#and he's like. delighted about it look at that LOOK in his eyes as he goes down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daycourtofficial · 2 days ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only, only one

Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.5k | warnings: none

Summary: secrets threaten to swallow you whole as you work up the courage to tell Azriel about being his mate. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only one with secrets

Author’s note: this came from a draft I found BURIED okay I was looking for a different azris x reader draft but found this and had to finish it

Today was the day. Everything lined up - Feyre and Rhys were at the River House hosting an overnight play date for Nyx and one of his friends. Cassian and Nesta had taken some of the Valkyries to Day to see the pegasi. Mor was somewhere on the continent. Amren was likely at her apartment, but she came by less and less frequently these days.

The sun had just set, the night sky bright and endless as it hovered over the House of Wind. You and Azriel had the entire place to yourselves.

It was a sign from the Mother. You had to tell him. You stood before your mirror, wanting every piece of hair to fall perfectly into place. You took a few deep breaths, failing to calm the beating of your heart.

Everything was going to change. You smiled at your reflection, certain that everything will work out. It had to.

So what if Azriel had pined after two females that weren’t you? That didn’t matter. Not when he was always so kind to you, seeking you out during parties. He always sat next to you at dinner, the two of you fully engaged in conversation the entire time.

His pining toward Mor and then Elain always felt strange to you. It never happened around you, you hardly saw him even glance their way. You only knew about it from Cassian’s love of gossip.

“It should be you he focuses on - the two of you are so similar. And so annoying.”

His words likely meant nothing to him - especially the end when you had stolen food from his plate. But his words echoed in your mind, echoed around the string nearly suffocating your heart.

The two of you were well suited. You complemented each other. Surely, if he didn’t love you now, Azriel could grow to love you. It should be easy.

Would you want someone who had to grow to love you? You shook the thought from your head, certain the Mother wouldn’t lead you astray like that.

Your thoughts led you outside his door. The words had laid dormant on your tongue for too long, weeks going by without admitting the truth to him.

You knocked on his door quickly, not wanting nerves to get the better of you. You couldn’t help lightly bouncing on your feet as you waited, listening to the shuffles behind the door. Each sound of footfalls made your heart rate quicken.

Azriel poked his head out the door, a small smile when his eyes fell on you.

“Sorry to intrude, but can I come in? I want to talk to you about something.”

Surprise at your demand showed on his face, but he opened the door wider, letting you come in. The sight of you in his room wasn’t unheard of, but you had never so boldly asked to come in.

You walked through the threshold, noticing immediately a suitcase on his bed, nearly full before his shadows quickly closed and latched the lid.

“Are you going somewhere?” You couldn’t stop the question from coming out.

“I was going to take a few days to myself. Enjoy some quiet at my cabin.”

Your heart had been bursting with secrets lately. Months ago Azriel had confided in you he had a cabin somewhere he liked to hide away in when he needed to get away.

That tidbit of knowledge was secured deep in your fantasies, a story you told yourself before going to sleep about him whisking you away to his cabin.

“Oh - well, I hope I’m not interrupting your need for peace.”

“Nonsense. I find your presence quite peaceful, anyway.” Your heart was in your throat at his words. His casual admittance giving you just enough strength to be bold.

“That is very kind of you. I find your presence to also be peaceful and delightful.” He smiled down at you, his full attention on your words. That was always what drew you to Azriel the most. You have always had his full attention whenever you spoke to him, and he always recalled the smallest of details from your conversations.

He saw you. He noticed you. The Mother made him for you and you for him.

“Well, Azriel. We are friends, right? And friends tell each other things and are honest, right?” You wrung your hands with your fingers, needing something to expel your nervous energy.

“Yes. I am always honest with you.” His words came out with a slight chuckle, a tilt to his head, wondering where this was going.

“Great. I have actually been keeping something from you for a while. At first I had to take some time myself to understand, and then I was waiting for the right time.”

“Go on.” He looked radiant with the light of the moon cutting across his face. No male could compare to his beauty. His words of encouragement and his smile at your nervousness were all you needed for the words to come tumbling out.

“I am in love with you. I have been for a long time, and I kept it to myself, but a few weeks ago, the mating bond snapped and I-“

“A mating bond?” His words were sharper than you had ever heard him speak to you before. His shadows swirled around your feet, occasionally jumping and leaping to reach you, but never quite making it.

“Yes, it-“

“You’re certain?” His words were making you shrink ever so slightly. The shadows had now begun swirling around the two of you, like they were trapping the two of you into a bubble.

“Yes, it-“

“To me?”

You tugged hard on the bond, pulling as hard as you could to release him from the shocked stupor he was in. It knocked him off balance, his feet stuttering forward before he righted himself. His scarred hands rubbed absently at his chest, his brows knitted in confusion.

“Let me finish, Azriel.” The shadows that had been swirling around the two of you floated down, sweeping across the floor. A few moved toward you, swirling around your body, helping you stay upright.

He didn’t listen to your words, only shook his head in response. He dragged his fingers down his face, muttering something you couldn’t quite make out.

He looked once more at you before he reached out, his hands taking hold of your shoulders before the two of you were whisked through space in his shadows.

“Azriel!” You pushed off of him the second you felt solid ground beneath your feet, putting distance between the two of you. “This is not what I hoped-“

“Be quiet.”

Your eyes widened at his words, taking a moment to take in your surroundings. He winnowed the two of you right in front of a cabin door, the structure surrounded on all sides by thick forest.

“Okay Azriel, you could have just rejected me - not bring me to who knows where.” You ignored his command, irritation lacing your words.

“No, I just- wait here.” He shut the door quickly behind himself, leaving you alone. Your heart felt heavy as you looked about the woods, uncertain if you wanted to know what laid in the darkness.

Whatever scent lingered from beneath the door was familiar, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You were stuck - you could winnow home, you supposed. But why did he bring you out here? Would he leave you out here, wanting to know how long you’d stay and wait? Surely the bond would make him protective enough to let you die from the elements, right? The thought caused the string around your heart to play a sad, out of tune note.

You weren’t sure how long you were standing outside, a brisk breeze making you well aware of your lack of coat. The door opened once more, Azriel coming back out before he quickly shut the door behind himself, not letting you see inside.

“Az, what are we doing here?”

He held out a hand to you, his other back on the knob of the door.

“I have never brought anyone from the Inner Circle here.”

You grew frustrated at his words, a tiny hint of pride at being the first of your family to visit here. You accepted his hand, noting there really wasn’t any other decision you could make.

He opened the door and you took in the space. It was small - just the one room connected to a kitchen. It held a massive bed - somehow larger than the ones in Velaris. There wasn’t much in the way of decorations - the house was void of any indication of who lived in it. Your eyes stopped on the redheaded male who was moving about the kitchen, the sight of him short circuiting your brain.

“You said you’ve never brought anyone else here before.” Somehow amidst all the confusion, that was what your brain settled on.

“He said no one from the Inner Circle had been here. The door’s not as thick as you are, Azriel.” Eris’s voice was full of chastisement, clicking his tongue at the end to accent his point. You glanced between the pair, even more confused now that Eris had opened his mouth, the comment almost affectionate.

You shook your head, dismissing the thought. “Look, Az, I get it, this is something you don’t want-“ “Now I didn’t say-“ “so we can just go back to Velaris and I can move out.”

“What is she talking about?” Eris’s voice was loud to accomodate for the banging of pots and pans. He was cooking something, the cherry on top of ‘well, why not this too?’

You looked up at the ceiling, fighting back tears to what has quickly become the worst moment of your life. This was all so strange, you were certain you had hit your head somewhere, your body likely unconscious in Azriel’s room. Maybe none of this happened, and you fell on something in your room.

When you woke up, you were certainly never confessing to him.

“Tell him.” Azriel’s prodding words confused you even more. You looked at him in bewilderment. He had the same look on his face he does when he’s about to win a card game - no matter what move you make, he’s right in his assessment.

“Tell him? Azriel I think telling someone they’re your mate and them not wanting it is embarrassing enough, why do we have to drag in a spectator?”

His face fell slightly, something pooling in his eyes you couldn’t quite make out.

“Why do you think Azriel is your mate?”

You cocked your head at Eris, never having officially met him. You would recognize him anywhere - the long red hair, the ornate clothes decorated with autumn leaves, the scent of bonfire and whiskey stuck to him.

No one in the Inner Circle had ever told you how stunning he was, his beauty making other males look like mortals next to him. Except Azriel.

“I assume we can skip the pleasantries, Eris. Every facet of this night is more confusing than the last. Why are you cooking?”

“Because otherwise I will die of starvation. Or be even more intolerable due to hunger.”

You wished for a wall behind you to bang your head into. They may have omitted his beauty, but they weren’t wrong about him being difficult.

“Why are you in Azriel’s cabin?”

“I asked my question first.”

“Well, Eris, if you must know the inner workings of my personal life, Azriel is my mate and instead of being happy or even indifferent he brought me here to you for some reason. Can I go now?” The tears started forming in the corner of your eye, your fist clenched as you spoke.

“No,” they replied in unison, not looking at you. They both mirrored each other, their crossed arms not giving anything away as they silently argued, unsure when Azriel moved closer to Eris. You could make out a few words from the hushed tones, but it was impossible to hear them.

It took you a moment to realize Eris had stopped cooking when Azriel approached. He was giving him his full attention as they spoke to each other.

This was a very odd dream indeed.

“I’ve felt a pull to you.” Azriel was still looking at Eris, and you weren’t certain who he was talking to until he shifted his eyes to you. “I have always been drawn to you, needed to be near you. I didn’t want to think we were mates, because Eris is my mate.”

You blinked multiple times, the idea trying to make itself comprehensible to you. You looked around, certain to find some trace Rhysand had built this imaginary reality as a practical joke.

“No, that's not possible. If it’s not me, it had to be because of Elain or Mor.”

Eris scoffed, his annoyance clear across his face, his movements becoming more hurried as he added things to a pot. “Sorry to disappoint the both of you by not having breasts.”

“Eris.” An admonishing hiss from Azriel caused the Autumn heir to roll his eyes, not even looking at the glare the shadowsinger sent him.

“Forgive me. Forgive my mate for his deceits being so well done it fooled even his female mate.” Eris refused to pull his focus from his cooking, hardly acknowledging you with his body.

“Azriel and I have been together for some time, a rouse that is perpetuated by his supposed infatuation with the other females close to you.”

For some reason, his words stung. Azriel had been faking affection for them? If he could do that, why didn't he fake them for you?

As if reading your thoughts, Eris continued. “He was feeling something for you, something he hardly wanted to admit to me. But we have been looking into it. It seems no one has ever had this.”

“Had what?”

“Two mates.”

Your head was reeling, a migraine forming as you tried to process every bit of information you were given. Something gnawed at you - some insecurity making itself known in this odd circumstance.

“Were you getting close to me as an experiment?” That drew Azriel from his silence, his steps moving toward you.

“No - gods no. I like you, I like spending time with you. I’m drawn to you - I can’t help it.”

“He yearns.” Eris’s voice was flat as hid words came out, Azriel quickly spun on his heel and looked toward his mate.

His other mate, you supposed.

“I do not yearn.”

“You complain about missing her when you’re here.” Azriel’s cheeks heated in embarrassment, the first sense of affection you've felt from him since arriving.

Eris stopped stirring, turning his full attention toward you. His gaze left heat all across you, as if his eyes could penetrate your clothes, seeing your body and soul beneath. You can’t tell if he’s making the room warmer or if that’s just you.

“In the concept of honesty, I have to say you are… something.” His words broke you out of whatever stupor you had found yourself in.

“Thank you, Eris. That is the best non-descript compliment or insult I’ve ever received.”

“It’s not an insult.” You scoffed, uncertain how to respond. He straightened himself, standing tall as he continued. “Do you wish for me to wax poetic about my mate’s new mate? Divine, delectable, take your pick.”

Was he flirting with you? The notion made no sense, but something Azriel told you about Eris years ago had always stuck.

If you want to get anywhere with him, you have to play his game.

“My mate has a very pretty mate.” It was true and something Eris was more than aware of about himself. He scoffed, picking up a spoon and going back to cooking, but you continued. “Should I wax poetic about you, hm? Tell you all about how you look like a predator prepared to pounce and I’d be more than willing to be beneath you?”

Eris stopped his cooking, his spoonclattering as he took his time drinking you in.

“I thought you said she was timid and shy?” His question was directed at Azriel, but he kept looking at you. His gaze stayed on you, not wavering, seeing something he found interesting.

“That’s because Azriel runs at the potential for intimacy, I had to ease him into it.” Something close to a laugh escaped from Eris. His gaze finally moved toward the shadowsinger.

“I like her, Azriel. We can keep her.”

“I am not some toy to claim ownership to.” Eris paid you no mind, turning back to his cooking. You couldn’t figure out what he was making, but it smelled divine.

“Of course not, but you are my mate’s mate and that means I have to like you before making decisions about you.” Your heart stalled at his words, the air getting thinner around you.

“What do you mean by decisions?”

“Eris.” Azriel cut in for the first time in a while, and you would have forgotten about his presence if it hadn’t been for the bond humming.

“Well, I mean he is my mate already. He’s accepted the bond with me. If I didn’t like you, he’d just reject you.”

“He wouldn’t just-“ your words stopped, your statement unable to continue. Your throat went dry with the look Azriel gave Eris. It was a split second, but it was enough.

They clearly had discussed it - some topic they had mulled over several times, working through every scenario. Eris’s words were of such nonchalance, such subtle cruelty.

They would decide to shatter your heart without any thought or input from you.

It was getting hot, your clothes too much on your skin. Your breathing rose again, too shallow to fully take in a breath.

“So you’ve been- what? Keeping it a secret for months that Eris is your mate and that I’m your mate? Were you test running me this whole time?” Your voice came out squeaky, but you were too upset to care.

“No, I didn’t know-“ Azriel was scrambling, his eyes pleading with the truth. “I didn’t know, I was curious-“

“I mean, I knew you kept secrets, but this is- Eris and-“ your breaths were coming shorter and shorter, the cabin swaying slightly as it got harder to breathe. This couldn’t be real, it had to be some fictional reality. The bond in your chest was crying in agony, desperate for you to be closer to Azriel and to stop arguing.

“Azriel, she's self-destructing.” Eris didn’t move from his spot, continuing his cooking as if you had made an astute observation about the weather.

“I can see that.”

“Do something. She’s your mate.”

You pushed the hair from your face, straightening your shoulders. You blinked slowly, trying to clear your gaze. You had been a fool this whole time, that much was true. You were an experiment to Az - this whole time he had his suspicions, and you were nothing but a test subject he could drop at a moment’s notice. The collateral damage of your heart meant nothing to him.

He had Eris. Why would he want you?

“It’s clear now that you already have your hands full, Azriel. I’ll bow out respectfully.” The words came out cold, not a hint of the warmth you felt for Azriel laced them.

“Sweetheart-“

His shadows swirled around you, desperate to keep you close, to pull you closer to him. You batted them away, not wanting their comfort.

They knew. Azriel knew. Eris knew. This was all a joke to them.

“I’d be a fool to compete with Eris Vanserra over anything, including you Azriel. You’ve told me a hundred times how Autumn Court males sink their teeth into things and don’t let go.” Had his words been a warning? Had he been mated to him when he told you that? How far did these lies run? “Clearly you know from experience.”

You winnowed away, Azriel’s hand inches from where you stood. His shadows exploded, several moving around Eris, the Autumn heir batting them away with little effort.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Azriel directed all of his anger toward Eris.

“You were my mate first.”

“You practically pissed all over me, marking your territory. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut for me to speak!”

“Shall I hike up my leg? I thought such things didn’t interest you.”

Azriel breathed deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep his anger in check.

“Besides, you wouldn’t speak. You clammed up.”

“We discussed this. You knew how important this was to me. This all went wrong.” Azriel was tugging at his hair, the bond swirling in his chest with your despair.

“Yes, yes. I know how my mate was quite taken with a female he lives with. Forgive me for not being thrilled.” Eris let the tiniest hint of hurt show on his face, his first display of emotion all night. Azriel spotted it immediately, his anger dissipating slightly.

“She might be your mate, too.” Azriel’s words were a whisper, a soft hope he was speaking into existence. The Mother wouldn’t give him two mates who hated each other, would she?

Eris gave a dismissive look Azriel’s way. “I suppose we’ll never know now.”

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Author’s note: any ideas for part two 👀

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#azriel #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris x azriel x reader #eris x azriel x you #eris x azriel x y/n

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makethatelevenrings · 2 days ago

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Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child.

But Hanno was different.

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name.

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them.

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man.

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin.

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching.

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

“Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.

#hanno x reader #lucius verus x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #lucius verus #hanno

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heartinhyacinth · 3 days ago

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Ahh this has nuzzled its way into my brain

Now I’m imagining that they’re sentient like the statues and remain that way for the same reasons—Xie Lian doesn’t know how to make it stop and it’ll fade eventually anyway, so they just let it be.

Two or so days later, Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Pei Ming come over to discuss some matters, and Xie Lian, profusely embarrassed, briefly explains, “you see, it’s like the…statue incident haha…”

While Feng Xin and Mu Qing understand immediately, Pei Ming asks for clarification, but Mu Qing turns bright red and declares that they’re not talking about this. Xie Lian agrees. Hua Cheng is snickering quietly in the corner, lounging on the bed with an arm draped over his knee as he leans against the wall behind him and lazily brushes off the cover that repeatedly tries to tuck him in.

They move on and start discussing business, until half way through when Xie Lian seems to have stopped listening, instead staring anxiously at the broom that’s sweeping towards Feng Xin. Hua Cheng is also staring at the broom, except his expression leans on excited anticipation, a mischievous grin beginning to form. Mu Qing notices first and calls them out on not paying attention.

Xie Lian apologizes, but his eyes remain on the broom, “I am, I am! It’s just…” He pauses and takes a wary step towards Feng Xin, hands outstretched cautiously like he’s trying to herd a snappy dog. Xie Lian hesitates, “you’re…um…you’re in the broom’s way…”

Feng Xin, predictably, rages. “I’m- I’m in the broom’s way?! It’s a fucking broom!”

Xie Lian knows how it sounds, but he and Hua Cheng learned the hard way what exactly happens when you’re in the broom’s path while it’s trying to clean. They could have just tossed it out after, but it’s working so hard and it really just wants to help. “I know, I know, it’s just that it…has a bit of a temperament issue haha, you might want to…”

Feng Xin merely scoffs and squares his feet, pride as stubborn as ever. Seconds later, the broom swiftly floats up, meeting his eye level. Feng Xin glares at it suspiciously, and then it flips and starts wacking him on the head, the shoulders, the face. It still looks like it’s sweeping, just vertically now.

Feng Xin is flailing about, screaming and cursing. It’s not an ordinary broom—not just because it’s sentient, but because it was born from Xie Lian. The broom hits hard. Hua Cheng is now sitting up straight to get a full view of the live entertainment, delighted at getting the outcome he was so clearly hoping for. Mu Qing and Pei Ming are trying to avoid Feng Xin’s flying fists while laughing so hard they nearly lose balance trying to do both at once. Xie Lian is trying to calm the broom and talk it down, while also scolding Feng Xin because he shouldn’t have provoked it. It finally calms only once Feng Xin is in the other corner of the shrine, far out of its sweeping path.

“Bravo—nice!” Hua Cheng claps his hands and then snickers, “next, why don’t you see what happens when you piss off the cooking pot”. Pei Ming, who was standing a few inches from the stove, glances at the pot of steaming purple…whatever it is, then quickly gives a wide berth.

As they go to leave, they announce that next time they’ll just talk outside. Xie Lian chuckles nervously and they all follow his line of sight as his eyes drift towards…the axe.

And they thought paradise manor was the house of horrors between hualian’s homes…

//I’m fairly new to tumblr and don’t rly know the etiquette here (or social rules in general if I’m being honest) so I hope this is alright??//

Obsessed with the idea of Xie Lian getting his spiritual powers back and not really using them outside of like subconscious actions. Like in a fight he spent 800 years just straight up throwing hands so it doesn’t really occur to him to use it. But because he’s literally stuffed full of spiritual energy so it just results in Puqi Shrine becoming the fairies house in Sleeping Beauty. Like there’s a pot stirring itself while truly toxic ingredients are added to a soup. The floor is being sweeped by a broken broom. The laundry is being done automatically meaning all his white robes are now a faint pink. Hua Cheng is sitting in the bed grinning fondly at the chaos around him. Meanwhile Xie Lian is just sitting outside sorting out his junk piles to see if he can find the pretty comb he wanted to give his husband and thinking of the chores he has to do today because they didn’t leave the bed until noon.

#is the snappy dog the broom or feng xin no one knows #amazing post op #tgcf #tian guan ci fu

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paperstarwriters · 3 days ago

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to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

#Paper Tells Tales #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #Transformers optimus x reader #optimus x reader #optimus prime #optimus #optimus prime x reader #x reader #reader insert #optimus x you #optimus prime x you #transformers x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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mephisto-reporting · 22 hours ago

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I Love You: Rafayel Edition

Premise:

Trope: Pure fluff Pairing: Reader x Rafayel Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction.My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

The door to Rafayel’s art studio creaked open with a low groan, revealing the delightful chaos you’d come to expect from him. The smell of turpentine and drying paint hung in the air, mingling with the faint trace of his cologne, still clinging to the fabric of his draped coats scattered across the furniture. Brushes were strewn across the floor like forgotten soldiers, and streaks of bright reds, blues, and golds marred every surface they could reach. His easel stood near the large bay window, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, but the canvas was blank—typical.

Your lips curved into a fond smile as you carefully balanced the takeaway bag in your hands, its fragrant contents filling the room with the rich aroma of saffron butter lobster, a delicacy Rafayel adored. You'd made the extra effort to get it from his favorite little corner bistro across town, knowing how particular he was about its preparation. You could almost taste it yourself, though you knew the real joy would come when you saw his face light up in surprise. The food was just the excuse; it was your way of showing you cared, in the only way you knew how.

Everything about this place felt so distinctly him: vibrant, alive, chaotic—and somehow, it always made your heart feel at ease. On days when the world seemed too heavy, when exhaustion clung to your bones like a second skin, or even on days when your heart was full to bursting with happiness, this was where you found yourself.

“Rafayel!” you called, your voice carrying through the disarray.

There was no response at first, just the faint rustling of papers somewhere deeper in the studio. Then, a muffled voice, drowsy and half-hearted: “Mmm… what is it? Just leave it on the counter…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You know, one of these days, I’m going to walk in and find you buried under all this paint,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you set the bag on the counter in the tiny kitchen space, careful not to knock over an open jar of brushes.

You made your way toward his bedroom, following the source of his sleepy mumblings. The door was slightly ajar, and when you pushed it open, your heart stuttered in your chest.

There he was, curled up under a rumpled duvet, his face half-buried in the pillow, soft wavy locks falling haphazardly across his forehead. He looked peaceful, his usual sharp edges smoothed out in the quiet vulnerability of sleep. The rise and fall of his chest was steady, rhythmic, lulling you into a moment of stillness. Your heart gave a little lurch, and your fingers twitched with the need to touch him, to just feel close to him for a second. You slowly crossed the room, the soft creak of the floorboards under your feet the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Rafayel didn’t stir, still lost in the depths of his sleep.

“Rafayel,” you whispered gently, your voice barely above a breath, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment too harshly. He didn’t respond. Not even a slight shift in his posture. He was deep in sleep, completely oblivious to the world around him.

You crouched beside the bed, your hand hovering above his arm, hesitating for just a moment before you placed it gently on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin radiated beneath the fabric of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat at the feel of him—so close, so tangible. Your touch was soft, just a light shake, meant to wake him without startling him too much.

But still, he didn’t wake. He just shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, his voice thick with sleep. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you watched him, your heart swelling in your chest. This was him. Carefree, a little bratty, but so easy to fall for. Even when he was asleep, you could see that side of him that you adored so much—the part of him that no one else saw.

“Rafayel,” you repeated, a little more insistently this time, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face as you leaned down slightly. His features softened in his sleep, and for a moment, you simply watched him, breathing in the quiet, wishing you could keep him here, in this moment, forever.

He remained blissfully unaware, sinking deeper into his cocoon of blankets, a faint sigh escaping his lips. You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling the corners of your eyes prickle with emotion. The intimacy of the scene, the quiet domesticity of it, filled you with an aching sort of joy and longing.

You really were in love with him.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The words tangled themselves in your throat, caught between fear and hope. What if he dismissed it with one of his trademark teasing quips? Or worse, what if he didn’t feel the same way?

But as you sat there, watching him sleep so peacefully, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if he did?

Sighing lightly, you shifted closer and sat at the edge of the bed, carefully brushing your fingers along his cheek. The familiar feeling of his soft skin, the heat of his presence even in sleep, made your chest tighten. You found yourself gazing at him, heart aching with the truth you hadn’t yet dared to voice.

This was it, wasn’t it? This was the moment. The moment you had been waiting for, even though it scared you.

You hadn’t planned for it. The words hadn’t been rehearsed in your mind, but they slipped out anyway, so natural and so real, as if they had always been waiting to be said.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet full of every emotion you had kept hidden for so long.

The words hung in the air, soft as the warm glow of the setting sun that filtered through the cracks in the blinds. I love you. The phrase had slipped from your lips almost without thinking, like it was always meant to be said in that moment. But as soon as they left you, your heart thudded in your chest, as if it recognized the enormity of the confession you had just made.

Your breath caught in your throat as a wave of panic washed over you. Had he heard? Had you really just said it out loud? The room suddenly felt too small, too intimate, as if the walls were pressing in, waiting for him to react.

You stood up quickly, a quiet flush creeping up your neck as you considered leaving the room before he could tease you about it—before the reality of your feelings could settle in. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but the last thing you anticipated was the sudden, sharp tug on your wrist.

With a startled yelp, you were pulled back onto the bed, landing softly on the plush duvet. A laugh—half playful, half lazy—escaped from Rafayel’s lips as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against him. His warmth enveloped you instantly, and his body pressed close behind you as he spooned you, his breath hot against your neck.

Your heart raced in your chest, pounding like a drum as your mind scrambled to catch up. He heard.

“I heard that,” he said, his voice low and controlled, a smirk lacing his words. There was no teasing, no mockery, just the barest trace of something... softer. “You… love me.”

You tried to pull away, your chest tightening, but his arm was an unyielding weight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers tightened around your wrist, holding you gently but firmly against him.

You froze, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as your skin prickled with both warmth and nervousness. You hadn’t thought he had heard it, not with how quiet it had been, how small your voice had been. You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"Y-you were dreaming," you muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through you. The next words that left his mouth were not teasing, not playful, but serious—intentional. "Then why does your heart feel like a fish swimming away in a current?"

The question was simple, but it made you freeze, your breath hitching as the truth of your feelings settled like a heavy weight in your chest. You couldn’t deny it. Not to him. Not anymore.

Before you could respond, his arm wrapped around you more tightly, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back. His face pressed into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp as he inhaled deeply, as if memorizing your scent.

He stayed there for a long moment, his body a comforting, grounding presence behind you. Then, with a soft, almost playful command, he spoke again.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice a little rough. “Say it again. I want to be sure.”

Your pulse raced. This was real now. There was no going back. His words, his presence, made the room feel smaller, but somehow safer, as if the world outside didn’t matter at this very moment.

You inhaled shakily, turning your head slightly to meet the fabric of the pillow, and in a breathless whisper, you said it again.

“I love you.”

The words felt different this time—stronger, more sure. As soon as they left your lips, you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you into his chest as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in your hair once more, his lips brushing against your ear.

"It took you long enough to admit it,” he teased, his voice laced with a bratty affection. “I’ve been waiting to hear that, you know."

You laughed softly, a nervous, relieved sound that trembled at the edges, but his tone shifted, the playfulness slipping away. His voice dropped to something much softer, much deeper, as he whispered against your ear. "But I've been waiting to hear that... for so long. Waiting to hear you."

Your chest tightened, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his heart steady and strong beneath you. “I love you too, so so much. You have no idea the things I would do for you... to keep you like this., in my arms.” he said, so quietly, as though he hadn’t said it out loud for fear of it being taken away, yet there was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation.

You didn’t know how long the silence stretched between you, but it felt like time itself had slowed to a crawl. The only sound in the room was the rhythm of your breathing, and the sound of your two hearts beating in perfect harmony, as if they had always been meant to beat together.

But you shifted, just a little, as if instinctively trying to move, to pull away—something in you telling you to give him space, even though you didn’t want to. He wasn’t having it.

"I’m not letting you go anywhere, cutie…" Rafayel murmured, his voice low and possessive. You were about to protest, to say something, but before you could, he tugged you even closer, trapping you against him, his arm locking around you like a vice. You felt a surge of warmth sweep through you, a sudden softness, and his voice came again, teasing, but this time with a gentle, almost adoring lilt.

"You can be my plushie for tonight," he said, a playful, lazy grin creeping into his tone, even though the words were laced with the kind of affection you rarely saw from him. "And the next night...and the night after...and forever more."

You didn’t argue. You didn’t want to. For tonight, for as long as this moment lasted, you could stay here, wrapped in his warmth, his scent, his arms.

And as you settled back against his chest, your heart still fluttering, you knew, with complete certainty, that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

#love and deepspace #lads #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #lads drabble #l&ds rafayel #l&ds #rafayel #oneshotswithlina #rafayel l&ds #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x you #rafayel oneshot #rafayel fluff #rafayel fanfic #reader x rafayel

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sturnioz · 2 days ago

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shy!matt feels something strange when he catches the scent of your new perfume.

you carefully unwrap your new package, a smile spreading across your face as you tug at the deep crimson ribbon that adorns the box. with a gentle pop, the lid lifts away, revealing the beautifully wrapped perfume bottle nestled inside a bed of soft tissue paper.

after weeks of saving—taking on extra shifts and resisting the impulses to spend money on little things you really didn't need—you finally have the perfume you've been dreaming about.

your co-workers bought it, your friends also bought it... you knew you had to treat yourself to it too.

setting the box aside, you lift the perfume bottle from its packaging, your fingers tracing the delicate, intricate designs etched into the glass. it's perfect.

eagerly, you remove the cap and bring the bottle to your nose for an experimental whiff, and a soft, delighted hum escapes your lips as the fragrance envelops you — a pleasing fruity and sweetness scent. it's intoxicating, and you can already tell it's going to become one of your favourites.

you bring the bottle to your neck, spritzing your skin lightly before applying a touch to your wrist. a soft smile spreads across your face as you neatly place the bottle on your vanity, keeping it close to your others.

standing up, you glide over to your bed, propping your back against the headboard as you pick up your phone to text your groupchat, letting your friends know that you've got the perfume.

just as you're absorbed in your message, the door to your bedroom gently swings open, and you don't need to look up to know who has entered; the familiar sound of matt closing the door behind him and the soft shuffle of his footsteps across the carpet echo in the air.

he drapes his jacket over your vanity chair before crawling carefully onto the bed, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you.

"hey, baby.." he greets you, his voice a quiet murmur as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering longer than usual.

you greet him back, expecting him to shift away and find his spot on the bed beside you. instead, he stays close, his face inching nearer to your neck, taking a few tentative sniffs.

his nose brushes against your skin, and a ticklish sensation ripples through you, making you giggle and momentarily forget about your phone.

"what are you doing?" you ask with a gentle laugh.

"what.. what is that?" he murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck. even as you lightly push him, he doesn't budge, remaining hovering over you. "what's that smell?"

"it's my new perfume," you explain softly, tilting your head slightly to try and meet his gaze. "do you like it?"

"yeah..." he whispers, and you catch the slight tremor in his voice, the way he swallows thickly as he leans in closer, his eyes darting away shyly. "s'really nice."

you're not surprised when matt positions himself above you, laying between your legs — but you are taken aback when you feel his cock press against you through your clothing, a warmth spreading where your bodies touch.

he avoids your gaze as always, and instead, he buries his flushed face in the crevice of your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to absorb your fragrance.

"matt?" you call out his name softly to get his attention.

"m'sorry.. smell too good. can't.. can't control m'self." he whines softly, his voice thick with desire and a hint of embarrassment as he clings to you, his breath fanning across your skin as he lets out a soft moan, his hips grinding against yours in an attempt to relieve the tension between his legs.

"it's okay, baby," you reassure him, your own heart thumping as your hands move up to cradle matt's head, threading your fingers through his hair as you hold him to you.

you hear him let out a shuddering exhale, his own hands sliding underneath your back as his cock strains against his jeans, pressing himself more firmly against you as his hips move in small, desperate circles, rubbing his aching cock along the length of your pajama shorts.

moans escape his lips, muffled by your skin, as he seems to lose himself in the sensation, his movements growing more urgent, his hips bucking against yours with increasing speed and desperation.

your body rocks against the bed, the springs squeaking beneath you, and you hear his whimpers and whines, mingling with the soft moans that leave your lips. the fabric of your clothes rub against each other, creating an exhilarating friction that has your own toes curling.

"o-oh my go-god," matt chokes, his voice straining. his arms tighten around you, gripping you as if to anchor himself as every thrust sends a shrill of pleasure through his body.

lost in the haze of his arousal, matt mouths at your neck, lazily kissing the skin, gasping as you arch your back, rocking your hips to meet his own movements which seems to tip him over the edge as he lets out a strangled cry, his body stiffening above you as the pressure inside him reaches its breaking point.

his hips jerk erratically, grinding against you as his orgasm hits — his cock throbbing and pulsing as cum spurts from his tip, soaking through the fabric of his underwear and jeans.

you let out a huff as matt collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you down to the mattress as he rides out the aftershocks of his release. you continue threading your fingers through his hair to coax him into relaxation as you hear him pant heavily, and he buries his face further in the crevice of your neck — you can feel his heart pound wildly in his chest.

a light smile spreads across your lips, moving one hand down to stroke his back as he trembles slightly, soothing him even more as you press a gentle kiss to his warm cheek.

as matt's breathing slows down, he gently pushes himself up onto shaking arms, gazing down at himself, seeing the damp patch on the front of his jeans and he lets out a choked whine, his face heating up even more.

"it's alright," you reassure him again, trying to meet his eyes but he avoids you as much as he can. you giggle softly, squeezing his arm. "c'mon.. let's get you cleaned up, baby."

#©sturnioz #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #☆ shy!matt #★ ⋮ sturniolo hours !#★ ⋮ matt hours !

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bloggerspam · 11 hours ago

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So, Christmas Break is a bust.

Danny and Tucker managed to find two separate bombs, of the 10 that Riddler had set up, and made it into a competition, per usual.

Sam and Val were taken, again per usual, as unwilling team-mates.

Mostly, they were there to fight off whatever goons they happened to come across as Danny and Tucker relished the riddles and games.

Danny and Tucker had both been elbow deep in the guts of their respective bombs, when Red Robin and Signal had shown up, and harangued them into backing off and disabling the bombs themselves.

Val and Sam were dismayed when Red Robin and Signal were also in a competition and were tied for one each as well.

Danny and Tucker were pouting the entire time the vigilantes were scolding them, and were even more dismayed to find out that the rest of the bat brood had dealt with the rest of the bombs whilst they were being scolded.

Red Robin was not happy to find out he had lost his competition because Danny was, and Val quotes, obstinate and terrible at listening to orders.

It turns out, Oracle is real (much to Tucker's delight) and was able to disable two bombs (much to Riddler's dismay) remotely before Blackbat went to pick them up.

Not that Val was eavesdropping or anything, from where she was sitting beside Tucker (Sam and Tucker were never on the same team, due to bickering).

The point is, Val and Sam had suffered the whining for the remainder of their break.

But Red Hood did find them after, Spoiler hanging back on the top of the roof, to ask them not to put themselves in danger.

It was both hilarious and cute. Like, resident Crime Lord say what?

But then again, Val had first row seat to how disgustingly smitten Jason was with Danny, so really, who was surprised? Not Val, that's for sure.

It was also hilarious to watch Red Hood perk up when Danny pulled out his phone to text Jason if he was safe and okay, only to be sad that he didn't have Jason's phone number.

Even more hilarious to watch Danny fanboy over Hood and have the crime lord be flustered as all hell with Spoiler cackle-laughing in the background.

But then night had descended, and Sam's errands still had to be done, so…

No time for Danny to go on a date.

All in all, not looking good for Operation: Putting that D in Danny. (Val would like it to be known that Tucker named the group chat, if only for her own dignity).

Val is still recovering from her definitely not tearfelt goodbyes from her friends when she rolls into work three days later.

Jay, in comparison, downright chipper.

This is, of course, sarcasm. But he's leagues better than Val, and she's more concerned about how lonely she feels and how many of her classmates' names she knows rather than think about how to get Danny laid.

(It's three names. Two of them are her dorm neighbors, and the other was forced to play an ice break game with her.)

That is, of course, until Jay stops her before she leaves after her shift with a hesitant call of her name.

"Yeah, bossman?" Val watches Jay jog over to her, fidgeting a bit before handing her a slip of paper. "What's this?"

"Could you pass that along to Danny?" Jay rubs the back of his neck, "It's my uh, phone number." His other hand lifts and drops as if unsure of what to do with itself before it settles on his hip.

Val smirks, folding the note--which clearly has more than just his number written on it--carefully into her bag. She makes a note to either take a picture or give it to Danny later, pulling out her phone to send off a message in a series of taps. She already had Jay's number after all, what with being her boss and coordinating shifts.

Jay flushes, the bridge of his nose getting that familiar splotchy red hue, groaning and no doubt about to admonish her for being so cheeky.

That is, until his phone immediately buzzes, and he whips it out with wide eyes and a broad smile once he sees who it is.

Val rolls her eyes, recognizing when she's lost someone to the world of romance. "See ya later, bossman. Don't stay up too late."

And though she's only going back to her empty dorm room, Jay's smiling face and Danny's string of heart-covered emojis and thanks bolster her up enough to not feel the chill quite as harshly.

She wonders if Jazz would be willing to get in on this plan, if it means Danny taking more breaks.

She wonders if it would be weirder for her to invite Steph to spar, or if one of her classmates would be willing to study together. That's how friendships start right?

…Maybe Danny could transfer to Gotham U next year, Val's rusty at making friends now, and he's always been a good buffer for social niceties. Midwestern boy manners and all that.

Besides, Wayne Enterprises has a very lucrative engineering scholarship program after all.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes.

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself.

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly?

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition.

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy.

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies.

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance.

All in All? It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all.

It's the little things.

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

Text

NNN - baker!matt - pregnancy cravings

Pregnancy had turned your cravings into tiny adventures — ones Matt never hesitated to take on. Every craving, no matter how specific or inconvenient, became a mission for him to make you happy. His dedication wasn’t just about food; it was about showing love in the sweetest way possible.

001 - Pretzel’s

It was just after midnight, and you were wide awake. You couldn’t get comfortable, shifting every minute until you finally gave up — staring at the ceiling. You tried to think of things to help you drift off for the night, matt’s sleeping figure next to you should’ve lulled you to sleep a while ago — but it didn’t.

But as you continued to look at the ceiling, a strong craving hit you like a lightning bolt — soft, warm pretzels. The kind sprinkled with coarse salt, dipped into cheese sauce, and melting in your mouth. You groaned, turning over in bed.

The action made Matt stirred beside you, his head turning to look at you as he blinked his eyes heavily. His sleepy voice breaking the silence after a moment. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he said, his voice rough.

You looked at him the best you could through the darkness in the room. “I can’t stop thinking about pretzels,” you admitted, feeling silly.

He raised a brow, a teasing smile forming on his lips. “Pretzels, huh?”

You nodded sheepishly, hating the fact that you woke Matt up now because of yourself. “Yeah, but it’s late. Forget I said anything.”

Matt shook his head, “Not a chance.” He said, slowly sitting up, rubbing his face before slipping out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “You’re getting pretzels.”

You sat up, watching him. The feeling of guilt starting to prick at your gut. “Matt, you don’t have to—”

He held up a hand, silencing you. “I’m not running out to some chain store. I’m making them for you, and they’re going to be better than anything you’d buy.” he said softly, turning to navigate through the room until he made his way out the door. You slipped out of bed yourself, slipping your slippers on as you followed behind.

You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he moved with sleepy but determined precision. He mixed flour, yeast, and water, kneading the dough with steady hands. After letting it rest, he shaped it into perfect twists, brushing them with butter and popping them into the over that was already heated.

The oven filled the kitchen with a warm, toasty aroma. Matt yawned but didn’t stop, whisking up a cheese sauce as the pretzels baked. When he finally pulled them out, their golden-brown color made your mouth water. He quickly sprinkled the coarse salt on top of them, then putting the cheese sauce into a bowl before plating it.

“Fresh and homemade,” he said, setting a plate in front of you. “What do you think?”

Quickly you dipped a piece into the cheese sauce and took a bite, moaning in delight. “These are amazing. You’re amazing.”

Matt chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Anything for my girls.”

002 - Pancake’s

It was the middle of the week, and the world was going about its day — but all you could think about were pancakes. Specifically, fluffy, golden pancakes topped with fresh berries and whipped cream. But you didn’t want just any pancakes; you wanted Matt’s pancakes.

When he came home from the bakery, you greeted him with an almost guilty expression. “Hey, babeee.” you sang, dragging out the pet name as you looked at him.

“What’s up?” he asked, setting his bag down and pulling you into a hug. His arms were strong and comforting, his clothes still smelling like the bakery which only triggered your craving even more.

Your face was pressed against his chest as you smiled. “I really want pancakes,” you blurted out against him, pulling back to tilt your head up.

Matt grinned. “Pancakes?” he teased, bringing his face down to press his lips against your temple in a soft kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled down at you. “I think i can do that baby.”

And soon enough, you followed him into the kitchen, watching as he tied on his favorite apron. He grabbed ingredients with practiced ease, pouring flour, sugar, and buttermilk into a mixing bowl. He whisked the batter until it was smooth and poured it onto a sizzling griddle.

You were always amazed at how easy it was for him to make such things in quick time — watching as Matt flipped the pancakes with precision. You sat there with your head in one of your hands, the other rubbing your swollen belly.

You loved watching him in his own environment, how happy he got even if it was to make the things you wanted. Soon enough, he plated a stack, layering them with berries and a generous swirl of whipped cream. Then, just because he knew you so well, he drizzled a little maple syrup over the top.

When he set the plate in front of you, your stomach practically growled. “These look better than a restaurant’s,” you said, digging in, groaning as the food hit your tastebuds.

“I love you so much.” you said, your words muffled by a bite of food. Matt chuckled, “I love you too baby..both of you.” he said, resting a hand against your stomach as you continued to eat.

003 - Cookie’s

You were curled up on the couch one evening, enjoying the show you had turned on the tv. Your hands instinctively rubbing small circles across your belly, gasping softly when you would feel the soft flutters and kicks against your hands.

When the craving hit: warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies — You could almost taste the melty chocolate and buttery dough, the thought consuming your mind. But, you wanted Matt’s homemade cookies.

Your head turned in the direction to where Matt was sitting, his nose buried in the pages of a book. “Matt baby?” you spoke, the sudden noise startling him slightly, making him look up from his book.

He gently set the book down with a knowing smile. “Yeah sweetheart?” he said, slowly getting up and making his way over to you, crouching in front of your sitting figure. “Can you make cookies?..but not any kind, chocolate chip ones?” you asked shyly — it was still hard to ask for things a little.

Matt nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Of course i can baby, anything for you.” Without another word, he got up and headed to the kitchen.

You stayed in your spot on the couch, too warm and comfortable to move and the thought of ruining your comfort made you cringe. You could hear the sound of bowls and trays clinking, along with measuring cups and ingredients being poured into the bowls.

As the cookies started to bake, the smell filled the house, making your mouth water. “You should bottle that scent,” you teased as you spoke in the direction of the kitchen, loud enough for him to hear you. “I’d wear it as perfume.”

Matt’s laughter filtered into the living room, the sound of him pulling the tray out of the oven came right along with it. A few moments laster, he came back into the living room, holding a tray of breath golden brown cookies that looked delicious.

“Be careful baby, they’re still kind of hot.” he warned, and you acknowledged it, making sure to blow the cookie off before taking a bite out of it. The chocolate oozed, melting away in the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you said, closing your eyes. “These are better than I imagined.”

“Good,” Matt said, leaning down to steal a bite from your cookie. “Because I made enough to last you through the week.”

004 - Mac and Cheese

The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a cozy gray light over the living room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, but no amount of cozy could compete with the craving that had been building for hours: mac and cheese. Not just any mac and cheese—Matt’s mac and cheese. The kind that was creamy, cheesy, and baked with that perfectly crispy breadcrumb topping. Just thinking about it made your stomach rumble.

Matt walked into the room, drying his hair with a towel from showering just moments ago. He noticed the way you were staring out the window, looking distracted.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked, leaning against the arm of the couch.

You sighed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I want your baked mac and cheese.”

His face lit up, his grin soft and knowing. “Mac and cheese, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. “But only the baked one with the crunchy topping. You make it the best.”

“Well,” he said, pulling the blanket off your lap and giving your belly a quick rub, “you’re lucky I love you, because I wasn’t planning on cooking today. But how can I say no to my girls?”

You followed him into the kitchen, settling at the counter as he began pulling out ingredients. Watching Matt cook was always mesmerizing — he moved with such precision, each movement purposeful and confident. He tied on his apron and shot you a playful wink before getting to work.

First, he boiled a pot of water and tossed in the pasta, his favorite brand of elbow macaroni. While that cooked, he set up a saucepan to make the cheese sauce. You watched as he melted butter, whisked in flour to create a roux, and then gradually poured in milk, his wrist moving smoothly as the sauce thickened.

“This is where the magic happens,” he said, grinning as he reached for blocks of cheese. He grated a mix of sharp cheddar, mozzarella, and Parmesan, folding them into the sauce with care. The cheese melted into silky, golden perfection, and he dipped a spoon in for a taste.

“Want to try?” he asked, holding the spoon out to you.

You leaned forward, blowing on the sauce before tasting it. The richness of the cheese mixed with the creamy texture made your eyes close in satisfaction. “That’s amazing,” you murmured, licking your lips.

Matt chuckled. “Good. It’s about to get better.”

Once the pasta was drained, he tossed it into the cheese sauce, folding it together until every piece was coated. The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering smell of melted cheese as he poured the mixture into a baking dish. Then came your favorite part: the topping. Matt mixed breadcrumbs with a little melted butter and a pinch of Parmesan, sprinkling it evenly over the top.

“This is what makes it the best,” he said, smoothing out the topping with the back of a spoon.

Into the oven it went, and the wait felt like an eternity. The two of you stood in the kitchen, chatting about your day, but your eyes kept flicking to the oven, waiting for the top to turn golden and crispy.

Finally, the timer dinged, and Matt pulled the dish out with a flourish. The mac and cheese bubbled at the edges, the breadcrumbs perfectly golden. He set it on the counter, letting it cool for a moment before serving you a bowl.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sliding the bowl toward you.

You didn’t care about the heat. You dug your fork in, pulling up a cheesy, crispy bite and blowing on it quickly before popping it into your mouth. The combination of creamy pasta and crunchy topping was everything you’d dreamed of. You let out a satisfied groan, resting your hand on your belly. “Matt, this is ridiculous. How are you this good?”

He leaned against the counter, watching you with a smug grin. “Years of practice — and a little extra love just for you.”

You took another bite, savoring it before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

Matt laughed, reaching over to brush a kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I plan on spoiling you like this for the rest of our lives.”

That night, curled up on the couch with Matt beside you and a second helping of mac and cheese in your bowl, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about the love and care behind every bite. And with Matt, there was no shortage of that.

a/n : ik this is a little different but this was the only way i could see it in my head. also i was going to write a 5th one but then didn’t. but enjoy these!!

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capquinn · 2 days ago

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Dad!Quinn takes his daughter out for the day to spend some time together while mom is taking care of the newborn. Maybe he takes her to get the new doll she’s been wanting or something as a present for being such a great big sister and helping out while he was on the road right after their son was born. They go out to lunch and she gets excited when he says she can order anything on the menu, including ice cream for dessert! Just a wholesome daddy and daughter day! ☺️

The day started early, Quinn slipping out of the house with his daughter’s tiny hand clasped in his own, her giggles trailing behind them as they whispered their goodbyes so they wouldn’t wake her baby brother. She was bundled up in her favourite coat, her glittery sneakers flashing with each excited bounce as they headed toward the car.

“Where are we going, daddy?” she asked, her wide eyes peeking up at him, already brimming with excitement.

“It’s a surprise,” Quinn replied, grinning as he buckled her into her car seat. “But I think you’re gonna like it.”

He had planned this day for weeks, wanting to carve out something just for her — a moment where it could be the two of them again after the whirlwind arrival of her baby brother and the chaos of balancing work and family. She’d been a trooper through it all, her small hands helping in ways that tugged at his heart, her patience and sweetness never faltering. She was already the doting big sister, cradling her brother’s tiny hand whenever she had the chance with a tenderness that made his chest ache. Today wasn’t about spoiling her; it was about showing her just how much he saw her.

Their first stop was the toy store, and the moment they stepped inside, Bug’s face lit up with pure, unfiltered excitement. Her eyes darted across the towering shelves overflowing with brightly coloured boxes, a kaleidoscope of possibilities. Still, she didn’t hesitate — she knew exactly where she wanted to go, her tiny feet carrying her with purpose toward the aisle she had dreamed about for weeks.

“The dolls, daddy, quick!” she squealed, tugging his hand toward the aisle she’d clearly memorised from their previous visits.

Quinn followed close behind, a smile tugging at his lips as Bug made a beeline for the shelf. Her little hands reached out with determination, grasping the doll she’d been talking about for weeks — a princess with shimmering hair and a dress that sparkled like starlight. She turned to him, holding it up as though presenting a treasure, her grin so wide it nearly outshone the doll.

“Look!” she said, her voice brimming with pride.

He crouched down to her level, tilting his head and pretending to inspect the doll seriously.

“Hmm,” he said, his tone teasing. “You sure this is the one? She’s got nice shoes, but… doesn’t she need a crown?”

Bug’s little gasp was immediate, her brow furrowing in a mix of offence and uncertainty as she turned the box around, double-checking as if she needed to be absolutely sure.

“Daddy, she does have a crown!” she said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of indignation as her finger shot up to point. “Look, right there!”

He feigned surprise, his hand coming up to rub his chin thoughtfully. “Ohhh, you’re right. Silly me,” he said, nodding. “Alright, Bug. She’s yours.”

Her triumphant grin could have lit up the entire store as she hugged the box tightly to her chest, the princess doll already her new best friend. He followed her as she practically skipped toward the register, her sneakers lighting up with each step, his heart full as he watched her delight unfold.

But then, as they passed another aisle, she slowed. Her gaze snagged on a shelf filled with stuffed animals, and she let out a tiny, audible gasp. He didn’t even have to look to know what had caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide and fixed on a soft, floppy bunny with long ears and a pink bow tied snugly around its neck.

“Daddy…” Her voice was quieter now, a hesitant sweetness lacing the word as she turned to face him. Her expression — those big, hopeful eyes and the slight tilt of her head — was enough to make his chest ache.

He sighed internally, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Bug…” he began, trying to sound firm but already failing as she hugged the doll a little tighter, like an ace up her sleeve.

“But it’s so cute,” she said softly, her voice full of innocence and wonder, as though the bunny were the most magical thing in the world. “She could have tea parties with the princess.”

Quinn rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between her and the bunny, his resolve crumbling faster than he cared to admit. He crouched down to her level, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“You know you’re really good at this, right?” he said, his voice tinged with mock exasperation, though the warmth in his tone betrayed him.

She blinked at him, her grin starting to grow as she realised she had him.

“Please, daddy?” she whispered, leaning just the tiniest bit closer, her glittery sneakers rocking on the balls of her feet.

With a quiet laugh, Quinn reached for the bunny and placed it in her small hands. “Alright,” he said, shaking his head as she squealed with delight. “But no more surprises, okay?”

“Okay!” she chirped, clutching the bunny to her chest alongside the doll. Her face was so bright, so full of joy, that Quinn couldn’t help but smile as he stood back up.

“You know you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” he muttered as he led her to the register.

She giggled, skipping alongside him as her treasures jostled in her arms. Quinn shook his head fondly.

Yeah, she knew. She absolutely knew.

The rest of the day unfolded like a collection of small, perfect moments — the kind only a three-year-old could conjure. Lunch at her favourite diner was the sort of outing Quinn knew she’d talk about for days, recounting every detail in her sing-song voice to whoever would listen. The diner itself was a cheerful little spot with checkered floors and booths that squeaked when you slid into them, the scent of syrup and fresh coffee hanging in the air.

Bug scrambled onto the booth seat, her glittery sneakers thumping against the vinyl as she tried to settle in. She grabbed the laminated menu with both hands, holding it up like she was deciphering a treasure map. Quinn watched, amused, as her brows furrowed in concentration.

“Do you know what you want?” Quinn asked, sliding into the seat across from her, the menu already in his hands.

She shook her head quickly, her little frown exaggerated and serious, though the sparkle in her eyes made her excitement shine.

“I don’t know the words,” she said, placing the menu flat on the table with an air of finality, as if it was his responsibility to figure it out.

“Okay,” he replied with a grin, leaning forward and pretending to study the menu with great care. “Let’s see… There’s waffles, chicken fingers, grilled cheese, a burger, or…” He paused for effect, letting his eyes peek over the top of the menu to meet hers, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “…pancakes.”

Her whole face lit up, a gasp escaping her lips. “Pancakes!” she declared, her voice loud enough to make a nearby diner chuckle. “With sprinkles! And whipped cream!”

Quinn smirked, lowering the menu and raising an eyebrow. “You don’t want ice cream today?”

Her grin widened, her head bobbing in enthusiastic agreement, as if the very idea of adding ice cream was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard. “Ice cream, too!” she said, her hands clapping together in delight.

“Pancakes, whipped cream, sprinkles, and ice cream,” he repeated with mock seriousness, leaning back in his seat. “You’re going all out today, huh?”

After lunch, the two of them ended up at the park — a quiet one with wide, open fields and a small playground tucked into the corner. The sun warmed the crisp afternoon air, and Bug immediately kicked off her sneakers, running barefoot through the grass with her doll in tow. Quinn followed at a slower pace, his hands in his pockets as he watched her dart back and forth, her giggles carrying on the breeze.

When she finally tired out, she ran back to him, her arms outstretched.

“Up, Daddy!” she called, and he crouched to scoop her up, settling her easily on his hip. Her cheeks were rosy from the running, her curls sticking to her forehead, but her smile was as bright as ever.

As they strolled back to a nearby bench, she rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt.

“Daddy?” she murmured.

“Yeah, Bug?”

She sat up a little, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think Cub likes me?”

Quinn blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in her tone. He adjusted his grip on her and sat down, settling her on his lap.

“Likes you?” he repeated, the words catching slightly as he processed her question. The simplicity of it tugged at something deep in his chest, a raw tenderness he hadn’t quite expected. Bug, his brave, funny, curious little girl, with so much love to give, was already wondering if she was enough. The thought made his grip on her tighten slightly, protectively.

How could she not know? He had seen it in the way her tiny hands cradled her brother’s even tinier ones, the way she whispered to him in that soft, singsong voice she used only for him. She adored her baby brother, and he knew without a doubt that love would only grow.

“Bug, he loves you,” Quinn said, his voice steady but full of warmth. “You’re his big sister.”

“But he’s so little,” she said, frowning slightly. “He just cries and sleeps. What if he doesn’t know I’m his big sister?”

Quinn smiled softly, brushing a stray curl from her face. Her thoughtfulness always caught him off guard, the way she tried to make sense of things so much bigger than her tiny frame.

“Oh, he knows,” he said softly, his voice steady with reassurance. “Every time you hold his hand, or sit next to him, or tell him all those stories — you’re showing him. He might not be able to say it yet, but he knows. And when he gets bigger, you’ll be his favourite person in the whole wide world.”

Her eyes brightened at that, her lips curving into the beginnings of a smile.

“Really?” she asked, her voice full of cautious hope.

“Really,” Quinn said, his tone warm but firm. “You’re already the best big sister. Mom and I see how much you love him, and he will too.”

She stared at him for a moment, her smile growing as she processed his words. Then, in the way only she could, she threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of the kind of unwavering trust that only a little girl could place in her dad.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sun was just beginning to set, casting the house in a warm, golden glow. Quinn turned off the engine, letting out a quiet sigh as he glanced in the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Bug clutched her new doll tightly to her chest, her head resting against the car seat, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy from the excitement of the day. Her hair was slightly mussed, her glittery sneakers dangling lazily, and the sight made Quinn’s chest tighten with affection.

“You okay, Bug?” he asked softly, twisting in his seat to look at her.

She blinked slowly, her lips curving into a small, tired smile.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice softer than it had been all day.

He got out and circled the car, opening her door and carefully unbuckling her from the seat. She leaned into him immediately, her small arms wrapping loosely around his neck as he lifted her up. The doll was squished between them, and he had to stifle a laugh at how seriously she protected it, even in her sleepiness.

“Did you have fun today?” he asked as he carried her inside, her weight resting heavily against his chest.

She nodded, her face pressed to his shoulder. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Quinn’s breath hitched slightly, her words hitting him square in the chest. He paused in the hallway, his arms tightening around her just a little.

“I think you’re pretty great too, Bug,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, her sleepy eyes sparkling.

“You’re my best friend,” she said quietly, her tiny hand lifting to rest against his cheek, her touch so gentle yet filled with a sincerity that made something in his chest tighten and ache. Then, with a softness only she could manage, she leaned in, wrapping her little arms around his neck, her head tucking against his shoulder as if it were where she belonged.

And for Quinn, that was exactly where she belonged — safe in his arms, her tiny frame pressed close, her trust and love so freely given. In moments like this, the weight of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only her — the one who had redefined everything for him, who had made him realise just how much love a heart could hold.

He stood there in the quiet hallway, holding her as the moment stretched out, his arms tightening just slightly around her tiny frame. She smelled faintly of syrup and sunshine, and the warmth of her small frame against his filled him with a peace so profound it seemed to settle into every corner of his being. His little girl, his Bug. She had no idea just how much she meant to him.

“You’re mine too,” he murmured finally, his voice soft but carrying a weight that matched the depth of the moment.

She’d said it a million times before, but now, in her quietest, most unguarded state, he could feel the truth of her words settle into his chest.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for just a moment before he pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were heavy with sleep now, her grip on him loosening slightly, but the tiny smile on her face said everything.

“Come on, best friend,” he whispered with a soft smile, shifting her gently in his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”

#PLS he's a girl dad through and through i will die on this hill #dad!quinn #capquinn’s requests

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wantondoe · 21 hours ago

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Wakey wakey

PART 2 FOR "Sleep tight, dear"

Hazbin Hotel, Alastor x doe reader, fluff

Plot in a nutshell: Alastor finally reunites with his darling doe (you) after her long hibernation. Shoutout to @luc1dw0rld for the ideas. Now, get cozy...

Ever since you fell into your deep slumber, the hibernation, Alastor had been struggling. In fact, suffering immensely was a more accurate way to put it. He hadn't been able to keep up his charming and confident persona like before. Instead, he would snap at anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He'd get pissy when someone would mention your name or joke about you never waking up from the hibernation.

Alastor spend his days working, hoping to create a distraction from his emotional turmoil. During dinners with the hotel staff, he's keep staring at the empty chair next to his, a clear reminder of your absence.

He counted days for your awakening. He'd meticulously plan the perfect meal for you when you'd wake up. He'd see if the bathroom was in a perfect condition for a warm, relaxing bath after you'd wake up. He assembled the shampoo bottles and soap bars on the nearby stool and folded two soft towels near the tub.

Alastor never imagined he's do this to anyone, acting like a servant. But when it came to you, he'd even wash your feet with his shirt. He'd do anything for your well-being.

Ever since the hotel was miserably destroyed in the extermination attack, Alastor had made sure to add an extra wing during the rebuilding. See, Alastor had a vision. He wanted for you to have a private room for the hibernation. He still remembers when you two walked down the aisle as he covered your eyes.

"Are we there yet?" you had asked excitedly.

"Just a few more steps, darling", he had whispered, his voice almost seductive. He had kicked the door open and moved his large hands away from your eyes, earning a delighted gasp from you.

Now he was walking down that short aisle, excited to see if you would already be awake. Today was the day. He carefully opened the door, revealing a spacious bedroom with a nice bathroom attached to it. The windows let in some light. With a snap of his fingers, the small lamps and fairy lights lit up, creating a comforting atmosphere. He carefully moved closer to the bed.

There you were, his dearest doe, resting on the makeshift bed. Alastor moved closer, seeing your body rise and fall peacefully. Your soft cheeks were a lovely shade of pink and not pale like earlier. He reached out to touch your smaller hand, smiling fondly at the warmth. You were waking up.

Alastor's red eyes filled with love and adoration as he stared down at your sleeping face, his heart aching to see your beautiful eyes open again. He hummed quietly as he moved his clawed fingers on your head, combing them through your hair. He's stay next to you on the nest, he was confident to stay until you woke up, even if it meant staying there for the whole day.

He wouldn't want to miss your awakening, after all. Alastor's heart ached at the thought of you waking up alone, hungry and sweaty. So, he stayed.

The day went on quickly and Alastor was getting slightly concerned as you still hadn't woken up. His brows furrowed, he tried to come up with ways to wake you up. At one point, Angel Dust peeked in the room, his grin wide.

"So, is the doe awake yet? No?" the arachnid asked, raising a brow.

Alastor huffed in annoyance. There was a reason why he had build a whole wing for your hibernation room. He didn't want to deal with the others, he only wanted to be with you.

"Very kind of you to check up on us", Alastor responded, his static voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey charmer, try kissing her on the lips", Angel mocked, "it worked in Sleeping Beauty after all!"

"You little- That's silly!" Alastor snapped, his face heating up.

"Well, best of luck with that!" Angel winked an eye and left before the Radio Demon could come up with a comeback. Alastor rolled his eyes. Of course the wanton pornstar would splutter nonsense like that... Alastor would never take advantage of you while you were in such a vulnerable state, never!

Even though, he couldn't deny that your lips did look rather inviting. He felt utterly silly doing this, but he carefully placed his lips onto yours. His kiss was gentle, even divine, as ironic as it was. After all, he was just a bloodthirsty overlord, trying to romance you in Hell.

He carefully pulled away, hoping to see you react. But there was nothing, of course. He mentally smacked himself for believing that his kiss would actually do something. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling with a puzzled look. Alastor wasn't a particularly patient demon and he was getting frustrated waiting for you to wake up-

His heart almost stopped as he felt a familiar touch on his hand. The gentle touch was loving, the smaller fingers wrapping around his. His eyes widened and he slowly turned his head to face you.

Your beautiful eyes fluttered open, your doe ears perking up as you woke up. Alastor quickly turned back on his side, reaching for your head, holding it carefully. "There you go darling... Take your time, there's no rush... You're doing so well. I'm here for you", he cooed softly. "My my don't you look lovely..."

His heart fluttered as you smiled weakly, your eyes gazing at him. "Hey..." you say weekly, your mouth dry from the long hibernation. Alastor noticed the discomfort and immediately summoned fresh water for you helping you sit up. He carefully moved your fragile body to sit up before bringing the water glass to your lips.

After your mouth didn't feel like sandpaper anymore, you started talking again. Your voice was like music to his ears. He had missed your voice more than you could ever know.

Alastor found himself all emotional, seeing you so responsive again. He wouldn't stop hugging you, possessively pinning you down on the makeshift nest. A low growl escaped his lips as he inhaled your lovely scent.

You giggled lightheartedly, hugging him back. " Calm down, I'm not going anywhere."

"I missed you so much", he mumbled on your neck. "Nothing felt the same without you", he mumbled in your neck. He ran his long fingers along your hair and occasionally rubbed the base of your doe ears.

"You're so cute like this", you giggle, teasingly poking his nose.

"I'm not cute", he argued.

"But you are! You're my silly, cute little buck!" you teased as Alastor was secretly enjoying the way your hands played with his red strands.

Alastor would never admit it to anyone, but he did find your teasing and silly nicknames extremely endearing. He let out a content sigh. He had missed this, he had missed you.

"Thank you for taking care of me during the hibernation", you look into his eyes with genuine gratitude. His crimson pools stared back at you, full on adoration and tenderness.

"Of course, darling. Anything for MY doe..."

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x doe reader #alastor x reader fanfiction #alastor x reader fluff

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mydearestbeloved · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 20 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo expected a simple meeting.

The kind of meeting he had grown used to—just you, him, your butterflies, and his shadows. He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of today’s talk, but he knew it would be significant. So, imagine his surprise when, upon entering your shop, he was greeted not by you, but by a stunningly elegant woman clad in a mix of black and white, bowing deeply.

“Greetings, Sire,” she said, her voice calm yet warm. “It’s been a while. I hope Sir Jinwoo and his family have been well.”

Jinwoo blinked. That voice—so familiar. And that crimson hair, a vivid shade identical to that of one of your butterflies. He froze, a realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

“R-Red?” His voice faltered, disbelief clear in his tone.

The woman straightened, her fiery red eyes gleaming with unmistakable delight. “It truly is a pleasure to introduce myself to you properly now, Sire.”

She smiled brighter, and Jinwoo noted how similar it was to the glow your crimson butterfly displayed whenever it radiated happiness. She looked radiant, regal even, yet there was a gentle familiarity in her demeanor. Before he could say anything else, Igris’s shadowy form flickered out from his side, curiosity practically pouring off the knight’s ethereal figure.

“Oh, hello to you too, Sir Igris!” Red beamed, inclining her head toward him.

Igris stood motionless, the faintest tilt of his helm suggesting his own shock. Jinwoo didn’t know what was more surreal—the fact that one of your butterflies was now a person or the fact that she was now speaking to Igris like an old friend.

Then, he spotted you emerging from a doorway at the back of the shop, carrying a small box. Relief surged through him—finally, someone who could explain. He turned, and before he could stop himself, he fixed you with a very pointed, very intense stare.

You sweatdropped as you took in the scene: Jinwoo’s laser-focused expression, Red’s beaming aura, and Igris standing frozen while wearing what appeared to be a flower crown, likely crafted by Red.

“Stop glaring at me, Jinwoo,” you said, exasperated yet amused. “I’ll explain, seriously.”

---

The four of you eventually settled at a table in your shop’s small sitting area. Red served the drinks—tea for you, coffee for Jinwoo—before bowing again and stepping back to stand near Igris. Jinwoo’s eyes flicked between her and Igris, noting how her movements seemed to mimic those of her butterfly form—graceful, purposeful, almost weightless.

“So,” Jinwoo began, breaking the silence, “you can level up again now?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“And your butterflies?” His gaze briefly darted to Red, who had taken a seat next to Igris and was now carefully braiding strands of crimson into the ethereal knight’s shadowy figure. Jinwoo had to fight the urge to rub his temples.

“The adult stage unlocked after I completed my ascension quest,” you explained, your tone calm and professional. “Once my children max out their pupa stage, they can ascend to a more corporeal form and gain autonomy. Red here was one of the first to make the leap.”

Jinwoo flinched slightly at the mention of the ascension quest and, by extension, the demon castle. The memory of you nearly collapsing in that fight still lingered in the back of his mind. But something else about your words caught his attention.

“What’s your level now?” he asked, feeling a mix of curiosity and dread.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers brushing against the edge of your teacup. “I’m at level 150—”

Jinwoo exhaled, his pride slightly bruised but still intact. The gap was significant, but manageable. He’d just have to push harder—

“—last time.”

His mind screeched to a halt. “What?”

You fidgeted ever so slightly, a rare break in your normally composed demeanor. “Well, the system gave me cumulative EXP from all my previous quests. So, right now, I’m at level 200.”

Smack!

The sound of Jinwoo’s face meeting the table echoed through the room. You froze, startled. “Jinwoo?”

He didn’t answer, his arms now folded over his head as if to shield himself from the reality of your words. Even Igris seemed to flinch at the noise, the flower crown slipping slightly askew as Red stared on in muted curiosity.

With a sigh, you got up and walked over to Jinwoo’s slumped form. Gently, you ran your fingers through his hair, the soothing gesture a habit you’d picked up over the months. “Hey, it’s okay,” you murmured softly. “I’ve had years under the system and five years leveling up in an S-rank dungeon. Considering how fast you’re progressing, you’re doing amazing.”

Your hand stilled when Jinwoo’s fingers wrapped around it, his grip firm but not overwhelming. Slowly, he raised his head, his face still half-hidden in the crook of his arm. His ears were red, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes—half-lidded and glassy—refused to meet yours.

Oh my, you thought, struggling not to squeal internally. Is he… embarrassed?

Before you could tease him further, a familiar presence flickered at the edge of your mind. Your butterfly, Trick, spoke urgently: Mother! Miss Hae-In is—!

Simultaneously, Jinwoo’s gaze snapped to the distance, his expression turning serious. “You’re not coming?” he asked, though his tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

“No,” you replied softly. For a moment, you wanted to say more, to explain why, but you stopped yourself. Instead, you smiled at him, a look of quiet confidence and certainty.

“Then wait for me,” Jinwoo said, his hand tightening around yours before he leaned down to place a light kiss on your knuckles. His dark eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with an intensity that left your heart skipping a beat.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

He vanished into the shadows moments later, Igris trailing after him—but not before offering Red a small wave, which she returned with a subtle, wistful smile.

---

As silence returned to the room, you exhaled slowly, a strange determination settling in your chest. Red stepped up beside you, her expression now calm but expectant.

“Now then,” you said, setting your teacup down with a resolute clink. “Shall we see what these new powers can do?”

---

Jinwoo stood over the body of the Ant King, its grotesque form crumbling into ash under the weight of his shadows. But his focus wasn't on his victory. Instead, his eyes darted to the figure lying prone on the sandy ground. Cha Hae-In's body lay lifeless, save for the faint, flickering aura of a silver butterfly perched delicately on her cheek. It pulsed softly, a quiet rhythm that echoed her waning heartbeat.

The butterfly, one of yours. Jinwoo clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him.

"Why didn't she heal her completely?" Jinwoo muttered under his breath. You could’ve saved Cha Hae-In without breaking a sweat, yet you didn’t. His mind raced for answers. Was it the system? Had it restrained you again, as it so often did? Or… was there another reason?

His thoughts were cut short by the labored breathing of Hunter Cha. Jinwoo's jaw tightened. If you weren’t going to intervene fully, then it was up to him to finish what you'd started. You trusted him, didn’t you? He’d never failed you before—and he wasn’t about to start now.

The silver butterfly pulsed brighter, a soft hum that seemed to whisper, Hurry.

---

When Min Byung-Gyu opened his eyes, he was certain he should not have been able to. The last thing he remembered was the Ant King’s claws ripping through his body, the searing pain of his life slipping away. Yet here he stood, whole and unblemished, surrounded by a surreal, ethereal landscape.

The ground beneath him was soft, a mosaic of red spider lilies swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze. Their vibrant petals bled into a shallow pool of water, so pristine it mirrored the heavens above. Stars twinkled against the deep navy expanse of the sky, a sight unmarred by clouds or smoke.

And in the center of this dreamlike domain stood a figure cloaked in flowing white, her silhouette blurred at the edges as if dissolving into the glimmering butterflies that surrounded her. Her face was partially veiled, her lips and the tip of her nose visible beneath the translucent fabric.

"You really are a warm person," came her voice—soft, serene, and achingly familiar.

Byung-Gyu turned toward her, his eyes widening. That aura... that presence. It was healing, nurturing, and yet... unearthly. His heart told him he was in the presence of something divine, but his instincts as a healer told him this figure was no god. She was something more. Something human.

The woman smiled faintly, though there was a certain weight in her tone. "Would you like to return alive?"

Her words took him by surprise. Byung-Gyu took a step back, glancing down at his hands. His last memory was of his death—there was no mistaking it.

"I... What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly.

"I can give you a second chance to live," the woman replied. Her voice was unwavering, yet there was a detachment to it, as if she were merely relaying a message. "I think you deserve it. However, it’s not up to me to decide."

Byung-Gyu’s brows furrowed. He could feel the warmth emanating from her, yet there was something distant about her gaze.

"You have a strong sense of duty," she continued, her tone softening slightly. "But know this: if you accept my offer, you are to never step foot on the battlefield again. Even if your friends are in danger. Even if the world itself is ending. The moment you fight again, you will die."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap. Byung-Gyu’s lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came out. He stared at her, his mind swirling with questions, doubts, and fears. This woman—this being—spoke with an authority that was impossible to challenge. And yet, there was no malice in her decree.

“Would you accept?” She extended a hand toward him, her palm steady and unshaking.

Byung-Gyu hesitated, his gaze flickering between her hand and her veiled face. "If I accept…" His voice wavered, but he steadied himself. "Would you protect them in my stead?"

The woman stilled, her expression unreadable. Then, she gave a single nod. "I will stand by humanity’s side."

Byung-Gyu frowned. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. He wanted to hear her say she would fight for them, defend them tooth and nail, as he had. But deep down, he knew better. This figure wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a protector in the way he was.

Still, there was something in her aura—something profoundly human. It reminded him of a mother’s love: steadfast, unwavering, and all-encompassing.

"...I'll try my best," she added quietly, her voice softer now, tinged with an emotion he couldn’t place. "Even if you don’t accept."

And just like that, his doubts began to crumble. He didn’t know why, but he trusted her. Maybe it was her warmth, or perhaps it was the quiet resolve in her voice. Whatever the reason, Byung-Gyu felt a strange peace settle over him.

"Then…" He exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "I choose—"

A soft flutter interrupted him, and he turned his head. A single butterfly had landed on one of the spider lilies, its delicate wings glowing faintly in the starlight. It flitted up toward him, brushing past his cheek like a whisper before disappearing into the wind.

And in that moment, Byung-Gyu made his decision.

---

It was a miracle. There was no other way for Jinwoo to describe it.

The raid had concluded, and the air was heavy with the lingering tension of their battle against the Ant King. Cha Hae-In was stabilized but unconscious, cradled in Ma Dong-Wook’s arms, her condition precariously maintained by the shadow Min Byung-Gyu had become. Jinwoo, adhering to Baek Yoonho's heartfelt plea, had released the shadow of the fallen healer. For Jinwoo, it was an act of respect, honoring the wishes of the man who had given so much for humanity.

They were preparing to leave the cavern when a panicked shout rang out.

“S-Something is happening to Min Byung-Gyu's body!”

Jinwoo’s head snapped toward the source of the commotion. In the dim light of the cave, the sight unfolding before him was unmistakable: Byung-Gyu’s decapitated body was now enveloped in a radiant, otherworldly glow. The light was blinding, drowning out the cavern in pure white brilliance. Gasps echoed through the group as everyone shielded their eyes.

What the—” Jinwoo muttered, his instincts immediately going on high alert.

When the brilliance faded, Jinwoo and the others were left staring in stunned silence.

Min Byung-Gyu's body lay intact. Whole.

Not only had his previously severed head returned to its rightful place, but the wounds from the Ant King were gone. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his face peaceful as though waking from a restful sleep.

And then he stirred.

The collective shock in the cavern was almost tangible. No one moved or spoke, rooted to their spots as Min Byung-Gyu’s eyelids fluttered open.

He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Baek Yoonho, who stood frozen, eyes wide and trembling. Byung-Gyu’s expression softened as a faint smile spread across his lips.

“Hyung?”

The single word shattered the silence. Baek Yoonho staggered forward, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Byung-Gyu…” he finally choked out, his voice breaking.

It was a sight none of them could comprehend.

The others stared, their gazes flitting between Jinwoo and the revived healer. Choi Jong-In, Lim Tae-Gyu, Ma Dong-Wook, and even the A-rank reporter clutching his unpowered camera couldn’t hide their bewilderment. All eyes eventually settled on Jinwoo, silently demanding an explanation.

Jinwoo shook his head, signaling that he had nothing to do with it.

But inwardly, he knew. His sharp gaze caught the faint imprint of a butterfly at the base of Byung-Gyu’s neck, its golden shimmer unmistakable. It was your mark.

You had done this.

---

Later, when the others had left the cave to regroup and ensure Cha Hae-In received medical attention, Jinwoo lingered. He stood in the dim cavern, arms crossed, his shadowy aura faintly pulsing as he waited.

“You sure know how to make an entrance,” Jinwoo teased when the soft glow of silver butterflies appeared behind him, swirling gracefully before forming your familiar figure.

Your pout was immediate, and Jinwoo bit back a grin at how predictable you were. “You don’t need me, anyway,” you retorted with a sigh, brushing imaginary dust off your attire. “You have things under control.”

Jinwoo crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Did I?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “Because it sure felt like someone went out of their way to ensure things went a little smoother.”

Your expression faltered for a moment, and you glanced away. “I only stepped in when it was absolutely necessary,” you admitted. “Min Byung-Gyu deserved a second chance. And Hae-In...” You trailed off, your tone softening. “She’s a good person.” Jinwoo didn’t press further, sensing there was more you weren’t saying. Instead, you shifted the topic.

“Jinwoo, help me test something,” you said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.

He tilted his head, intrigued.

“I’ve been wondering why I keep accumulating experience even when the system doesn’t assign me quests anymore. You hog all the EXP and rewards,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

The jab hit its mark, but Jinwoo’s pride wouldn’t let it show. Instead, he smirked. “Maybe you just can’t keep up,” he said, his tone deliberately teasing.

Your unimpressed stare nearly made him laugh.

“And what do I get for helping you?” he asked, leaning slightly closer, curious about how far you’d go to win him over this time.

“What do you want?”

The question, spoken with such quiet sincerity, caught him off guard.

Your gaze was steady, unwavering, as if you had already anticipated his response. Jinwoo blinked, momentarily at a loss. Was it wrong that your willingness to offer him anything stung a little? Did you think so little of his intentions?

“…Dinner,” he muttered, almost too softly to be heard.

You frowned. “Pardon?”

He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tick you had come to recognize. “Join me for dinner,” he said more firmly, avoiding your eyes.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “You do realize that sounds like a date, right?”

The effect was immediate. Jinwoo stiffened, his composure cracking as he quickly tried to explain himself. You could practically see the gears in his head turning as he stumbled over his thoughts.

You let him flounder for a moment before cutting him off with a soft laugh. “I’m joking. Sure, why not?”

Relief flashed across his face, though it was quickly masked by a neutral expression. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but your easy acceptance left him feeling oddly... dissatisfied.

---

As you suspected, your theory proved correct. You gained experience not through direct combat but by supporting others. Assisting Jinwoo, boosting his shadows, and stabilizing Cha Hae-In had all contributed to your growing level.

Yet, Jinwoo’s mood throughout the ordeal was noticeably subdued. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a shadow of dejection in his eyes that even his loyal shadows couldn’t explain.

When you asked them, they only shrugged apologetically, as if to say, “We’re sorry, Lady (Name). We have no idea what’s troubling Our Liege.”

You rubbed your temples in frustration, your butterflies fluttering around you in a show of concern.

What has gotten into him now?

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [23/11/2024] -

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #only i level up #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo #yandere sung jinwoo #solo leveling fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader #fem reader

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ahhhhhhhghghhhgg · 16 hours ago

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Malleus x reader: Malleus is trying to ask reader out by using fae courting

TW: Malleus being adorable and you being oblivious, not proof read

The reader will just be referred to as you (like you yourself not Yuu)

You were making dinner for you and grim (or trying to with whatever you could scrounge up) when you heard some rustling outside your dorm, honestly you weren’t really surprised by the odd noise, it wasn’t uncommon for one of your friends to escape there house warden and show up at your door so you put down the bag of rice in your hand, went to your door, and opened it to find… nothing, well not exactly nothing just nobody. The only thing there was a small pile of shiny things like some coins a few pins and a particularly cool rock, you smiled and picked up the trinkets knowing exactly who had put them there, this had been happening for a few weeks now. You’d hear rustling and go out to check only to find a pile of shiny things. Now you knew it was none other than your friend Malleus, and you knew it was him because the first time this happened you looked around to find the culprit and saw him hiding in a nearby bush, you wouldn’t have been able to spot him if it weren’t for the two distinct horns coming out of the rather shaken up bush, you just giggled to yourself and and rolled your eyes as you picked up the gifts and then watched from a window as he scurried out of the bush and disappeared in a cloud of green. This wasn’t the only new behavior of your friend, in the past few weeks you had noticed he had been a lot more touchy, not that you minded, he’d rub his cheek on yours and nudge you lovingly, he’d want to cuddle more than usual and he’d often place your hands on his cheeks. He had also asked you to help him clean his horns (a very big step for fae, to touch one’s horns is very intimate) you of course agreed you’d lay his head in your lap as you gently scrubbed and polished his horns, you’d massage the base of his horns and his scalp too which he enjoyed very much. Malleus was aware you had no idea about fae courting however he assumed you’d catch on. (You didn’t) you loved Mall very much but you didn’t want to call you two anything other than friends incase Malleus didn’t feel the same, he on the other hand had assumed by now that you were already dating, after all you did accept all his gifts and physical affection, you had even been giving him gifts too! (Including a gargoyle plush you made for him) you only caught on when he finally made a VERY clearly romantic move…

You: *complaining about how you and grim have nowhere to go during school break*

Malleus: “child of man, why not just come with me to Briar Valley? I’m sure my grandmother would be delighted to meet my partner and you can even bring your large rat (Grim) with you”

You: “thank you Malmal! I’d love to come stay with you…”

You: “wait partner?????”

@orpydorpy

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!! I tried to do as much research on fae courting (especially dragons) as I could, and I’m really sorry if there is spelling errors I have dysgraphia so please forgive me 😭

#incorrect quotes #twst #disney twst #twst incorrect quotes #twst wonderland #tumblr milestone #twisted wonderland #twst malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twst x yuu funny #mallyuu #first fanfic #ahhhhhhhhhhhhh #i hope you like it #fae folk

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 2 days ago

Text

7:10 AM | Timestamp

Pairing: Dad!Jung Wooyoung x Mum!Reader Synopsis: Wooyoung's favourite girls surprise him for his birthday. Requested by: No one Warnings: I love writing girl!dad Wooyoung so much. Pregnancy. Word Count: 875

A/N: this ended up being longer than a timestamp so enjoy. This took longer to post because my laptop was playing up.

Wooyoung Masterlist | ATEEZ Masterlist | Taglist Sign-Up

"What's all this?" Y/N’s husband’s sleepy voice comes from behind her as she puts on the final touches of setting the table for breakfast.

Turning around, she sees Wooyoung gazing at her with wide, curious eyes, their six-year-old daughter beaming with excitement in his arms. Y/N gives her daughter a playful frown. The little girl had been eager to wake her father for his birthday surprise but she can’t fault her for it. Hae-young had no idea about the plan until Y/N had woken her up this morning, asking if she wanted to help surprise Daddy. There was no way Y/N would have spilled the beans to Hae-young before today. The little girl definitely inherited Wooyoung's yapping tendencies, making her terrible at keeping secrets. If she knew about what Y/N was planning earlier, the surprise would have been ruined.

"What do we say to Appa?" Y/N prompts Hae-young.

"Happy Birthday, Appa!" she exclaims joyfully, throwing her arms up in excitement, nearly making Wooyoung lose his hold on her.

Wooyoung's sleepy grin grows as he finally registers what's happening, his eyes moving from the beautifully decorated table with flowers, balloons, seaweed soup, a couple of gift bags, and a small homemade cake to the excited face of his daughter. "Did you do all this for me?"

"Eomma did, but I helped!" she proudly declares.

Y/N watches as Hae-young beams with pride. The sight of their daughter’s enthusiasm fills her with warmth, and she can’t help but smile back at them both. Wooyoung, still half-asleep but now fully engaged, his eyes sparkling with affection, praises his little girl for a job well done before pressing a kiss to her cheek and leaning forward to press a kiss on Y/N's check also.

Hae-young's laughter rings through the room like music, and Y/N feels her heart swell at the sight of her family.

"Come on, Appa! You have to open my gift first!" Hae-young tells him, wriggling her way out of her dad's hold before taking his hand, tugging him towards the table.

As soon as Wooyoung settles into his seat, Hae-young climbs onto his lap, reaching across the table for the larger black gift bag filled with all the things she picked out for him.

"What did you get for me?" he asks taking the bag, opening it and reaches inside. The first thing he pulls out a black toy stuffed cat, this one different to his Aniteez sitting in her room. This one has big, sparkling green eyes and a tiny pink bow around its neck. Wooyoung chuckles, holding it up for Hae-young to see. "A black cat? You know your Appa very well."

Hae-young giggles, clearly delighted with her choice of stuffed animal. "There's more, Appa."

"Is there?" he replies, reaching back into the bag and pulling out three smaller gifts. One is a new bottle of black nail polish that Hae-young insisted on getting after seeing Wooyoung's nails painted for the latest comeback. Another is a box featuring his favorite cologne, and the last looks like a jewellery box. He opens it to reveal a small, intricately designed keychain with a photo of her inside it. Wooyoung smiles recognizing the image. It was of Hae-young, beaming with joy, her hair tousled by the wind, standing on her grandparent’s front doorstep.

"Wow, Hae-young, I love it so much, I’m going to put it on my keys before I leave for work, so I can show all your uncles!" he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “they’re going to be so jealous!”

“Do you think so?” she asks hopeful.

“I know so,” he assures her. “Now, do you know what eomma got me?”

She takes a moment to think about it but shakes her head, no.

"Why don’t you go eat while I open eomma's gift, okay?" he suggests, shifting in his seat. She obediently moves to sit in the chair next to him.

Y/N picks up the small black gift bag and hands it to him. "It’s not much, but I hope you like it," she says, her voice tinged with nervousness. He looks at her with a hint of concern, takes the bag, and opens it. As he pulls out a box larger than the one containing the keychain, his eyes widen in surprise. Looking at her, a mix of excitement and hope fills his gaze.

"Is this for real?" he asks, glancing between the sonogram photo and the positive pregnancy test, then back at her.

"Yes," Y/N replies, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

In a burst of excitement, Wooyoung quickly stands from his chair, almost knocking it backwards, and wraps her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers. "I love you so much," he says in between kisses. "Best birthday ever," he adds when he pulls away enough to wipe her tears that had fallen, not realizing he has tears in his own eyes.

"Appa? Eomma? Is something wrong?" they hear Hae-young ask, her innocent curiosity breaking through the moment.

Wooyoung quickly wipes away the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, kneeling down to Hae-young's level. He glances at his wife before looking back at her. "Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. Appa's just having the best birthday he's ever had."

@staytiny2000 - @treehouse-mouse - @katzline - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1

@deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @everythingboutkpop - @oddracha - @http-gyu

@skittyneos - @pinkpunkdynamite - @keshivibes - @bookswillfindyouaway - @katsukis1wife

@jjoongstar - @arki-sha - @forever-atiny - @lixisoul99 - @do-you-remember-summer-127 -

@catzachvsvt - @ateez-atiny380 - @reayahnadeem24

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ladykailitha · 3 days ago

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Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 14

Here were at the penultimate chapter. Just one more chapter to go and I am so proud of this little story. I know I said that yesterday but it is just such a good story.

The final chapter will be up on Friday!

In this we a misunderstanding, Eddie gets advice from his new roommate, Dr. Hughes is a saint.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

*throws cliffhanger at you and runs!*

Steve had been to a lot of places when he competed but nothing was quite like London, England.

The city was massive for a start. And ancient in ways America just isn’t. Steve, Wayne, and Robin had book their flight through Gatwick instead of Heathrow to save on money and so they arrived ahead of the athletes. Which game them time to see a bit of the city.

Robin squealed with delight when she got to ride on the top of a double-decker bus.

“The only thing that would make this better is if it was purple and had a third level!” she said excitedly.

Max had introduced Robin to Harry Potter and there was no going back. She was a Ravenclaw of course. And a good portion of her clothes were in blue or silver. There was no way to get the original blue and bronze from the book for love or money, much to her dismay.

Wayne just shook his head. He didn’t veer far from his sports and shows, but he did enjoy a good British mystery. Him and Eddie watched Sherlock. Though, everyone watched Doctor Who religiously every Saturday on Steve’s big screen TV.

They traveled over the London Bridge, the real one and not the Tower Bridge that everyone confuses it to be. It’s a regular suspension bridge. Which Robin thought was lame.

They arrived at their hotel and Steve and Robin went into one room and Wayne went into the other. Once they were showered and changed, they went to go meet Eddie at the airport. They waited by the baggage claim for him to arrive.

They saw a bunch of athletes pile out of security and they jumped up and down trying to find in the crowd.

Wayne spotted him first. He waved his arm in the air. “Eddie!”

Those chocolate button eyes lit up as Eddie heard his name being called. Suddenly Steve and Robin were joining in and calling his name too.

He patted someone on the shoulder and trotted over to the three of them. He gave them all hugs.

“Can you believe it?” Eddie squealed. “The actual fucking Olympics. And all thanks to Stevie here, seeing my potential.”

Steve ducked his head to hide his blush. “I may have recognized your talent, but you’re the one who got you here.”

Eddie looked over his shoulder. “Look, guys. I’d love to stay and chat, but they want us to jump through hoops and shit, so I’ve got to go. But I’ll message you once I get the chance, okay?”

They all nodded and once Eddie got his luggage he was sprinting back to the other athletes.

“Well that was certainly something,” Robin said dryly, pursing her lips together. “I realize that he probably has to check in and stuff, but who was that guy he was chatting with before he noticed us?”

Steve’s stomach twisted as he tried to tell himself he had no claim to Eddie. Eddie was only twenty to his own twenty-six. It was good Eddie was meeting people his own age. Maybe... he gulped hard. Maybe find someone to have a fling with or even...He closed his eyes. He shook his head.

“Steve?” Robin asked breaking into his revery with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’ve been calling your name for a bit there. You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said with a blinding, and blindingly false smile. “Just hard to be here and not be competing, you know?”

Robin and Wayne shared a glance. They really hadn’t thought about that aspect of this trip. They had been so excited to see Eddie in the Olympics that they forgot that had Steve not been hurt last time, he would be with Eddie, getting his badge and room sorted. Instead of here with the family members.

“Sorry, Steve,” Robin murmured. “I feel like such a bad friend now.”

Steve shrugged her off. He looked at his watch. “I think I’m going to call Dr. Hughes.” He walked off in the direction of the exit, leaving behind a hurt Robin and a solemn Wayne.

Once he was out in open air, Steve felt like he could breathe again. The feelings for Eddie plus the weight of not being one of the athletes was just suddenly too much.

He chew on his thumbnail as he dialed Dr. Hughes. “Please pick up. Please pick up.”

“Hello, Steve,” Dr. Hughes said warmly. “I was expecting you to call today for I took the day off to be available to you.”

Steve slumped against the building wall and huffed out a watery laugh. “Am I really that predictable?”

“No, Steve,” Dr. Hughes assured him. “Trauma is that predictable. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, seeing Eddie standing where you stood four years ago. All hopes and dreams and to have them taken away from you so quickly. You’re allowed to grieve that. I’m proud of you for reaching out.”

“It’s just so heartbreaking,” Steve said, fighting back tears. “I thought I could be happy enough for Eddie. But I just want to shake him.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or, you know, kiss him.”

Dr. Hughes chuckled. “I was wondering when you were going to admit to that one. You’ve been pining after that boy for so long, Steve.”

“It’s unethical,” Steve huffed, tilting his head back until it hit the wall behind him. “I’m his coach and I’m six years older. I can’t be lusting over a twenty year old that I have authority over. I don’t want to lose him by being removed as his coach. I think that would devastate us both.”

“That’s certainly true,” he murmured. “But you aren’t his coach right now and it might be a good idea to at least confront those feelings and see where it takes you. You can always find someone else to coach him. Promote Robin. I’m sure she’d love that.”

Steve chuckle was a little watery this time. “Yeah, I don’t doubt it. She’d throw me under a bus if meant getting a fancy coaching jacket.”

Dr. Hughes chuckled back. “Well maybe toss in a bag of corn chips and then she’ll throw you under the bus.”

“Thanks Dr. Hughes,” Steve said, smiling now. “Will it be okay if I call you more during the next two weeks?”

“Fortnight,” Dr. Hughes said in amusement, “the British call two weeks a fortnight. But yes Steve you can call me at any time. Doesn’t matter the time, all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said breathing a sigh of relief. “Thanks again. And hopefully it won’t be too soon.”

“It wouldn’t matter if it was,” Dr. Hughes said gently. “Trauma is like a box with a button in it and a ball rotating around. At first the ball, life if you will, will keeping hitting the button. Over and over again. Then with time, therapy, and good support system the ball gets smaller and starts to ping off the sides and at odd times, often when you least expect it, the ball will hit the button.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Steve whined, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s like in ‘The Emperor’s New Groove’,” Dr. Hughes explained with a chuckle, “when the squirrel pops the balloon and nothing happens but when Kuzco yells Ha! it wakes the panthers. It’s a bit like that.”

“Oh okay,” he said. “I think I get it. Something bad will happen and you think it will trigger it but it doesn’t. Then something you thought you’d be fine with suddenly awakens the sleeping panthers?”

“That’s it exactly,” Dr. Hughes said approvingly. “You get some sleep and maybe a small snack, both will help with the feelings you have.”

“Thanks again,” Steve said and hung up. He looked up to see Wayne and Robin standing a respectful distance away. “Sorry about that, guys.”

“Don’t you be apologizing for being overwhelmed, you hear?” Wayne said dryly. “It’s not your fault we’re a pair of idiots.”

Robin came up and gave him a big hug. “Yeah. We’re really sorry. But you’ve got to tell us when you get these feelings, we can’t read your mind, okay?”

Steve nodded into her arms. “I’ll try to but sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere and I can’t control that.”

“Roger that!” she said with a sniffle. “I’m guessing just now was one of those moments where it just hit you?”

“Yeah,” he said letting out a shuddering breath. “I was watching Eddie laughing with his teammates and it just suddenly became too much.”

“You always were wet, Harrington,” a sneering voice said from behind them. “I just didn’t realize it was that bad.”

Steve turned around slowly. “Billy Hargrove. I was ultimately surprised Jason made it through the trials. Who did you pay off to take the hit in his heat?”

Billy’s sneer grew to a snarl. “You always thought you were better than everyone else, Harrington but look at you now. Crying in an airport.”

“You always were a better liar than you were a swimmer,” Steve scoffed. “Maybe you should run along and leave the winning to the people who know what that looks like.”

“Bitch,” he snapped and stormed off to a rental Jag that was waiting for him on the curb.

Eddie would have flopped face first into the mattress but he was pretty sure that if he did, it would collapse under him. His roommate was a guy named Trent York, who also had been his seat partner on the flight over. They had a lot in common. They liked D&D, fantasy movies, and

they both grew up poor.

Alas, Trent not only as straight as an arrow, but was planning on proposing to his girlfriend if he got on the podium for any of his events.

God, he wished he had been able to stick around with Steve and Wayne and Robin. But Steve had been there before and knew how hectic it was when they first landed, right?

Right?

But when he turned around to wave goodbye, Steve had this look. Like Eddie had done something wrong. And as much as he hated to admit it, it took him awhile to figure out why. From Wayne and his friends’ point of view, it looked like he had been flirting with Trent and then hurried to get back to him.

Which had not been the case and he really didn’t want to have have to overexplain to Steve that it wasn’t what it looked like. Eddie already felt like he was pressuring Steve into something he didn’t want to do.

Which he was absolutely not about, at all.

He laid gently on the bed and flopped awkwardly around so that he was face down into the pillow.

Trent, who had gone to the bathroom huff out a startled laugh. “I really don’t want to know, man. Just don’t bring anyone back to the room and I won’t either.”

Eddie mumbled something in reply.

“Sorry I didn’t catch that,” Trent said sitting down on his bed.

Eddie turned his head so that it was no longer smashed into the pillow. “I’m in love with my swimming coach from back home.”

“Ah.”

Trent looked around for a moment and then spotted a folding chair nearby. He grabbed it and set it up next to Eddie. Then sat on it backwards.

“That’s rough shit, Ed,” he said gently. “I can’t imagine what I would do if Lucy was my coach instead of the one of the girls in the club I swim with. Does he know how you feel?”

Eddie sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “Yeah. And he feels the same. He’s just worried that swimming commission will remove him as my coach and as all the other coaches where I swim are stuck up snobs, they wouldn’t take me on and I’d have to quit again.”

“Ah ha.”

Trent thought for a moment. “There are a couple other options.”

Eddie scoffed. “Like what?”

“Tell them to fuck off?” Trent suggested. “It’s discouraged not forbidden.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Eddie said rolling his eyes. “But he’s got some serious trauma and has anxiety.”

“Who did you say your coach was?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Okay,” Trent said, his eyes wide in shock. “I’ll admit that even I would tap that if I was gay. Holy shit. Plus like God tier level skill in the water, too. Yeah. Okay. That certainly makes things harder.”

“Tell me about it,” Eddie huffed. “So what were your other suggestions for wooing said God?”

Trent pursed his lips together. “Find a coach willing to teach you? Like maybe go to a different pool. Just don’t give up, okay? You really don’t need this right now when you’re about to compete on the world level.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. “Thanks, Trent.”

“Any time.”

Eddie made a huge show of apologizing to Steve about how he flounced off when he should have been more attentive.

Steve laughed. “Eddie, I’m a neurotic mess and you’re human. I’ll okay. I promise.”

The smile that he got in return was blinding. Yeah, okay. He really wanted to kiss those lips. But he was going to wait until after his first meet.

Which was in only twenty minutes.

“Go on!” Steve huffed, shooing the menace away. “You’ll be late and I will not have that over my head.”

Eddie raced off as he shook his head fondly.

“You always did have terrible taste,” Robin said dryly.

Steve pushed her playfully. “Yeah, sure. This coming from Miss ‘Tammy Thompson Doesn’t Sing That Bad’, I don’t believe my taste is any worse than yours.”

Robin cocked her head to the side and then shrugged. “Yeah all right, that’s fair.”

Steve started tapping Robin’s arm. She turned to growl at him, but he pointed at the doors that would lead to the pool.

“What’s Chrissy Cunningham doing lurking outside the pool?” she asked with a frown.

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Steve growled, stalking over to her.

When she saw him coming she let out a startled yelp. That brought Steve up short. She turned to them slowly, like a deer in the headlights.

He leveled Chrissy with his best stern authority glare that he patented with his youth swimming classes. She wilted.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, nervously twisting her fingers together. She looked over at Robin and then blushed. “We’ll need to hurry though.”

She turned on her heel and dashed in the direction of the judges.

“Wait!” Robin cried out as Steve and she hurried after her. “Where are we going?”

Chrissy whirled around and still walking backward said, “The judges need to know that Jason is planting more drugs in Eddie’s locker right now.”

Robin and Steve looked at each other in shock.

“Shit!” they said together and hurried to catch up.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

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