.” A smug smile sits on his face, but it’s more friendly if anything and you scoff, turning away. “It’s good for him.” He says, tapping away ashes. He looks at the boys who are now chatting in a circle, laughing as Shorty heaves Bobby in his arms. “Hey!”Bowles shouts, and they freeze. “Did I say you could stop?” He asks, and they chuckle to themselves before returning to their warm up routines. “Arrogant pricks.” He mutters, taking another inhale of his cigarette. “Yeah well. With these new regulations we might have to work on the boys.” He says. “Meaning…” you ask. “Well, we’ve asked George to make a new boat for the boys. A lighter one that just passes over the Olympic requirement. That will help us carry less dead weight. But we still need to find a way to be even lighter.” He says. You laugh out loud. Not a single one of the boys weighs under 190 except for Bobby. They’re all boys with extreme muscle and bulk, built for the wild terrain around Seattle and their hometowns, made for the hardwork that built them. “I know. You can see the problem.” Bowles says, standing. “Ok, we get them to shave off a few pounds. Will that really help?” You ask. “In the Olympics? Every ounce that makes us light, every ounce that makes up move quicker is worth it.”

The day after Ulbrickson announces the team for the Cal race is an exciting one. Don was happy the whole morning, put in a decidedly good mood. Every time when the two of you were alone, he’d babble in your ear about the race, and the new Husky Clipper. About the chance to go to the Olympics, the chance to make Ulbrickson proud. It was all so exciting he could hardly focus. He’d held your hand in class that day while the Professor lectured about biology, squeezing your hand now and again before letting his shoulder press against yours. Even in the cafeteria, Stub and Joe had sat with the two of you, digging into their meals. The boys chattered softly, but nonstop about the race. When Stub mentioned how tired you must be of the subject, you chuckled. “Oh yes. It’s been the only thing Don can talk about.” You confess, smiling when the dark haired boy next to you flushes and looks into his lap, smiling softly. “It’s alright though. You all deserve it.” Rubbing Dons shoulder, he leans into it before dropping his head down to your cheek, pressing a soft, feather light kiss there. “Bout time we show that varsity squad who we are.” Joe says, looking straight down into his plate. The words are funny, ones you’d expect from Bobby, Chuck, or even Roger. Not Joe. You begin to giggle, trying to muffle the noise with your hand before making eye contact with Stub whose shoulders shake silently with laughter as he tries to drink his water. When your eyes lock, he sputters and sprays water on the table before choking on it, coughing. The action only causes you to laugh harder, and press your face into dons chest. You can feel his chest rumble as he laughs lowly, and Joe grins at the members of the table. “What? What did I say?” Laughter merely erupts more.

The next few weeks are filled with endless practice, all of the rowing program whipping the JV boys into shape. And Bowles wasn’t kidding about the weight. Their food is being closely documented now, allowing enough calories and nutrition each boy needs, and none over. They do intensive training, both in and out of practice to prepare. One such exercise is cardio. Running helps tone the legs and muscles, and make them stronger in the long run. Usually Don went early in the morning before the sun was even up, or late into the sunset. But today, he wanted you with him. He found you in Ulbricksons office, grading papers. As he waited outside the door, he wrung his hands together slowly, inspecting the callus and blisters that had built up, scaring his hands. The hands he touched you with. He couldn’t bring himself to even cup your face into his hands most days. Why would his hands be worthy to touch something as pretty and clean as you? Something not marred by hours of grueling labor like rowing and the many odd jobs that he’s done in his life to scar him.

The door clicked open and you stepped out with the Coach and Dons head snapped up, lips parted as he watched you. “Don!” You exclaim, walking over. He rises and picks up his suit jacket that lies next to him. The Professor nods at the younger man before walking away from the two of you down the hall. Grinning up at him, Don takes your hand and clasps yours in his firmly, keeping you by him as you exit the English hall and walk to the Quad. It’s mid afternoon, not too late to be dark. Sighing, your head rests on Don’s shoulder as you walk slowly. “Got to go run soon.” He murmurs. Pulling off his shoulder, you hum and rub his knuckles with your thumb. “Want to follow up with me?” He asks, glancing at you from the side. You raise one eyebrow at him, smirking. “You want me to run, right along with you, through campus, and keep up?” You ask, chuckling. Don huffs and laughs. “I have a bike…” he explains, tone turning whiny at the end of his sentence. “Ok then, bike it is.” You smile, leaning closer to him again. “Great. C’mon, we’ll make a stop at my dorm.” He says, quickening his pace. 

The dorm is quiet when the two of you enter, and Don shows you to his and Stubs room. Dons tall roommate lays in bed, taking a midday nap. You smile softly and turn back to Don who’s pulling his one extra set of practice clothes. You hear him click off his shoes and yank out his worn boots. The man removes his jacket and you sit down on his bed, watching silently as his muscles work under his button up. His dark hair falls on his face as he pulls the over shirt off, left in his white undershirt that shows his tan shoulders that are dotted with freckles. The metal of his belt clinks and he pulls it off before placing it with his other clothes. His pale hands come up and he starts to remove his top, causing blush to rise to your cheeks as you turn and face the other bed with Stub. The tall man’s awake now, barely conscious but he blinks at you before murmuring, “like what you see?” Dons head turns as he slides out of his pants to watch you and Stub offhandedly. “Who, you or Don?” You reply, crossing your hands in your lap. Stub chuckles and rolls fully on his back, tucking an arm under his head. “I guess he’s a looker too.” Don rolls his eyes and smiles. “Well. Only one of us has a girl at the moment, Stub.” He quips back and you laugh. Don, showing that witty side that’s deep down. He sighs softly when he’s dressed and walks to the wall behind Stubs bed that’s home to a bike. He hefts it off the hook with a grunt and walks to the door. You quickly rise and pull the wooden thing open for him to exit. “Thanks darling.” He murmurs. When you’re outside, he places it on the ground. “Where are we going today?” You ask. Don shrugs. “Just around I guess.” He dusts off the seat and holds the handlebar for you to get on. “You can lead today.” He says while you gently grip the other side of the handlebar and pick your leg over the seat. With his other hand, Don keeps your skirt down and makes sure it’s straight until your right foot is firmly on the pedal. Your left foot rests on the ground and you nod at him. “Let’s go.” You say, and Don nods, beginning at a slow jog until you get up to pace. He glances at you while you bike, increasing his pace with a determined look every time you get in front of him. He knows what you’re doing too. You’re just grinning at him as you push harder on the pedals. 

It’s not long before he’s at a full sprint, blowing harsh exhales as he tries to keep up with you who’s barely sweating. He’s glaring at you as he tries to keep up before he stumbles, but catches himself. It slows him down and he gives up, calling your name in between breaths. You turn the bike around and slow as you approach the red-faced man. Don’s panting, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. He hears the clicks of the bike and takes a big breath as he puts his hands on his hips and takes you in. “Ok.”pant “you win dear.” He concedes to you and you smile, leaning your arms on the bars while you smile. “Okay there Donny?” You ask and  his head bobs. He sniffs and blows out another breath before breaking out into a slow jog again. You keep a steady pace this time, and the two of you talk as he runs, chatting about the weather and classes, about the upcoming Cal race and the chance for the Olympics. His words are bouncy and cut off as his chest moves with every stride. “We can head to the boathouse. Cut through the quad.” Don says, and you nod before guiding your path to the sidewalk for the quad on the edge of campus. Across the long way, you can see Bobby on a bike, followed by Roger and Joe, doing a similar pace. They spot you just as you see them. “Hey!” Bobby shouts, and your name follows loudly, catching your attention from across the rectangular patch of land. You grin and wave at him.  They slow at the middle point, and Bobby turns to the middle sidewalk as Joe and Roger slow, walking behind him. You slow as well, and turn onto the path, Don at your heels. “Had the same idea, huh?” Bobby asks, crossing his arms on his bike. “Was Don’s idea.” You shrug. Don clasps hands with Joe and Roger before muttering something about a mistake. Roger laughs. “Well I’d like to see her beat Bobby in a race. He’s been running us ragged and bullying about our pace.” Bobby scoffs. “You guys deserve it! Slow as shit!” He says before looking to you. “Pardon my French.” He says, and you shake your head. “Not game to a race?” You ask lowly. Bobby laughs, it’s high and he looks to Joe. “Oh I’m game alright.” 

You and Bobby are lined up next to each other on the side of the quad, the long rectangular sidewalk a perfect race track. Dons beside you and presses a quick kiss to your shoulder. Joe and Roger shout words of encouragement from the end of the path. They’re rooting for you, just wanting to see Bobby fail. Don steps out  to the side and raises his hand. “Ready?” He glances between you and Bobby and you ready your feet. “GO!” You’re off, pushing all the power you have into your legs as you and Bobby are neck and neck. You begin to pull ahead though, legs moving quickly on the pedals. You don’t want to lose to Bobby, the idiot would never let it down. You hear him let out a string of curses and you smile to yourself as you speed to Joe and Roger. The taller blonde is whooping, and you hear Don cheering you on as he runs behind you and Bobby. Roger stands to the side, ready to determine the winner. But it’s clear who’s won. You speed past the two, crossing the ‘line’. Bobby follows after, well behind you. 

You laugh and hit the breaks to turn around to the other two. Roger shouts your name. “And she wins by a landslide!” He yells, helping you off the bike. You laugh and stick your tongue out at Bobby whose face is red as he pants on his bike. Don catches up and you laugh as he wraps his arms around your biceps and twirls you around, chest to chest. His sweat plasters hair to his face but you kiss his forehead anyway. “Good job.” He whispers to you before placing you on the ground. It’s your turn to be put of breath, and you laugh shakily while your hand rests over your clavicle. Bobby’s still groaning about his loss as Roger playfully shoves him to the path that leads to the boathouse. Joe rolls Bobby’s bike alongside him, and you pick yours up. Don clicks his teeth quickly and comes to your side. “No no no doll, I got it.” He murmurs softly, taking the big thing from your hands and pushing it as you walk. The boathouse isn’t completely deserted when you get there. You can hear old George Pocock sawing away in his workshop. The Professors light is on in the office above the boathouse. Two seniors wax a single man scull, and showers run in the locker room. Bobby helps you and Don place the bike on the side of the wall, and he nudges you with an elbow. “So uh…let’s say you keep this between the five of us?” He asks, eyes dancing playfully. “Not in your dreams, Moch.” You quip, following the others as they walk through the house. “Oh come on! That race was rigged and you know it.” He says, walking backwards to point at you. “I’m ready to go again when you are.” Bobby rolls his eyes at your words, slowing as they approach the locker room. The man looks back behind him quickly and wags a finger at you. “Oh nuh-uh, can’t be in here!” The teasing tone makes you laugh and you turn on your heel before walking to the Professors office. 

He’s watching some film of a race, and barely hears you walk in, unaware of your presence until you’re right beside him. “They look good.” You say, and his eyes find you. “Mm. Cal race from two weeks ago.” He says, and you nod. The Professor continues, scratching the back of his neck. “We’re focusing on getting the boat as light as possible.” He says. “Need to fly on the water.” You thrum your fingers on your thighs. “Well, they’re working as hard as they can.” You offer, shifting your weight so you can sit on an end table. The Professor hums again as the film clicks off, the end had been reached. “It’s working.” He says. 

When you go back down onto the main boathouse floor, the others are chatting with Shorty and Chuck who have both come back from their own workouts. Don sees you and opens an arm for you to get close against his body, the night air blowing a chill breeze through everything. “Well. We’re leaving.” Don says lowly, the words firm as an anchor. The others nod and say goodbyes, Joe and Roger offering their congratulations on the bike race, making Bobby whine at them when they retell the story to Shorty. Laughter echoes out of the house as Don pulls out the bike again. He swings a leg over it and straddles the seat before looking back at you. “Hop on.” He says, and you smile, pushing your bottom onto the solid rear rack covering the back tire. You sit side saddle, and wrap your arms around Dons waist, hands splaying over his chest. He kicks off finally, steering back to the main campus and quad. The ride is silent, only the gears of the bike and nature giving off sound. Your cheek is pressed into Dons shoulder. The bike soon finds its way back to its home, the boys’s dorm. When he unlocks the door, Stub is hanging from one of the large metal pipes on the ceiling, doing slow and measured pull ups. He tilts his head when he hears the door and smiles. “My favorite people.” He rumbles, dropping to the ground. Stub helps Don maneuver the bike back onto the wall and ruffles the shorter mans sweaty hair, causing Don to playfully tackle him and throw light punches. “Who will the champion be?” You ask, tone daunting and suspenseful. Stub wraps an arm around Dons shoulder and heaves him onto the bed before shoving a hand on his face and into the pillow, and Don retaliates by flipping his leg over Stubs waist, making the tall man grunt and fall off the edge of the twin bed. “Ha! A point for me.” Don says playfully, hair sticking everywhere. “Whatever, I’m just going easy cause your girls here.” Don huffs and offers an arm to Stub, helping him up.  Don turns to you. “Need a shower?” He asks quietly. You do. Your blouse is sticky with sweat and your hair frizzes out in odd places. “Yes…it wouldn’t hurt.” You confess, picking at your nails. Still, it feels wrong. This is their room, their dorm. Stub and Don are lucky, sharing a small private bathroom versus your communal one at your dormitory. Stub catches your motions. “Don’t sweat it. This place is yours as much as it is ours.” He says, plopping down on his bed. You blush and look up at Don. He nods reassuringly at you. “Okay. Better than the communal showers.” You admit.

Don turns to the bathroom door and opens it, guiding you in. He points at the faucets on the wall. “Okay. Um. Hot, cold, middle is pressure.” He fiddles with  his shirt, messing with a growing hole. Nodding, you turn to him. “Great.” He sighs and backs away, giving you space. “Need anything?” His nervous eyes flit between you and the shower, trying not to voice the thoughts flooding  into his brain. You’re fighting the same battle and you look down before reaching past Don to shut the door behind you both. His eyes widen and he turns slightly to the door. You catch his hand though, leading him back closer to the shower. Your hands deftly undo the buttons on your blouse and you hang it on the hook. Dons eyes don’t travel below your neck as the two of you undress, and you take his hand to bring him into the small shower with you. Don turns to shut the glass shower door behind him as you turn on the flow of hot water. Your eyes are locked on his and you can feel him pant softly, lips parted. He won’t touch you though, won’t make that first move. So you bring a hand up to rest on his cheek, and the other high on his chest, fingertips grazing his shoulder. Don shudders and his eyes blink closed as he leans closer, letting your foreheads touch under the stream. You feel a hand fumbling to find the small space between your hip and waist, and another creeping up behind your neck in a gentle grip. It holds you there, letting Dons lips brush against yours softly. 

Stubs convinced the two of you have used all the hot water available, and he flips another page in his book. He doesn’t mind. You’re soft and sweet, yet firm in your ways, and you’re not afraid to speak first sometimes. You compliment Don in that way. Where the other man can be closed off and anxious, you bring him out of his shell. He seemed to change once you started coming around with him. It was a good thing he asked you out. So, he could tolerate the two of you spending time like this together. Lord knows what you were doing, but you weren’t being loud. 

Inside the steamy walls of the bathroom, you gently massaged soap into Dons hair, removing trapped grease as he gazes down at your face, his seemingly permanent frown on his face. You knew better though, he was okay. Especially as his eyes rolled back into his head when you itched that sweet spot on the scalp of his head. Finally, you released him and grabbed the bar of soap to rub into your hair. Don silently helps you, guiding your fingers and going over spots you may have missed. When your hair is complete, the two of you beginning focus on cleaning your own bodies, an easy task until the small shower restricts movement. Dons arm bumps into your ribcage just as you bang your head into his jaw. “Oomph!” You exclaim, stumbling back onto one of the walls. Don grunts and leans away from you before steadying you by catching your arm. When you’re stable, he chuckles. “Sorry!” You exclaim, holding onto his shoulder. “S’okay dear.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The two of you are much more conscious of your movements after that to say the least. When you finish, you both towel dry and Don wraps his around his waist, leaving the comfort of the steamy bathroom to retrieve his clothes. “Jeez Louise! Could you have taken any longer?” Stub yells playfully, and you blush, covering your face. You hear Dons muffled reply, not quite catching whatever he says. It only causes Stub to laugh even more though. 

When Don returns he has a beaten pair of sleeping boxers and an undershirt in one hand, a university sweatshirt and another pair of boxers in the other. “Would you like these? You can stay…” Don asks, holding out his hand with the large sweatshirt. He’s bashful about this, but part of him secretly wants you in his clothes. He knows it’s not decent but he can’t help it. Nodding, you take the items from him and turn, facing the other wall to change. Don does the same as he puts on his own clothes. Sure, you’ve seen each other bare, but it always seems like the ‘proper’ thing to do, and definitely aids whatever embarrassment felt. You can feel Don walk out the door again and his bed cream softly. When you finally dress, you peek out to see Stub reading a book and Don brushing out his hair gently into its classic part. When you finally walk out, Stubs eyes glance up at you before back down to his book. He only has a knowing smile on his face. “Washington purple looks good on you.” He murmurs, and Don grins at you before letting you sit next to him. He hands you the comb next, and you slowly brush your hair, trying to get the most of it brushed. It’ll be a bit frizzy in the morning without your sleep scarf covering it, but oh well. 

Don reclines on the bed, and you follow, letting him tuck you under his arm. Stub yawns and turns off the small oil lamp before rotating and finding a comfortable position. “You better not get her pregnant before the Olympics.” He grunts, and his smile can be heard as you scoff. Don protests, “Really Stub? I can actually beat you up…” He’s cut off. “Ok ok, I’m joking.” He says, chucking. “Seriously though! You guys are being…safe?” He asks. Growling his name, you reach for his book on the nightstand that’s illuminated in the moonlight and throw it at him in the dark. Stub yelps. “Okay! You win! I’m sorry.” He says, curling into his blankets more. Grinning triumphantly, Don wedges his nose into the spot behind your ear before pressing a soft kiss there. You can hear his soft breathing in your ear, and the noise seduces you to sleep. 

an:HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING, I LOVE DONNY! People tagged below, yall give me the motivation to write this because as long as there’s one person to read it, I will write it!

@forsythiagalt

The day started like any other. You rose, dressed yourself in your habit, tucking away any stray hair. You were a rather young nun, always knew what you wanted from life even as a child. The church was your calling. As you emerged out of your small room, there was a buzz in the hall as your sisters talked amongst themselves. “Sister!” One cries and approaches you. “Sister Hannah, what’s the matter?” You enquire, gripping her hands in your own. “Oh, good news sister! His Holiness the pope is coming to our town!” She exclaims, clearly animated by the news. You were stunned to say the least. To have the pope himself come was no small thing. Glory to God that it has happened. “This is wonderful! Thank the Lord it will be!” You reply, tucking her arm in your elbow as you walk to the chapel for morning prayer. 

The priest of your church had come forth once the sisters had completed the prayers, raising his arm for silence. “Many of you have heard, but it is indeed true.” His old voice carried out far, and had a lilt of excitement in it himself. “His Holiness is coming to the town. I have also received information he will be visiting our own humble church.” He chuckles as you and many of your sisters murmur excitedly. “Now, go about your day as normal. Give thanks to the Lord and bless the pope’s travels.” With that, he nods and turns away to the chapels altar, bending down in prayer. Your sisters beside you shuffle out of the chapel to breakfast, and you say your prayer to the Lord, ensuring to also pray to St.Christopher for His Holiness’s protection during his journey. It felt like a honor. Your town was nothing of consequence or importance, and the visit should be made to last as long as it could. 

Your hands were coated in dirt as you pulled onions from the ground, making sure to leave the young ones to grow more. As you gathered them in your basket, the breeze washed over the garden, providing relief from the hissing sun. Finally, you stood and held your basket on your hip before wiping your hands on the apron over your habit. Sister Violet, an elderly nun was the only one in the garden with you, watering the plants on the other side of the area. Turning, your tomato plants are growing beautifully, and your basket is placed on the ground as you examine weeds growing along the base of the plant. Muttering to yourself, you babble softly at the weeds. “Sorry little guys, but you have got to go! Can’t strangle the others all day.” Pulling them is comforting, and it always pulls you into a different world it seems. Maybe that’s why you don’t hear Sister Elizabeth calling your name until she drops beside you and shakes your shoulders, exclaiming happily. “Sister, he’s here! Come, quick!” She’s back on her feet and you rise with her, laughing. You and her are similar in age, both coming to the convent young. She giggles and grabs your arm as you sprint across the parish to the chapel. Your hat is flapping in the wind, and your free hand presses it flat to keep on your head stable.

The rest of your sisters and the priest with other clergymen are gathered along the front of the chapel with some other townsfolk. The commotion is centered around His Holiness, whos greeting everyone. Elizabeth grins alongside you as he approaches with his Camerlengo. The man is tall, taller than you and he greets everyone with a smile along the way. He’s young, but still ordained. Not so unlike you. The pope greets others across the path and you fumble as the Camerlengo approaches near you and Elizabeth. He extends his hand and your heart swells with delight, but you pause. “Sorry father, my hands are dirtied. You shouldn’t.” The man chuckles. “That’s quite alright. It’d be a shame to not welcome the soil of the Earth made by the Father.” He grasps your hand gently from where it’s folded over your stomach and encloses it in his other, shaking it with a gentle grip. “Thank you father.” You say, smiling up at him. The sun shines brightly behind him, the rays extending away from his head. He looks every bit a saint or an angel. The Camerlengo releases your hand before blessing you, making the sign of the cross over your torso. Smiling, you lower your head as he moves along.

The other nuns and yourself buzz away with excitement the rest of the day, the ordeal celebrated. The sun lowers again, casting its familiar orange glow as you walk slowly to the chapel for your nightly prayers. It’s empty usually, and makes the perfect place for you to reflect and pray. Your favorite spot is under the icon statue of Mary holding her child in her arms in a small alcove of the chapel. You let your knees fall and rest on the kneeler before beginning your prayers. You give thanks, ask for protection and guidance, and everything in between. With your head bowed, you don’t even see someone kneel beside you until your eyes open and you release a startled gasp before sighing when you see who it is. The Camerlengo. He smiles softly and gives you a small peek out of his left eyes before shutting them again and resuming his own prayer, hands clasped in front of him. When he finishes, he turns his head to you and nods. Your hands grip the railing of the kneeled and you smile. “You frightened me father.” He chuckles, “I suppose I should have announced my presence.” His accent is odd, definitely not Italian. “Father, this church is all our homes, no need to announce yourself. I just believed myself to be alone.” You confess. “Please, call me Patrick.” He asks, rising. You lift yourself as well, murmuring your name back to him. “I must admit I poked around your garden earlier. The other sisters say it’s mostly your work, and you’re quite gifted in it.” He says, eyes gazing around the room before settling on you. “Yes. I’ve always had quite the green thumb.” walking out of the alcove, the chapel opens up and echoes your voices. “Clearly. I’ve never seen such beautiful work.” You feel pride creep in and smile. “God is the one who gave me the talent, it is His hand in it all.” You reply before opening a door leading to the courtyard. He follows behind closely, moonlight now painting the gravel pathway. “I must confess I did seek you out.” He says, sitting on a stone bench. Patrick’s look is almost a bashful one. “Why?” You inquire, sitting beside him. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know completely. It was more a calling, urging me to seek you.” Your brows furrow slightly. “But the intention became clear when your sisters told me more about you. I can see Gods plan now.” Silence fills the air as you fiddle with the rosary beads on your habits belt. “The Vatican is in need of someone to help run the gardens. A supervisor and overseer of sorts. A planner.” He says, resting his hands on his lap, palms down. Shock washes over you in waves and your eyes travel to the heavens where the stars glitter amongst blackness. Is this what the Father intended? “I’m honored.” You whisper. Patrick nods and rests his hand on the bench. “I will miss my sisters, but if this is the path that has been presented I will follow it.” The words fall easily from your lips, like they were always meant to be said. The Camerlengo nods and stands again before offering you his hand.

“I must follow the Pope into the next towns. We will be back in three days on the route back. Will you accompany us to the Vatican from there?” He asks, letting your hand fall before beginning escorting you back to the convent. You bob your head quickly. “Yes father.” Patrick nods and leaves you at the door with the lantern glowing above the frame, illuminating the small wooden crucifix. You duck inside, where Elizabeth and Hannah await you. “What happened?” Hannah asks lowly, tucking her hand into your elbow. Your voice is shaky with excitement. “I’ve been invited to take a position at the Vatican to oversee the gardens!” You exclaim, eyes screwing shut as a smiles warms your face. Hannah laughs and Elizabeth squeals before pulling you into a hug. “I knew God had a plan for the talent He had blessed you with.” She murmurs, stroking your spine lightly. As you retreat to bed that night, removing your habit, the reality sets in. Just not any church, the Vatican! Your prayers are surely overwhelming the Lord now, the amount you say to Him. 

The Camerlengo lays in a bed amongst the other clergymen and cannot help but think he’s made the perfect selection for the new garden supervisor. Surely no one could be a better fit. But why did still feel that pit inside him, something that called him to you? His hand splayed across his stomach and he looked out the window filled with moonlight and laid sleepless for hours, deep in thought.

Konig would do dishes with you, a step behind you in the kitchen and well, everywhere, even going to walk you to claos, a silent trip most days. After Nikto let it slip, you found Konig's Youtube channel, all dedicated to Star Wars. Playthroughs of games, the ranking of characters, analyzing of even the smallest details. You subscribed immediately.Sometimes, when you couldn't sleep, you played one of his videos, the voiceover calm and intoxicating. Maybe that's why you always felt relaxed near him. He certainly couldnt say the same about you One morning as he walked You to a lecture, your warm hand crept to curl around his fat bicep, letting him guide you. His face had flushed and the monologue in his head had to scream at him to not fall face forward and pass out the and there.

You warmed up to Horangi quick as well, especially after one night after a nightmare. He was watching swamp people of all things! As you sat down on the couch with him, blanket wrapped around your body, he smiles softly and turns back to the TV. When you questioned his entertainment choice he nearly lost his mind. Alligators were fascinating! He knew all there was to know about them. He let you sit there next to him, and your eyes grew heavy as his voice, strong and clear, rambled about the beast's armor and teeth. You fell asleep when he began talking about their eyesight when Horangis thumb traced your shoulder. You didn't wake up on the couch the next morning though, instead in your warm bed.

Nikto was the serious gamer of the group. You were alone in the house that day, done with studying. Across the hall, you heard a string of exclamations, not all of them in English. Curious, your feet patted to the door of Nikto and Horangis room. It was funny almost, his reactions to the tiniest things. His face was bare and he doesn’t wear a Shirt, revealing burn marks all over his torso. When he finally lost a match and sighed, reclining in his Chair next to the bed, he finally saw you, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry." You say, picking at your nails. No response but a long stare."I...I was curious...about your game" you explain. Nikto nods and per breathes heavily before patting the bed next to his chair. He's selecting a different game on his system, and this one you recognize. "Minecraft?" you ask, receiving a shrug in return. But his marred hand merely hands you an extra controller slowly, eyes bashful. You chuckle and thank him before letting him load you into the garne. His base is well developed, and you run around the world, following him everywhere "What got you into gaming?” His avatar pauses and he glances at you. Like he’s judging if you can be trusted. “Always liked it.” Got into it more after the fire. Hurt too much to move a lot. Videogames became my release." The air was heavy as he confessed and you nodded sowly. Still you didnt want to ruin it for him by prying."so.. where’s this end portal?" you ask, smiling. Nikto grins and the scars on his face pull up the skin, showing more teeth on the right side of his face before turning back to the game.

Kruger, or Sebastian comes later.