#and small children hold hands all the time

[myderis]

mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.3k

“Are you two married?” A small boy with a sword in hand, eyes bright and full of curiosity, turns to MYDEIMOS, and the prince immediately opens his mouth to dismiss the idea. “No, we are no—”

“Oh, Mydei. I didn’t know you saw me that way~” you tease, standing at the dusty training grounds as the kids swing their wooden swords around, trying to be just like their role models. His face flushes a little, but he doesn’t break his cool or let you tease him further.

“I don’t. More training, less talking,” Mydei says, keeping his attention on the little girl trying to hold her wooden weapon properly, though his annoyance is hard to ignore.

The girl looks up at the prince, raising an eyebrow. “You two argue like my parents do.” Mydei freezes, caught off guard by her bluntness. He rolls his eyes and sighs, walking away to take a breather, not wanting to have this conversation again. “Let’s take a break.”

As the children are happy with their well-deserved rest, you sidle up to them, handing them water or the much-preferred pomegranate juice. “He’s just shy. Give him time.” You wink, nudging the boy who started it all. “Now, now, who wants some sweet treats?”

The little girl takes advantage of you being occupied and approaches Mydei. She looks up at him, her hands carefully clutching her sword. “If I were like Lady (Name), a beautiful and good woman, and a prince like you came along…” She pauses, having that dreamy look on her face, waiting for his reaction. “We'd get married. That’s what happens in the fairytales, right?”

Mydei stands still, gazing down at the child and then at you, observing how your smile makes the rest of the children happier, how you just being here makes him feel so … giddy. He exhales deeply, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, fairytales are a bit nonexistent.” He glances at you, his voice soft. “But you should never settle for anything less than you deserve.”

“Really? Is the wedding soon?” The prince rolls his eyes and ruffles her hair, making her laugh, but he doesn’t answer, and she only takes his answer as a promise that it will happen.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[euno11a]

Baby Girl

Pairing: DILF!Jungkook x PreSchool Teacher!Reader

Synopsis: You always gave yourself one rule, never fall for a single dad. It would be messy and you’d never be his number one. So why did your favourite kid’s dad have to be so hot?

Warnings: fluff, talks of child abandonment, single father JK, angst, arguments, smut, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), light spanking, hair pulling, make outs, kissing, fingering, clit play, clit stimulation, teasing, pet names, mentions of past relationships, dom!jungkook, big cock!jungkook, blonde!jungkook, talks of past pregnancy (not reader), mention of abortion (JK’s ex), sexual tension, alcohol consumption, thigh riding, masturbation, aftercare, swearing, praising, a bit of jealousy, hickeys, handjob, protected sex, rough and soft sex, overstimulation, and multiple orgasms 

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“Why are you trying to feed Sara the crayon!” You squealed from your spot behind your desk, swiftly approaching the small circle table holding the kids before taking the purple crayon from Ara’s tiny hands. The small girl’s large brown eyes stared back at you, a smile breaking out onto her lips as she began giggling and babbling about the drawing she made for her dad.

“Look! Daddy has a pur..pur-el shirt cebause he love pur-el!” Ara pointed excitedly to the shirt she drew on her stickfigure, pride glowing in her eyes. 

Your smile grew as your grip around the crayon loosened, placing it back down on the table, crouching between her and Sara’s little chairs. “Now that’s gorgeous, Ara! Your dad is gonna love it so much, but how about we stop trying to feed our friends crayons?” She giggled, agreeing before going back to her art. It was true, Ara’s dad, Jeon Jungkook, treasured every single thing she made for him. Every time she would run up to him after school, hands reaching up to him with a new little project every day. One day it was a flower that had things we were grateful for written on the petals, other days it was just a little drawing she made, or it was a seasonal art project. And she never failed to tell you all about his reactions the next day.

Every day you would watch all your students run to their parents coming to pick them up at lunch, most stopped to say ‘Hi’ or ask how their kid was doing - Jungkook never did that. It seemed odd at first, wanting to meet your student’s dad to introduce yourself and get acquainted was a normal thing most teachers did. However, you started noticing pretty early on he hung out near the back of the group of parents that waited near the doors, waiting for Ara, getting her, and then looking at you with a little smile before leaving. Why did he do that? The small pleas for help to get their coats on before the bell filled your classroom, the children still mingling and talking, some cleaning up their tables, but most ready to up and leave as the bell rings. After making sure all the kids had their belongings, you told them to line up, “One, two, three! Eyes on me!” You called out, watching all their little bug eyes look back at you. The small action made a smile spread across your face each time - how could it not? There are about fifteen pairs of eyes that look at you at the same time, with the same little focused expression. It’s impossible not to smile!

Everyone crowded at the door, talking in soft whispers as they waited for you to open it and let them run off to their parents. You let the children run in different directions, enjoying the happy chatter around you as people began leaving. Just as you were about to head into the school again, you felt a little tug on your sleeve, making you look down. “ Miss L/n, daddy’s not here…”

Her little voice trailed off and it instantly made you go into protective mode. You crouched in front of her, holding her small hand as you observed how her big boba eyes got glossy and her little button nose got red. It was a rare sight seeing Ara cry, she almost never did in your class unless it was something truly meaningful to her. “Shh, it’s okay, Ara. Your dad probably got caught up in something! How about we wait here until he arrives, hm?” You offered, wiping away the small tears that dropped down her cheeks, her head nodding softly as you stood up and held her hand outside. 

Twenty minutes pass and nothing. It was unlike Jungkook to be late, every day you could see his car park in the same spot under a tree, getting out and adjusting his jacket before taking a few steps…then pausing beside his car to lock it three times. Now that you think about it, you sound kinda stalker-ish with how much attention you pay to him. The air started getting cooler, so you took Ara back inside the classroom, thankful that you had an hour break before your afternoon class showed up. “Are you warm? You can take your jacket off, Ara. Do you want some paper to draw?”

Her head was tilted down as she sat in her normal seat near the cozy corner you had set up for your students, not really answering your questions. “Did daddy leave me?” She asked, her tiny fingers picking at her other ones as she asked.

Sourness filled your heart as you heard her question, you pulled out the small chair beside her, tilting your head to see her face. “Honey, of course he didn’t leave you. He’s just running late for some reason. Why would you think that?” 

“Mommy did…” Her words were cut off by sudden footsteps approaching the class quickly, a man hunched over huffing and puffing like he had just ran a marathon. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, baby.” He said, still gasping for air as he approached us, kneeling down on her other side.

Her mom left? You stood up, straightening out your cardigan as you stared down at the man pressing his forehead against Ara’s jacket covered arm. “Ara, I’m sorry, daddy had to close up the shop cause your uncles weren’t there. I’m sorry, bug.” Wow, he apologized a lot, even though Ara had already probably forgotten about what happened. Her bright little smile was there again, brightening the room as his large…tattooed hand caressed the opposite arm. 

“Daddy! Look what I made!” Ara exclaimed, showing her dad her little portrait of her and her dad, wearing his purple shirt.

“Wow, I love it, baby girl! It’s so me. You know where this is going?” The way they both said “on the fridge” at the exact same time would make any woman’s ovaries burst. It was too cute! Ara’s dad stood up, rubbing his hands on the back of his pants before looking at you, staring blankly before his eyes widened and a hand was out stretched. “Sorry! I’m Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook! Ara’s dad, cause she has the same last name as me, but not only that reason! Her mom and I-” He stopped, his cheeks tinting a light red as you grasped his hand, shaking it with furrowed brows. “I’m gonna stop talking before I make it worse.”

“No, no, please. I always enjoy hearing about how parents are related to their child.” You laughed, releasing his hand again - eyes gleaming from the way his cheeks darkened in colour again. “It’s honestly okay, Mr. Jeon. Ara and I had a feeling something came up at work and that’s why you were late.”

The sigh of relief that escaped him must have been in him for a while, his whole body relaxing a little more after you said that. “Thank you for looking after her. This won’t happen again, at all. Uhm..Ms…?”

“Oh! Sorry, Y/n. Y/n L/n, Ara’s teacher. Since she’s in my class.” You over explained just like he did, thankfully he had a sense of humor since he let out a soft breathy laugh. “Again, don’t worry at all, I understand. Things happen sometimes.” You eased him, smiling gently as he grabbed Ara’s little hand, helping her out of her chair.

“Yeah…but thank you…still.” He said one last time, leaning down to pick his daughter up before propping her on his hip. Her little hand went to his hair immediately, tugging softly as he pulled his head away, smiling at her. They left the room, chatting softly as he walked back down the hall to exit through the front office. Sitting at your desk, you opened your computer, preparing your slideshow for your afternoon class on how to make a pretty sunset with pastels, but the only thing you could think about…

He had really pretty hair.

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“Wait, wait, wait- rewind. You’re telling me that you were face to face with a DILF and did nothing?!” Rose practically yelled as you walked together down the hall towards the parking lot.

“Okay, let’s not call him that…he’s still the father of my student. It feels wrong calling him something so…vulgar?” You squeemed while fumbling for your keys. “Plus, what was I supposed to do? His kid was right there, it’s not like I could’ve just jumped his bones right there.”

She glanced at you from the corner of her eyes, a small smirk on her lips as she grabbed her own keys out of her bag. “Well, I’m just saying, maybe he would’ve been into that. Having you get all up on him, nice and close and just-” You shoved her away playfully, laughing as you watched her mimic some sort of makeout session. 

“There is no way that would've happened! Again, Rose, you’re forgetting this was the first time I’ve ever actually talked to the guy. It’s not like some magical thing is gonna happen to make us instantly fall in love.” She pushed open the doors to the front office, a shiver running down your spine as the cool breeze hit your face. You unlocked your car, standing by the driver’s door as you spoke again. “This is real life, not some romance book that’s gonna have me sweeped off my feet by the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah…” She waved a dismissive hand, opening her car door before poking her head out again. “I’m just saying, it’s been a while for you since you’ve dated, so why not try out the awkward, DILF of a dad?”

“Have a good night, Rose.”

All you could hear was her laughter as you got in and closed your own door. 

______________________________________________________________

Mondays are the worst.

It’s almost like a sick joke - you wake up and feel like it’s gonna be a productive day, but instead, your makeup looked trashy, your favourite shirt that you were supposed to wear today had a stain on it, your coffee machine was broken, and your car wouldn’t start for a good twenty minutes.

So yeah, it’s a lovely day.

“I am so sorry, Rose! Thank you for watching over my class, I swear I’ll be there soon.” You rambled quickly, looking both ways on the road before taking a left.

“Girl, relax, it’s okay. Could you pick me up a coffee though? Didn’t have time to make my own today.” You could hear her shuffling around, probably in your desk to find the spelling sheets you had ready for your students.

“Of course, I was gonna pick one up anyway.” Your voice came out as a murmur, trying to focus on the road so you didn’t add another problem to your list of issues today.

There was some sort of sound that came from her side of the call, something between a hum and squeal of delight. “There’s one coffee place that’s not too far from the school, The Quiet Bean, reaaaaally cute place!”

The Quiet Bean? People are getting creative nowadays…After a few more minutes of talking - you telling her what she should start the kids on, and her telling you where the shop is - you finally hung up. Plugging in the address of the coffee shop, you pulled up to a small shop. It was the sort of place that invited you in without making a scene. Its façade was a blend of weathered brick and soft, taupe-painted wood, the kind that had aged gracefully, like it had stories to tell. The large windows were framed in simple, cream-colored trim, their panes reflecting the faintest light of the afternoon sun. A faint trace of ivy crept up along the edges, as if nature itself had taken a liking to this quiet little corner of the world.

The café’s sign hung above the door, a modest wooden board with the name The Quiet Bean painted in elegant, flowing script. The letters, accented by a small, delicate illustration of a steaming coffee cup, as though to beckon you inside with the promise of something warm and comforting. It wasn’t flashy, but there was something undeniably welcoming about it, something that whispered of calm moments and good company.

As you stepped closer, the faint scent of lavender and earth drifted from a row of mismatched flower boxes, their colors a soft mix of greens and purples. Small, bistro-style tables were scattered outside, their wrought-iron chairs empty for now, but ready to welcome anyone looking to enjoy the sun with a cup in hand. 

Pulling the door open, you were met with a strong scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries. Your eyes widened as you looked around, taking in the detail of the shop and taking note of every little detail that was put into building it. You slowly approached the counter, eyes trained on the display of sweets. God, they looked delicious. It was as if everywhere you turned there was something new you noticed - now, it was the simple yet captivating writing on the menu board that hung above the counter. Why was writing captivating you? Nevermind. 

You glanced around, a few people were sitting at tables, enjoying a warm coffee with a sweet treat, but no one behind the counter. Your brows furrowed softly, tilting your head to try and see if someone was lingering behind the walkway to the back of the coffee shop, but there was no one. You reached forward, tapping the small bell that sat beside one of the pastry display cases, the high pitched shrill sound making you jump slightly. 

A guy, wiping his hands on the towel that hung from his apron quickly rounded the corner. His blonde hair tied into a small bun as he looked up. Those eyes…the wide doe ones that seemed all too familiar. The ones that held the universe…where had you seen them before? “Welcome to The Quiet Bea-” The man’s voice cut off as he stood there staring at you, his round eyes widening slightly. “M-Ms. Y/n…what…you’re…”

It clicked. Those eyes, the ones you have to look at every single day, the same ones Ara had. “Mr. Jeon, it’s…uhm, hello.” Why was this so embarrassing? This was just like when you saw a teacher outside of school and didn’t know how to act. Holy hell. “Sorry…sorry, good morning.”

His cheeks tinted a light pink, the sound of him clearing his throat sounded through the small cafe, you watched him cringe from the sound. “G-Good morning…I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting…never mind.” He shook his head, a few strands of his blonde hair framing his face as he approached the cash register. “What can I get for you?”

“Just two lattes please.” You smiled, gaze wandering off to the side as you eyed the pastries again. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled, causing you to freeze and Jungkook to glance up at you from the register. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward on the counter, a small tilt to his head. “Did you maybe want some food, too? Our pistachio croissants are really good, if I do say so myself.”

Now it was your turn to turn pink, a sheepish smile spreading across your face as you nodded. “I’ll take two of those, too, please.” He nodded, a smile still lingering on his face as he used the tons to grab out two of the fresh croissants. Placing the bag on the counter, he turned his back to you as he started on the coffees. 

As you stood there, it was hard not to notice how wide his back was. It was the perfect size to his waist which was - surprisingly - small. And not to mention the way his shirt hugged his chest and torso, there was practically nothing left for the imagination, there was even a teasingly small amount of tattoos shown that littered his right hand, and you just knew there were more. Maybe Mondays aren't so bad. I mean, you got to see that perfect ass- okay, no. Stop it! That is still your student's dad!

He turned around, two coffees in hand as he placed them on the counter, tapping something into the register before telling you your total. You pulled out your card, tapping it on the card machine before situating yourself to grab everything. “Uh…I don’t mean to be, like, that one parent…but why is the teacher of my daughter here getting coffee when school has already started?”

“Oh, so you were one of the kids that was always on time to class.” You said with a small smile, looking down into your wallet as you placed your card back into its proper place. “I was having a bad morning, running late. But my friend, who’s a teacher as well, is watching over my class. She wanted a coffee.” You wiggled your finger at the cup, a smile on your face that wouldn’t go away for some reason. 

It was impossible not to giggle at the way his brows furrowed and his bottom lip pouted from your comment. “I was not ‘one of those kids.’” He crossed his arms, looking at you as you grabbed the coffees and bag that held your pastries. “If it means anything…I hope you have a better day.” His voice was like honey, something so sweet, you never wanted it to disappear. 

“Thank you…I hope the same for you, Mr. Jeon.”

“Please, call me Jungkook!” Even his smile was sweet…fuck.

Just as you were about to exit the shop, you turned, using your back to push the door open. “Alright then, Jungkook. And call me, Y/n…I’m not your teacher.” Your last words left him going red again, and to your unease, it was a sight you wouldn’t mind seeing again.  ______________________________________________________________

As the warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of your classroom, casting a comforting glow over the tidy rows of desks, Rose settled into the chair across from you, a concerned expression etched on her face. The air was filled with the faint scent of chalk and the distant hum of the air conditioning vent.

"Y/n, you're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?" Rose asked, her voice gentle but probing. You hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of the paper bag as you took a bite of your croissant. Damn they were good. They were alone in the classroom during their lunch break, the door locked securely behind them.

Rose's eyes narrowed as she watched your flustered movements. "Come on, spill it," she urged, her voice a gentle coaxing. You took another bite, your eyes avoiding Rose's inquiring gaze. "It's just...I saw Jungkook at the coffee shop this morning…Ara’s dad," you mumbled around a mouthful of food, eyes darting back to Rose.

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "That coffee shop? Where you got our lattes?" You nodded, your cheeks flushing. Rose's expression turned thoughtful as she leaned in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "So you saw Hot DILF again?"

Your eyes widened in alarm, hastily causing you to look around the room as if ensuring they were truly alone. "Rose, please, don't say that out loud," You whispered, voice laced with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. Rose chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"What's wrong? You're not going to date him, are you?" It was almost as if this was the day you couldn’t stop blushing. Your face turned bright red as you hastily shook her head, your ponytail bobbing in time. "Of course not, I'm just...I'm just saying, he's a great guy, from what I’ve seen, but...but it's just a rule, you know?" Your words tumbled out in a rush, your voice growing more agitated by the second.

Rose's expression turned to understanding, and she reached out to place a reassuring hand on your arm. "I get it, I really do. You've always said no to dating single parents, and I respect that. But...it's just so hard when you're around him, isn't it?" Your eyes dropped, looking away, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and longing.

Rose's gentle words hung in the air, and you felt your heart racing as you tried to process her emotions. You couldn't deny it - you had felt a flutter in her chest when you saw Jungkook, and it wasn't just because you were worried about being professional around him. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down and rationalize your feelings.

"I don't know, Rose," You said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "It's just...he's really nice, and easy to talk to...it's just hard to ignore the fact that he's Ara’s dad."

Rose nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "I know, I know. And it's not like you can just...ignore the fact that he's cute, either," she added with a sly smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You playfully rolled your eyes, trying to deflect the attention from your flustered state. "Yeah, real help, Rose. You're not making this any easier for me."

Rose laughed, her eyes shining with mirth. "Sorry, sorry. I just want you to be happy, and if that means being around Mr. Hot DILF...I mean, Jungkook...then so be it."

A smile spread across your face, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at her words. "Thanks, Rose. You're a good friend."

As they chatted, you couldn't help but think about Jungkook's warm smile and gentle laugh. You pushed the thoughts away, reminding yourself of the rule and the reasons behind it. But you couldn't shake the feeling that you had crossed a line, and that your attraction to Jungkook was more than just a harmless infatuation.

The lunch bell rang, shattering the peaceful atmosphere in the classroom. As they made their way to the classroom door, Rose leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Hey, Y/n? Just out of curiosity...what do you think would happen if you did date him?"

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you quickly shot Rose a warning glance. "Rose, don't even say that. I already told you I'm not going to date him, so let's just drop it, okay?"

Rose held up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No more talking about Jungkook. Let's just focus on surviving through the day and parent-teacher interviews. How ‘bout that?"

You smiled, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude towards your friend. "Sounds like a plan to me."

______________________________________________________________

The faint echo of footsteps grew louder in the quiet hallway as you straightened up at your desk, glancing at the clock. The dim lights above flickered softly, casting a warm glow that illuminated the classroom filled with colorful student artwork. It was the night of parent-teacher interviews, and your heart raced in anticipation and anxiety. Each appointment was a gateway to success and growth, but tonight felt different. Tonight, you faced the sight of a certain single father…again.

As you set out fresh papers and a cup of coffee—mostly meant to ward off your own nerves—you tried to shake off the flutter twisting in your stomach. You had told Rose you wouldn’t get involved with parents, yet here you were, feeling exhilaratingly torn between professionalism and a sudden spike of anticipation.

The gentle knock on the door pulled you from your swirl of thoughts. “Come in!” you called, your voice steadying to mask your racing heart. The knob turned, and Jungkook stepped inside, his tall figure silhouetted against the hallway light. He looked slightly rumpled in a casual white fisherman’s sweater and jeans, as if he had just finished a long day balancing work and parenting. His sandy hair fell over his forehead, giving him an endearing boyishness.

“Hi, Y/n,” Jungkook said softly, his voice low and a little shy. He shifted between his feet, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment, you felt as though the air in the room thickened with something—tension, attraction, or perhaps, an endless stream of unspoken words.

“Hi, Jungkook! Thank you for coming,” You replied, trying to maintain the professional tone you’d rehearsed in your mind. “Please, have a seat.”

He hesitated for just a moment before sinking into the chair opposite your desk, glancing around the room and admiring the colorful projects that adorned the walls. “It’s nice to see what you’ve done with the place. Ara talks about it all the time,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face that lit up his eyes. 

As you reviewed Ara’s progress report, you couldn’t help but feel Jungkook’s gaze lingering on you, like a gentle warmth wrapping around you. “She’s doing wonderfully, really. She’s bright, creative, and so full of energy,” You continued, your voice flowing with professional ease.

“That’s great to hear,” Jungkook replied, his fingers nervously tapping on the desk. “I mean… I worry about her sometimes, you know? Juggling everything has been—” He paused, biting his lip slightly as if searching for the right words. “—hard. But she loves coming to school.”

In that moment, you could see the affection etched on his face. His love for Ara was so palpable, so tender, that it made your heart swell. “You’re doing an amazing job as a father,” you blurted out before you could catch yourself. 

A flush crept into Jungkook's cheeks, and he chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I still feel like I have so much to learn,” he said, glancing away, his honesty disarming you. 

“I think it’s a continuous journey for all parents,” You replied, forcing yourself to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his vulnerability. You forced herself to focus on Ara’s achievements, highlighting the areas where she could improve.

Yet with each laugh Jungkook shared, with each genuine word of praise he offered about his daughter, you found it harder to keep your feelings at bay. The chemistry crackled between them, threatening to bridge the gap of professionalism that you had once held sacred. 

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you do,” Jungkook said suddenly, a sincere expression on his face. “I feel like Ara has blossomed since she started in your class.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Jungkook,” You spoke softly, heart racing as you met his gaze. “It’s my job and my passion.”

He leaned back in the chair, taking a moment before asking softly, “But what about you? Do you… do you enjoy being a teacher?”

You nodded, feeling a stirring inside you—a mix of admiration and a desire for connection that you fought to suppress. “I really do,” you confessed. “It's a rewarding experience, but...” You hesitated for a moment, knowing your feelings threatened to slip from your grasp. “It can be challenging at times.”

“Yeah, life can be tough,” Jungkook replied, his voice low. “But I guess we all find our way through it.”

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you felt an electric jolt, a silent understanding passing between them. But just as quickly, you pulled yourself back, focusing instead on the paperwork scattered across your desk.

“I believe Ara will continue to thrive under your guidance,” Jungkook said, attempting to break the growing tension.

“Absolutely,” You agreed, feeling the flicker of excitement mingled with anxiety. “If you have any concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Jungkook smiled, the warmth in his expression making your pulse quicken, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as reality settled back in. They were from two different worlds, tethered by the innocent bond of a daughter between them, and you knew you had to tread carefully.

“Thank you for your time,” Jungkook finally said, rising from his seat, his voice a blend of gratitude and something softer, like an unexpressed hope. “I really appreciate it.”

As he turned to leave, you felt a mix of longing and resolve. “You’re welcome, Jungkook. Have a great evening,” You managed to say, your heart heavy with unspoken feelings and the sensation of his presence lingering in the room long after he had gone. 

With a sigh, you sank back into your chair, trying to reclaim your professional demeanor, fully aware that this was only the beginning of a journey you had carefully set herself against. And yet, without a doubt, it felt exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

The echo of Jungkook’s footsteps faded down the hallway as you sat back in your chair, staring blankly at the stack of papers on your desk. The soft, dim light of the classroom wrapped around you like a cocoon, but instead of feeling comforted, your thoughts spiraled into chaotic disarray. Your heart still raced at the memory of his shy smile and the way his gaze warmed you, sending unexpected flutters coursing through your chest. 

“Okay, Y/n. Let’s think this through,” you murmured to yourself, pushing your chair back a bit to pace. You took a deep breath, holding your head high as you began your internal debate, your footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

Pros:

1. He’s Kind: Jungkook showed genuine concern for Ara’s well-being; that spoke volumes about his character.

2. He’s a Good Father: Seeing how much he adored his daughter made your heart melt. A man who values family is definitely an attractive trait.

3. We Have Chemistry: The connection was palpable during your meeting, the kind that sent thrills of excitement coursing through you.

Cons:

1. He’s Ara’s Father: You would always have that complex dynamic, which could complicate everything. What if things went wrong? The relationship with Ara would be at stake.

2. Professional Boundaries: As a teacher, you reminded yourself constantly of the boundaries that existed between you and the parents. Getting involved with a parent could lead to gossip and drama.

3. Could She Actually Do This? You didn’t want to enter the dating world and find yourself getting hurt. There was so much at stake, and discretion was key. 

The rhythm of your footsteps quickened, your thoughts tumbling into a whirlwind of confusion. 

“No, no, no.” You held her temples, trying to massage away the tension that gnawed at you. “You can’t think like this. You would be crossing a line, Y/n. Your job is to inspire and educate, not fall for the parents!” 

You paused, catching your breath, feeling the weight of your emotions. “But—what if this is something special?” An involuntary smile sneaked onto your face at the thought of Jungkook’s easy laughter, the way he nervously fidgeted in his chair, and the sincere glances he offered. “What if…he’s different?”

Your heart raced again, and you bit your lip, taking another deep breath to steady yourself. You have dedicated yourself to your career. You loved teaching and the bonds you created with your students. But you also felt the longing for companionship, for someone who would truly understand your heart, your struggles, and your dreams.

You found your way back to the desk, grabbing the paper you had written notes on about Ara. It was filled with nothing but good observations and bright notes that showcased the little girl’s personality. “This is about Ara, too,” you whispered, glancing at the portrait Ara had drawn of you standing beside her at the school. You had never looked better as a stick figure.

“Could I do this?” you inquired softly, staring out the window at the fading sunlight. “Would this be fair to Ara? To him?” You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to visualize yourselves together, the gentle kind heartedness belying a deeper connection that tethered you.

Footsteps interrupted your reverie, and you looked up to see Rose peeking through the door. “Y/n?” she called softly, stepping inside. The infectious energy of her friend brightened the room. “I saw Jungkook leave. How did it go?”

Your internal debate halted as you met Rose's eager gaze, the warmth of friendship wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. “It was... interesting,” You replied slowly, trying to sort through the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over.

“What does that mean? Was he flirty?” Rose raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You shook your head, your cheeks flushing slightly. “No, it wasn’t like that. We just talked about Ara and her progress. But there’s this…connection, Rose. It’s hard to explain.”

“Do you like him?” Rose leaned forward, her excitement palpable, her curiosity evident.

“I don’t know! I mean, I shouldn’t, right?” You sighed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “He’s Ara’s dad, and I’m her teacher. There are boundaries, Rose!”

“But do you want to explore those boundaries? You said it yourself; it’s a connection!” Rose's voice rose slightly, her enthusiasm inexhaustible. “You only live once, Y/n!”

“Why are you so supportive of this? Are you trying to get me into trouble?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but you felt the weight of Rose’s words pressing upon you.

“Maybe I am!” Rose teased, crossing her arms. “But look, if you feel something for him, that could be something worth exploring. Relationships don’t always lead to disaster, you know. Sometimes, they lead to wonderful things.” 

You chewed your lip, your heart fluttering at the prospect. “But what if I mess it up? What if I ruin things with Ara and her dad?”

“I think Ara would be happy if he found someone who makes him smile,” Rose asserted confidently. “And if that someone happens to be you...well, then that’s just a bonus!”

Looking down at your desk, pondering the vibrant artwork that Ara had drawn, you felt a gentle surge of hope amidst the confusion. Maybe there was a chance for something beautiful—if you could just take the leap.

“All right,” You said finally, fortifying yourself. “I’ll think about it. But I have to be careful...for Ara’s sake. And for my own.”

“Smart girl.” Rose grinned, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Now, let’s plan how to help you catch his attention.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension lifting slightly as you felt the warmth of Rose’s friendship. As they began to chat and brainstorm about playful ways to show your interest, you felt a new storm of possibility unfurling in your heart—one that you could no longer pretend to ignore. ______________________________________________________________

After leaving your classroom, Jungkook leaned against the cold, tiled wall of the hallway, taking a moment to catch his breath. The sound of his heart thudding loudly in his chest seemed to resonate in the quiet space around him. What just happened? He couldn't shake the feeling of exhilaration mingled with a flicker of anxiety as memories of their conversation flooded his mind. 

He rubbed a hand across his neck, still feeling the heat rising to his cheeks—a bashful evidence of how easily flustered he had become in your presence. Your smile, your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about Ara—it was utterly charming. Why did she have to be so captivating?  

His thoughts immediately twisted into a flurry of whims. Honestly, how could someone be so effortlessly beautiful? Your enthusiasm about teaching resonated deep within him; he admired how you handled the classroom, how you brought warmth and light to every interaction. The way you carelessly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear made his heart flutter. He relished in the thought that you cared so deeply for his daughter; it filled him with a swell of appreciation that lingered a little too long in his chest.

But then there was that chemistry, that intoxicating vibe that seemed to hum in the air between them. Jungkook winced slightly, aware that he was entering dangerous territory. Your laugh had tugged at something deep inside him—a longing that he rarely dared to face. Could he be falling for you? The thought was both thrilling and unsettling.

His mind wandered to the moment their eyes met, the way you had smiled at him as if you were sharing a secret, a moment just for the two of them amidst the world. Thoughts he knew he shouldn’t entertain slipped through like silk ribbons, tightening around his chest. What would it feel like to hold her? To run his fingers through her hair, to pull her close and whisper sweet nothings in her ear?

Jungkook pressed his lips together, forcing the blush creeping up his neck to subside. Damn it, Jungkook. Focus on Ara! But the image of you was stubborn, filling his thoughts with mischievous imaginings—your laughter echoing in his ears, your soft, inviting gaze lingering in his mind. 

He imagined you tucked against him on a lazy Sunday morning, sunlight streaming through the window casting dappled shapes on your skin, and he couldn't help but wonder if you would look up at him in that soft, sleepy kind of way—your hair tousled, and that peaceful smile gracing your features. God, he would do anything for that smile.

His heart raced at those thoughts. Was it wrong to want more? The deeper he delved into his fantasies, the more he wondered if he could truly let someone in again. The idea of developing a connection with you was thrilling but terrifying. 

But what if it went well? What if he got to know the woman behind the teacher façade? What if they clicked like he suspected they might? A sudden image of their hands intertwined danced in his mind, the warmth radiating from your soft fingers sending shivers down his spine. He imagined kissing you—a slow, intimate exploration that left you both breathless, your hearts racing in sync.

His body reacted even to the thought, and Jungkook groaned softly, shaking his head at the direction his mind had taken. He just wanted to know more about you—the fear and the thrill of the unknown gnawing at him as he paced in place. Was he ready to join the dating world again? To risk his heart?

Jungkook glanced down the hallway, half-expecting you to appear again with that mesmerizing smile. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the whirlwind that churned within him. You had met as teacher to parent, you were cautious in your own ways, but there was something in your gaze, the spark of possibility daring him to breach the barrier.

“Just take it slow,” he whispered to himself, trying to ignore the overwhelming desire unfurling within him like a curtain drawn back to reveal a dazzling stage. “She’s worth it.” 

In his mind’s eye, he could see your face, lit with warmth and kindness, exhibited perfectly in the classrooms where you worked magic with children. But he wanted you outside of the school, in the real world, where they could be themselves.

With another deep breath, he turned and walked away from the classroom, his heart still racing and the ambitious thoughts whirling inside his mind. The night air hit him like a splash of cold water, grounding him, reminding him that this was just the beginning of something he knew could change everything. And as he left the school grounds, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to do whatever it took to make sure he saw you again. ______________________________________________________________

The restaurant was awash in golden candlelight, casting flickering shadows on the walls adorned with tasteful art. The hum of conversation intermingled with the clinking of silverware, creating a cozy atmosphere that settled around the tables like a warm embrace. Jungkook had arrived early, wearing a fitted navy sweater that accentuated his figure and dark jeans—not too formal, but just enough to speak of a thoughtful effort. Tonight was important.

He twisted his napkin nervously in his lap as he surveyed the room, his gaze darting to the entrance. How do you prepare for a date with someone you genuinely like? It had been several weeks since they started talking, gradually letting layers peel away to reveal their authentic selves, and now here they were, on the brink of something new. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, you walked in, your presence radiant in a deep emerald dress that hugged your curves and made you look effortlessly elegant. Your hair cascaded in soft waves, and when their eyes met, a bright smile danced across your lips—a smile that made Jungkook’s heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice warm and inviting as you approached the table.

“Hey! You look amazing,” Jungkook found himself saying, his cheeks warming at the earnestness in his tone. 

“Thanks! You too!” You replied, taking your seat across from him, the evening lighting casting a gentle glow on your features. 

Jungkook tried to shake off the nerves, but it was hard not to stumble over his words as their waiter arrived. “Good evening! Can I start you off with something to drink?” 

“Uh, yes! I’d like a glass of red wine, please,” Jungkook said, his hands fidgeting on the table beneath the napkin.

“Same for me,” You chimed in, your openness making it easier for him to remember how to breathe. 

As they sipped their wine and exchanged laughter, they discussed everything—their favorite movies, childhood memories, and even the quirks of teaching that made them both laugh aloud. But as the conversation flowed, Jungkook felt the slight pressure of anticipation build in his chest, the electric tension flickering like a candle in the wind.

“So, what’s been the best part of your week?” he asked, hoping to keep the conversation light while his nerves simmered beneath the surface.

You leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Well, this week we were doing some more basic spelling skills. And there was one point, where I said that our class was gonna have a small spelling bee competition against the other Kindergarten class. Ara took it a little too seriously, she started buzzing like a bee after every word she spelled.”

Jungkook chuckled, picturing the adorable scene. “Oh God, is that why she came home and couldn’t stop buzzing around? I mean, at least she’s remembering to spell more words correctly…she rewards herself by buzzing a little each time.”

“Well, she does have a great teacher,” you teased, your eyes locking onto his with that playful glimmer.

Jungkook felt the heat rushing up his neck. “I’m just trying to keep up with your class levels,” he said with a grin. 

Their connection felt tangible, fragile yet electric. Jungkook summoned his courage as the waiter returned with their meals. “It looks great. I hope it tastes great,” he said, lifting his fork, eager to divert his nervous energy.

As they began to eat, Jungkook was distraught to discover that his mouth seemed to have developed a mind of its own. “So, I was thinking maybe—I mean, if you’re interested—” he stumbled through the heavy words, glancing at her, “we could visit that new art exhibit next weekend? Or maybe a picnic? I’m definitely up for a picnic.” 

Your brows raised in surprise, a smile breaking across your face. “I’d love that! An art exhibit sounds fantastic.”

Jungkook exhaled, relief washing over him. They continued chatting, light and airy, until a relaxed silence fell between them. An idea struck him, and he leaned closer, teasingly, “You know, you’re making this date really easy. I thought I’d be sweating bullets.”

Just as the words left his mouth, careless and relaxed, he slipped. “I guess I just feel comfortable, baby girl…” 

His voice trailed off in horror as his brain caught up with his mouth. Did he really just call you that? His cheeks blazed a deep shade of crimson, eyes widening as he braced himself for your reaction.

You blinked, pausing mid-bite, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Wow, that was unexpected. Do I look like a baby girl to you?” 

Jungkook’s face burned, a thousand apologies spiraling through his mind. “I-I didn’t mean it like—! I mean, you’re—!” He stumbled over his words, rendering himself a stammering mess. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, clearly amused, leaning forward as if to ease his embarrassment. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I kinda liked it, actually. It’s sweet.”

His initial panic spilled over into relief, but the flirty undertone hung between them, making the air around them more charged. Under the table, his heart raced as he played with the hem of his own sweater, unsure whether he was feeling flustered or exhilarated.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Well, um, you are adorable, so I guess it fits—just not in the way I set it up!” 

“Do you think I’m adorable, huh?” You teased, your playful confidence radiating from you. Your gaze held a challenge, one that made his heart race anew. 

“Not just adorable,” he clarified, leaning in slightly, feeling the heat of her presence. “You’re… captivating. Thoughtful. Kind. And it’s…” he hesitated, a smirk creeping onto his face, “dangerously charming.” 

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with intrigue, every inch of your body language inviting him closer. “Dangerously charming, huh? Is that a compliment or a warning?” 

“Both,” Jungkook said, letting the tension linger in the air, a quiet challenge exchanged between them. As if he were testing the waters before diving in. “How about you tell me something about yourself that could potentially get us both in trouble?” 

This time, you laughed, and it echoed around their cozy corner of the restaurant. The flirtation was undeniable, thickening the air as they engaged in the dance of unspoken desires. Finally, it seemed like this date might indeed lead somewhere—somewhere beautifully unexpected, where the two of them could explore the chemistry that had sparked between them.

With their plates nearly empty and glasses refilled, you glanced over at him, a light blush dusting over your cheeks. Under the table, you let your foot caress up and down his calf, watching how he paused halfway through paying for the bill to look at you with a tilted head. You turned your head away, resting it in your palm as you continued your movements, hearing how Jungkook’s breathing changed from light and even to heavier and quicker.

“What’re you doing…?” He asked quietly, cheeks burning a red colour as he sunk into his chair a little more. You shrugged your shoulders, looking away again, the intensity of the situation making it hard to stare directly at him. 

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor made you finally look back at him. His cheeks were a dark red, a hand extended towards you as he helped you out of your chair, pushing it in before slowly walking with you. A shaky hand was placed around your waist, sending tingles all throughout your body, it was clear Jungkook was nervous, but it was also clear he wanted something else. Craved something else.

“Jungkook, are yo-”

“Do you want to come back to my place?” He asked hurriedly but softly, his eyes  staring into yours as he waited for your response. “I know it’s inappropriate to ask, especially since it’s only our first date, but you just…you look really good in your dress, like, really, really good- and…and…” 

He looked as if he were about to lose his mind if you didn’t speak soon. You carefully cupped his face, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks as you spoke. “Hey, relax…it’s okay. You can breathe…” You calmed him down, his hands coming up to hold your forearms gently, taking in deep breaths. “I..I would love to…go back to your place, I mean. But…what about Ara?”

“She’s with her uncles…Namjoon and Jin promised to look after her.” He said breathlessly, his eyes looking everywhere on your face at once, taking in as much detail as possible as if he were trying to engrain an image of you into his mind.

“Am I supposed to know who those people are, or?” He shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours before pulling away.

“They’re my friends that helped me raise her. Also work at the cafe.” He mumbled, bouncing a little as he looked at the parking lot. “ I really love sharing things with you, but I’m about to lose my mind if I don’t have you soon…so…my car is over there.” He said, pointing over to a black car parked a little further away from the restaurant. 

There wasn’t a lot of time between getting in the car, the drive to his place, and getting inside his place. As soon as you stepped foot inside the threshold, Jungkook was grabbing you, needy hands grabbing at your waist as he  looked at you, quietly asking for permission to kiss you. You barely nodded before he gently pressed his lips against yours, the kiss was firm yet soft, everything you expected from him.

“God…” He whispered against your lips, cupping your face as he kissed you again, groaning from how good you were. “You’re so perfect…so, so perfect.”

A soft giggle escaped you, pulling back so you were face to face with him, “You’ve barely kissed me, how can you know I’m perfect?” You asked, following mindlessly as he dragged you to the bedroom.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Yes, ‘because.’ Don’t ruin the moment.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed you again, lifting you slightly to place you on the bed. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing and kneading the flesh under your dress. His lips slowly moved from your lips to your jaw, peppering soft kisses all along your skin. His left hand grabbed your chin, turning your head to the side so he had more room to find the spots that made you shiver. “Your skin’s so soft, baby girl…”

The feeling of his lips latching onto your skin made you shiver, feeling the slight suction as he sucked a mark into your skin, his tongue soothing the area afterwards. He hovered above you, arms propping himself up so he didn’t squish you completely, not that you’d mind. 

“Fuck…Jungkook…” You whimpered, feeling him smirk against your skin. He pulled away, eyes meeting yours as he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Can I take your dress off?” If he wasn’t breathless before, he sure was now, panting as he waited for permission. “Please, I wanna see your pretty body, baby.”

You managed to nod, propping yourself up so he could reach back and unzip your dress. His fingers gently grasped your sleeves, pulling the forward as the top half of your dress slid off your body. The sound that left his lips made your panties damper than before, his eyes focused solely on your bare breasts. “Oh shit…no bra?”

“Didn’t have one that worked with the dress.” You replied, finding it hard to stare at him head on. Jungkook seemed to notice this, his hands cupping your face again, focusing on your eyes as he spoke softly.

“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed or anything…you have the hottest body ever. Like, ever. I mean, you just showed me your bare tits and I almost came.” With his admission his cheeks tinted pink, but he didn’t pay any mind to it, instead focusing on you. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me. Okay? I’ll stop right away.” 

His gaze slowly went back to your tits, his thumbs resting just under your breasts, brushing against the soft skin before fully grasping them in his hands. You let out a breathless moan, eyes fluttering closed as you relished in his touch. It wasn’t long after that he had you out of that dress and your panties, being stripped down to only his boxers himself. His face was level with your pussy, lips pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs as he edged closer and closer to the place you needed him most. 

He darted his tongue out, licking a stripe down your folds, before making contact with your clit. The moans you let out egged him on more, pressing his face further into your cunt without any care in the world. The sloppy sounds that came from his mouth on your pussy was borderline pornographic. He used his fingers to part your folds, paying as much attention to your clit as possible. After a few minutes he pulled back, taking a few quick breaths before tugging you closer to the edge of the bed. He noticed the way you were gripping the sheets, how your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure.

“Aww, are you close, baby girl? Does my good girl wanna cum?” He taunted, and all you could do was whine and nod.

Your eyes were glossy as you opened them again, looking down at him to see the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. “Please… Please, wanna cum…wanna cum for you…” You moaned, blindly reaching for one of his hands. 

He got the idea, intertwining your fingers with his as he rested them just above your pelvic bone. He nipped at your inner thigh before licking another bold stripe up your sensitive folds, sucking your clit into his mouth. His tongue flicked over it slowly, steadily changing the rhythm to a pace that would bring you to the edge in an instant. With a few more flicks of his tongue, he had you coming undone on his tongue, slurping up every little bit of juice that leaked  from your hole.

You laid on the bed, limp and breathless as you looked at him, watching him stand up straight and wipe the rest of your juices that were on his face on the back of his hand. “How’re you doing, baby?” He asked softly, kissing your cheeks a few times to make sure you were still with him. 

You hummed softly, nodding as you pushed yourself up, connecting your lips with his in a slow and sensual kiss. Your hand snaked down to his boxers, barely rubbing against his hard-on before he grabbed your wrist gently. “If you do that, I’m gonna cum. And I want to cum while I’m inside you…”

The pout that formed on your face was inevitable, but you agreed, “Fine…but next time, you have to let me return the favour.”

His smirk grew as you insinuated there would be a next time. “Fine. Next time.” He kissed you again, fingers tangling in your hair as he groped your breasts again, groaning into the kiss. “I’m never gonna get over how soft your tits are…wanna fuck them.” He panted, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

A breathless giggle escaped you, “Maybe next time…” He took the answer you gave him, kissing you once more before flipping you to be on your hands and knees, your face pressed into the mattress as he grabbed at your ass.

“Fuck, is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?” When he saw you turn your head and part your lips to respond, he spanked your cheek gently, grabbing it to massage after. “Don’t answer that.”

It almost happened too quickly, he got the condom, slipped it on and pushed into you gently, rocking his hips into yours to make sure you adjusted to him properly. His hand reached under you, cooing at you to part your legs slightly so he could play with your clit. The sensations of his fingers stimulating your clit mixed with the rocking of his cock in you, you were a lost cause. 

“Mm, f-feels…so good…” You moaned into the mattress, feeling him speed up more, probably trying to chase his own high as well. Your walls fluttered around him, making him groan deeply, leaning forward to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Yeah? S’my cock that good for your little pussy? Hmm? Fuck, you take me so well…”

You whined, your walls tightening more around him, that knot in your lower belly slowly becoming too much to handle. “F- fuck…K-Kook, m’gonna cum…” You said in a high pitched tone, trying to hold back for him for as long as possible.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby girl. Let go for me. I’m right there with you…” He encouraged you, thrusting into you faster as he kept rubbing your clit. Your moans melded together as you both came undone.

He kept pumping into you until he was sure you were satisfied, a gentle hand coming to your hips to stabilize you as he pulled out, listening to your soft whine. He hushed you sweetly, laying your hips down to the mattress as he quickly disposed of the used condom. He came back to the bed, curling up behind you, nuzzling his face into your neck as he breathed in your scent. 

“Mmm, you’re so pretty…” He whispered drowsily, smiling softly as he heard you giggle. He loved that sound so much.

“Sure, I look so pretty with messy hair and sweat covering my body.” You groaned, shifting to get more comfortable. It was his turn to chuckle, his arms wrapping around you tighter.

“Yes, you do.” The moment of peace was disrupted by the doorbell ringing. He furrowed his brows, looking at you before towards the bedroom door. “Give me a minute, I’ll go see who it is.” He murmured, kissing your temple softly before getting up and pulling on his boxers from before. 

He was gone for a few minutes, quiet chatter echoing through the house, but it wasn’t loud enough for me to hear. You wrapped the sheet around your body, tugging it securely around you as you got closer to the bedroom door. Then you could hear it, Jungkook’s voice stern and low, something you hadn’t heard from him before. But who was he talking to like that? And then you understood…

“I want to see my daughter.”

[pathologicalreid]

too heavy to hold | s.r.

in which you and Spencer grieve the loss of the most important person in your life, your son

who: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: grief, childhood cancer, funerals, medical care, death, dry heaving word count: 1.42k a/n: i sense a notes app apology in my future

Spencer Reid had perfected his chicken noodle soup recipe.

It’s the only thing you could think of when you crossed the threshold of your house, your heels clicking against the hardwood before you stopped in the entryway. There were still servings in the freezer, ready to be made for a toddler who was never coming home.

It was a recipe that needed to be precariously made; Spencer would pull the strings out of celery stalks and overcook the vegetables so they weren’t tough on Cooper. It was a meal that didn’t take a lot of energy to eat, perfect for your three-year-old, especially after the last time you brought him home from the hospital.

Your husband went around you, placing the bag that the funeral home had given you on the kitchen counter and returning to you. Your eyes focused on the bag, a nondescript tote bag that held copies of the obituary, the funeral handout, and Cooper’s death certificate. You weren’t sure what you wanted from the bag; maybe part of you was hoping that you could set it on fire with your gaze.

The house smelled like a flower shop. Since Monday morning, arrangements had been arriving on your porch in a steady stream. People sent flowers, sandwiches, bread baskets, and one fruit arrangement you had let rot for no reason other than you couldn’t get yourself out of bed.

There were more plants at the funeral home; Luke had offered to bring them to your house tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry about them.

Spencer tried to reach out for you, nothing more than setting a hand on your waist, but you stepped away from him, stumbling over your heeled shoes as you did so. You held your breath while you waited for a response, but he just sighed and went to the kitchen.

You deserved that, you supposed, after your breakdown at the wake that ended with you lashing out at JJ. She just caught you at a bad time; you’d just buried your son, and she came up to you telling you she knew how you felt. You’d desperately wanted to draw the connections between her loss and yours, but you were the one who had to spend a thousand dollars on a much too small casket and surround yourself with a group of people telling you just how sorry they were. It ended with Emily bringing you outside, dry heaving off of the edge of the balcony while you begged yourself to wake up from the horrible nightmare you were having.

They shouldn’t even make caskets that small. You shouldn’t have had to buy a cemetery plot for your three-year-old. You’d never understood why people buy plots of land so far in advance of their deaths, but you and Spencer had purchased a plot large enough to reunite you with your son someday.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children. You shouldn’t have had to write an obituary for your three-year-old. An obituary should be filled with the life and legacy that someone is passing on to the next generation; it shouldn’t include a description of a baby’s favorite stuffed animal. You’d buried him with it. Cooper and Blue were destined to be together for eternity.

Toys still scattered the family room, train tracks set up all over the floor that you didn’t have the heart to take down. There were blocks on the stairs, but tripping over them would’ve been welcome. At least that way you’d be reminded that he had been here. A reminder of him while memories were still too painful.

Your chest ached while you walked away from Spencer, making your way up the stairs and walking into your room. The blankets on your bed were awry, evidence of five days of restless sleep, and as you kicked your shoes off in the closet, you noticed a faint glow coming from the room across the hall.

You and Spencer had disagreed on how to keep the door to Coop’s room; every time you closed it, Spencer would open it back up again.

Gently, you pushed the door open and sighed. Sunlight was beaming in through the blinds, illuminating everything in the room with an orange glow. It smelled faintly of antiseptic; the cart next to his bed was packed with every medical supply he had ever needed. New boxes were in the closet, gauze and disinfecting wipes provided by your insurance that you’d donate to a new family now that yours didn’t have any use for them.

The smell was oddly comforting, memories of singing to Cooper while you’d administer his medication and dancing around his room to stop him from crying. For every good memory, there were ten unpleasant ones. There had been countless sleepless nights where you and Spencer stayed up with him, cooing and comforting him while he wailed in pain and had already maxed out on pain medication.

He'd never had to feel that kind of pain again, the trade-off was living every day of your life feeling like your heart was being torn out of your chest.

Penelope had stenciled butterflies on his wall; his fascination started during his first remission when one had landed on his finger. When his cancer recurred and you were in the hospital with him, Penelope had taken it upon herself to revamp his bedroom.

He’d died in this room. When the doctors came to you and said there was nothing else they could do for him, you and Spencer knew you had to bring him home. You sang to him, smoothing your hand over his chemo fuzz when he stopped breathing, and you continued to sing until you were choking on your own tears. There were no more words for you to say to him, and your baby was gone.

Standing in it now, you looked around, the stuffed animals piled in the corner, and you missed him. No matter how many people told you he was in a better place or that he wasn’t hurting anymore, you’d always miss him. You’d never get over this kind of loss.

On his dresser, you spotted a folded cloth. It was familiar, but it wasn’t until you took it off of the dresser that you knew exactly what it was. The blanket that you had been given at the hospital when Cooper was born. It smelled faintly of baby shampoo; you held it to your nose as you sat down on his bed.

You hadn’t spent any time in here since the night he died, but with the blanket in hand, you found yourself lying on the bed, his Thomas the Train Engine bedding a welcoming sight beneath you while you begged yourself to never forget the sound of his voice.

“Thanks, JJ,” Spencer’s tired voice carried from down the hall. “Yeah, I’ll let her know.” He walked into your bedroom first, thinking you were in there getting changed, before he peeked into Cooper’s room.

Your eyes met, and the only thing you felt was shame. Shame that you couldn’t do something to help your son, shame that you had pushed everyone away when all they wanted to do was help, and shame that you were denying Spencer the comfort of you because you didn’t think you deserved it.

The two of you were quiet, with you still in your funeral dress and him still in his suit; there was a silent acknowledgment of grief between you. Swallowing thickly, you backed up so that you were against the wall, leaving space for Spencer to lie down with you.

Spencer shut his eyes, and your chest deflated, thinking he didn’t want to be near you. Punishing you for pushing him away.

You closed your eyes, listening to a faint rustle of fabric before you felt the mattress dip down in front of you. Spencer pulled you into him, and in a battle of broken wills, you were the first to hold up a white flag. Wrapping your arms around him, you let yourself be comforted by him while you comforted him.

For a moment, you were too lost in your own sobs to notice that Spencer was crying to you, holding each other for the first time since that night, but instead of your son between you, his blanket took his place. “I’m so sorry,” you blubbered in between sobs, “I love you.”

His arms tightened around you, a silent acknowledgment of your apology, before he sniffled and responded, “I love you too.”

[bookwormjust]

Shadows of Reassurance: Learning to Love Yourself Through Azriel's Eyes

You stand in front of Azriel, shifting awkwardly as you explain how you’ve been feeling.

“I just feel... big,” you admit quietly, looking anywhere but at him. “I have all these curves, and I’m so much smaller than Feyre, Nesta, or even Elain, but somehow I feel... heavy. Like I don’t look right.”

Azriel’s amber eyes soften, his shadows brushing against your skin like a comforting embrace. He steps closer and holds out his hands.

“Come here,” he says gently, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument. You hesitantly place your hands in his, and he immediately engulfs them with his much larger ones. He lifts them slightly, turning them over so your palms face upward, his thumbs brushing along your knuckles.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “Your hands are so small compared to mine. So delicate, yet you’ve carried so much. These hands hold my heart, Y/N. And you think you’re ‘big’?” Your breath catches as he pulls you closer. “Now, stand here,” he says, nudging your feet next to his.

He stares down at the size difference, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at this. Your feet are tiny. Do you see how I have to be careful not to step on you when we’re walking together?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness behind it.

He places his hands on your waist, his thumbs brushing over the soft curve of your hips. “Here,” he says, leaning down so his face is level with yours. “This is life, Y/N. This softness, these curves—they aren’t something to hide. They mean you’re healthy, strong. They mean you’re human, even if you’re High Fae now. Without this, how would you survive?” You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his hands now lightly resting on your thighs. “And don’t get me started on these,” he says with a small smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Your thighs fit perfectly against mine. Do you know how much I love holding you? How it feels to have you curl into my lap, your warmth pressing against me? It’s perfect.”

When you glance down at his lean, muscular frame, you can’t help but blurt, “But you don’t have any fat. Not like me.” Azriel laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “That’s because I’m male, love. My body doesn’t prepare itself the way yours does. You’re nurturing, even without realizing it. Every curve, every bit of softness—it’s your body’s way of caring for the life it could one day carry. It’s already loving and preparing for a future that doesn’t even exist yet.” Your heart stutters, and tears well in your eyes as his words sink in.

“You really think that?” Azriel cups your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. “I know that,” he says firmly. “Your body isn’t just beautiful, Y/N. It’s perfect. It’s built to love, to nurture, to carry. One day, if we decide to have a family, it’ll be the first home our children ever know. And until then, it’s the home of my heart.” He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as his wings wrap around you protectively.

“You’re not big, Y/N,” he whispers against your hair. “You’re mine. And I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.” In his embrace, you feel safe, cherished, and seen in a way you’ve never felt before. And for the first time in a long time, you begin to see yourself the way Azriel sees you—strong, beautiful, and utterly loved.

[empathicliar]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩. ¸.•* 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢.

𝟏.𝟏𝐤. 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 , 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐡-𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝.

༺❀༻ || 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝​!kisuke , age gap , manly man , public sex ( luv makin in the bathroom ) , creampie!! >~< , praising , dirty talk , use of pet names , oral!f receiving , multiple orgasm's.​

>`< || might be working on a aizen x kisuke x reader but who knowsss!

kisuke’s corner store isn't as busy around this time. around your break time that is. the beauty supply store down the street your mom owns takes up majority of your sanity. that's why it's always so refreshing to take a little walk down seventy-fifth’ street to your boyfriend's shop to make sure he isn't getting himself hurt.

“ welcome in- “ looking at a random magazine he saw laying on the floor, kisuke hears the bell on his store's door ring and waves his hand at the customer emerging in, barely taking a glance until he feels a spurt of spirit energy he could recognize in a corner maze. “ hey doll, come on in-“

kisuke urahara is fascinated by you. it's no wonder he’s stopping dead in his sentence when he notices what all has changed about you in less than twelve hours. a new hairdo for one caught his attention, a hairdo he finds himself trying to look away from. the velvet blue brings something dark out of your eyes that makes his pants strain in on itself.

he’s in total and utter disbelief when your full glossed lips speak to him, he doesn't even catch it. he just stares in wonderstruck. brainstorming one hundred ways to get into those jeans that make your hips pop too damn well. he can't succumb to purity when you strut towards the candy aisle.

“ you’re so dirty ‘ke. “ you snicker. “ do i look good? “ batting those long lashes his way, he unknowingly takes a glance behind the barely see-through curtain, almost popping his lips when he remembers the inconvenience his children being in the shop bring. 

“ you look better than good doll. “ pointing one of his long fingers your way, he beckons you over. you stroll with a giddy smile, practically skipping to the cash register. you lean over the register desk like a table, hand on top of the other. head twisted to look underneath that green and white hat he barely takes off.

“ tweety in the bunch? “ tweety in the bunch was another name for ‘ are the kids here? ‘. kisuke glooms. it felt like that code name was used more than eight times this week. you, yourself tried to peek in the back to see if the kiddies were in the shop. they were so quiet today, usually they would come out and greet you. he nods, barely responsive.

“ mhmm… “ he finally drags out, taking his sweet time eyeing you down before his resolve weakens and any and everyone who dared to look into this almost rundown corner store saw a sight they’d never forget.

“ mm.. alright, ill see you later then- “

“ woah, woah- that doesn't mean anything pretty. “ he smirks, the pit in your stomach prayed for him to say those words. you're smiling the whole time he’s shushing you through the back, golden ring covered digit pressed against his lips. that sappy smile is only dropping when his cold, big hands are dragging inside the back of your shirt and those soft lips of his make their way to yours.

almost skin to skin with the way he’s holding you closely, groans falling between the rough, wet kisses. he’s sooo manly when it comes to intimacy. He, himself overwhelms you. he smells like the burnt end of a blunt and vanilla incense. hiking your hands underneath that green kimono. wanting to feel him so bad it burns. the soft – almost rough feeling of his lower stomach hair trail has you biting his lip, panties soaked to the max.

kisuke is rough to the t, he does this thing where he licks every corner of your mouth, sometimes pushing that wet muscle into your throat. he’s beyond dirty and if it weren't for this small space, you're sure he would have you completely spread out licking from the pink to the stink. he always, always manhandles you into place then laces those chaste touches with nasty words.

 “ gonna keep quiet for me baby? “ that public sink holds you upright. kisuke’s stubborn fingers are drilling inside of your pussy. his thumb swiping over that sensitive bundle of nerves that make your hips stiff up. you're trying so hard to stay quiet – biting the inside of your palm hoping the pain will make your noisy moans come to an end.

“ you know i can't give you this cock if you don't act right, doll. “ he says so casually as if you weren't already on the verge of becoming a braindead slut. he mumbles on your pussy, unable to keep quiet about his desire for you, tongue moving with total love intent. he’s obsessed with hearing you, it almost pains him to not hear how good he’s making you feel.

that dingy hat has already been tossed to the side, courtesy of you. your fingers thread in his blonde hair. hooded lids catching sight of his sharp eyes. you're wet, like superrr soaked and you're not sure if it's from the thrill of getting caught or if it's the way this man, who is over seven years older than you, has the look of awe in his eyes while his tongue is toying with the inside of your walls.

“ yeah arch it like that, you know how daddy likes it. “ he moans into your ear, squealing pussy sucking him in like he’ll leave forever. his sweaty stomach pressed against your back. that weight only brings you closer to that awaited second release. the fogging mirror paints a shamefully beautiful portrait. he looks so much bigger than you at this angle, his hand is pressed to your mouth to keep the noise down yet it’s almost touching your eyelids from how big it is.

he’s all up on you, the squeaking of the sink, the sound of shoes scuffing on the plated tiled floors, the smacks of your ass on his pelvis have drowned out in your ears. gone in this bathroom, only having a clear view of kisuke's concentrated eyes. you’d gotten so used to his weight on you, you almost whine when he lifts up to hit a different angle.

“ keep squeezin’... fuckkk, you sucking me in so good, b-baby. “ it isn't long before you're coming on his dick for the second time. cunt spasming around him – cute little moans slipping from the soles of his fingers. he still bullies your hole, well holes in this case. – his long pointer and middle fingers now brushing down your throat while his dick is giving your cunt a new shape.

drool falling onto your chin, kisuke’s head tilted back to keep himself steady. you're holding onto his wrist the whole time he’s warning you of his release. kisuke unregretfully cums inside of you, something that wasn't new to you at all. biting his lip til blood is pouring from the oncoming scar to keep quiet. he huffs, hands on your chubby hips to keep himself in place. he leaves kisses on the simple sonder tattoo on the top of your shoulder. 

“ are you okay, my love? you did so good for me. “ that sweet gesture almost makes the pounding on the bathroom door worth it! >^<

©𝙀𝙈𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙍 any sort of stealing or modifying is prohibited, mess with your momma not me.

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Sapient Yandere Doey Headcanons: Goodness Turned Obsession (Poppy Playtime)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with another Poppy Playtime Bae Yandere Headcanons. This one has to do with Base Yanere Headcanons of Doey. Remember, in My Poppy Playtime content, the toys are not made out of children but are Sapient monster toys! Thank you! Anyway I hope that you all enjoy this!] 

(Disclaimer: Doey in this was NOT made out of Children's Souls and instead is A Sapient toy Monster! He has his own soul and mind and is aware that he is alive and can make choices! There are NO Children's souls in him!  Disclaimer: Doey is not yandere in canon and this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Yandere Doey X Gender Neutral Reader From Poppy Playtime- 

.Doey is a good man and monster he cares deeply about the people and toys in his life. 

.He fell for you right away and knew that you were the one for him he wanted to have a life with you and to be close to you. 

.He would be very sweet with you and would treat you almost like a co-parent to the other toys. 

.He has become sort of a leader with the safer toys and since you take care of them he trusts you to be there for them as well. 

.He is a very protective yandere and would see you as the person he has to protect the most. 

.He cannot risk you being hurt and this makes him a very worried wart yandere. 

.He tries not to smother you with his worry or fears but he cannot help it when the outside world is so dangerous. 

.When you leave work and leave him he misses you and longs for you to come back. 

.He cannot stand the thought of not being near you and being away from you. 

.He does lash out at staff if they mistreat you and he is a bit of a clingy yandere. 

.He does not mean to be clingy to you he just is because he does not want you hurt and you mean the world to him so he cannot and will not let you go. 

.He is a very affectionate yandere who would adore you and love to give you handmade gifts or cool stuff he finds and brings to you. 

.You have so many small knick-knacks in your employee locker it is not funny! 

.He loves to sit with you and dare say hold your hand! He is a very innocent yandere, so the idea of just even holding your hand is enough to make him flustered, let alone the idea of kissing you or having sex with you. (Do not ask how)  .He is the type that would love sitting with you but he does not like sharing his alone time with you at all. 

.The toys that are like family with him, sure that is fine, but the staff and or toys that he is not close with? Oh no, he is not sharing his time with you with them! He rather does really bad things to them. 

.Those really bad things are a brief thought and are of his darker yandere side. 

.That is right this yandere has layers and sides. He can be from a very sweet and kind yandere which we just discussed, now let's get into his remaining two. 

.This yandere side of his is, as I like to call it, his sad boy yandere side. 

.This is where he can be a tiny bit of a manipulative yandere with you. 

.As he notices when he is sad you are there more to cheer him up and he can guilt you to spend more time with him and less time with others. 

.It also hides his darker yandere side, because why would a sweet loving, sad boy like, Doey do anything wrong? 

.He knows it is a bit mean to manipulate you like that but he convinces himself he is doing it for the greater good. 

.The last one and this is his worse yandere side, is the one where he snaps. 

.This yandere side is only when he has been pushed too far by rivals or people in the way of his love for you, and he would snap. 

.This is where he would go mainly in a blind rage and kill everyone in the way that he deemed that tried to steal you away from him and or hurt you. 

.Because he would snap if anyone hurt you as well.  .So he transforms into a lizard monster that is determined to put rivals in their place (Their grave) and to protect you. 

.Yes this snapped yandere side comes out when he is trying to protect you as well, and you are the only one who can really calm him down. 

.He might accidentally hurt you but he would never have meant to and he would feel so guilty about it! 

.When he does finally confess to you he can be sweet and loving and nervous beyond words. 

.He had to build himself up to confessing to you and if you accepted his love he would pick you up and spin you around. 

.You are the best thing that has ever happened to him and he will cherish you always. 

.If you did not accept his love he would feel broken, and run away crying, he could not let you see how much he was hurt. 

.He would be in a serious funk not knowing what to do, then came the hour of joy. 

.You were out sick so he did not see you there and he would wait for you to come back! 

.Because you had to come back, you would not just leave him, right, he would not be able to bear losing you, he just could not handle it. 

.He would be a yandere once you did leave him, he is in extreme denial about you not loving him. 

.If you did come back with or without accepting his love, something has broken in him as a yandere. 

.He is not letting you go, you are going to stay with him in the factory and he will not lose you again. 

.He waited over a decade for you and now that you are back it means you accept his love and or still love him and he is NEVER EVER losing you again! 

.He has more trauma and PTSD after what happened in the factory and his love for you. 

.This goes to show, that even good yanderes can snap and turn into bad yanderes because of their obsessive love. 

.This is where all his goodness had turned into pure obsessive love, and he is never letting you go~ 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter done! I hope you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]

[kiame-sama]

The amount of fist fights / guilt trips / theft among the romantic yanderes family would have over the HAE! Darling hybrids childrens gifts, or any of their possessions is ridiculous. Like I can see Falena trying to coerce Cheka/ his wife into handing over a drawing one of the twins made only to pout when they won't budge. He may have even tried with one of the lioness guards who promptly checked him 😌. Rook's family would definitely just sneak in to get the driderlings baby teeth, and not have an ounce of shame if caught by him or Vil 😭. I wouldn't put it pass our beloved sassy shinigami king to swipe clay monstrosities his hybrid descendant made from someone else in the family and pulling the "ancestor privileges"/ "I'm one of the great seven I've earned this" card to defend himself. 🤣 I'm curious to see your take on them and the other boys families in this scenario. 🌻 anon

The family of the Romantically intentioned Yanderes are always fighting over the half-human young and the Human themselves.

Falena is constantly trying to take the twin cubs out for a day with "Uncle" but has yet to succeed because that means he has to contest with the Lionesses and with his own wife. Meanwhile, his Wife is happily watching over the twin cubs and Cheka is trying to be the best older cousin he can be to the little cubs. Any drawings made by the cubs will be evenly distributed among the Lionesses, lord help anyone who tries to take those drawings away. Leona, Falena, Checka, and Falena's Wife Serabinii all have lockets with a small clipping of the twin cubs' fur inside so they can keep the cubs close to their hearts.

Rook's family is shameless and will often try to take the baby fangs and baby teeth of the Driderlings after they shed them. They will only act shameful is if it is the Human who catches them acting like this, but if it is Rook (or Vil if in a poly relationship) they don't care in the slightest and have zero shame. More often than not, his siblings or his parents (ESPECIALLY Rook's parents) will abscond with one of the 7 Driderlings any time they visit and Rook has to go retrieve them from his family. Where it had been only a handful of family would show up for the holidays or celebrations before the Driderlings, now the ENTIRE family shows up to see the Driderlings. It has become a whole production to see the new family members and The Hunts have never been closer.

Kalim's father is OBSESSED with the new Genie infant and is thrilled that they took so well to the Diamond Lamp. A Genie can only be killed if their lamp is destroyed, so a Diamond Lamp means the new Genie infant may as well be immortal against most other species. Most Genies have quite a bit of magic when they are born, Kalim having the most promising magic from birth (even though he is almost always deadly when making wishes) but the new infant is even stronger than Kalim was as a baby. His hair and nails are equally colorful (with his nails being chips of diamond due to his bond with his Diamond Lamp, like how Kalim's nails are literal gold due to his bond with his golden lamp) and trimmings of the Infant's hair or nails are also high value items that others would kill for.

Papa Hades is so proud and so overjoyed one would think it was HIS infant and not Idia's. He is constantly hovering and wanting to carry the little Shinigami infant at all times, almost all negative effects of his Human-born addiction relieved due to holding the little half-human. Funny thing is, the baby likes Papa Hades more than Idia, but the Human is still the infant's preferred caretaker. As one of the favorites, the Half-Shinigami infant makes all the things for Papa Hades and Papa Hades refuses to share any of these crafted monstrosities.

Vil's Father Eric is absolutely adoring of his little grand-chicks, loving their little fluffy feathers and taking care of these raw-chicken looking hatchlings. He will often be found singing lullabies to the chicks and sleeping by their little cradle-nest with a smile on his face. He is so proud of his son Vil and of these little puff-ball chicks that he will often make soft cooing noises when around them and has already made a photo album of the chicks. Any 'threat' (anyone who isn't Vil, Grim, or the Human) trying to mess with the chicks will have to face off with a furious Eric who will not hesitate to attack and brutalize the interlopers with his talons. 100% has a "World's best Grandpa" mug and will often take the chicks out to the park for a bit of sunshine.

Riddle's mother will try to get back into Riddle's life once she realizes he has had a foal with the Human. Riddle will not hesitate to send her packing or even kill her if she tries to take his Foal by force. Riddle's father is actually the parent Riddle allows in to see his Foal and it helps mend the gap between them made by Riddle's mother. The Clovers- Trey's parents- are the stand in grandparents for Riddle's foal and they adore the Unicorn Foal with all of their hearts.

Malefica and Maleficent are as proud as can be as they adore and nuzzle the Dragon hatchlings. Any shed scales will be kept and split four ways evenly among the three Dragons and the Human. The scales are brightly colored and more valuable than gemstones, so of course the Dragons want to immediately add them to their Hoards. Even the little baby fangs will be added to their respective Hoards. Both female Dragons will have already started individual item hoards for the infants of gemstones that match their scale colors, magestones that match the scale colors, fine cloth, quality metals, and anything else the Hatchlings show interest in. Of the shed baby scales, Maleficent makes four necklaces using the scales as pendants. She keeps one, so she always has the clutch close to her heart, and she give the other three to Malleus, Malefica, and the Human.

Azul's parents adore and spoil the daylights out of the Octo-babies and will buy specially made sea-glass octopus pots for the babies. Not to mention the fact that his parents will brag to EVERYONE that they have beautiful children that inherited so much of the Human's features that they are the beauty of all Merfolk. There are several aquatic Kingdoms/Queendoms that are looking to have the Octo-babies marry into the royal family.

[arcaneorphic]

Yours, Always

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Pregnant Wife! Reader

Genre: Slice of life

Summary: Snapshots of Remus and his wife's life as they welcome a new member to their family.

Word Count: 2683

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus stared dumbly at his wife for a moment—perhaps a moment too long, if the slight tremble of her bottom lip was any indication. He could see the tears well in her eyes and for a moment all he could do was look at her. The weight of her words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against his ribs, but he shook himself free of the stupor with a sharp inhale.  

“No, no, no, dove, I just…” His voice was quick, urgent, as if he could undo the second of silence that had stretched too long between them. “I was surprised, that’s all.”  

He moved without hesitation, ignoring the familiar protest of his joints as he closed the space between them, wrapping her in his arms. She was warm, solid, real. His hands splayed against the curve of her back as if to reassure himself that she was there, that this moment was happening.  

They hadn’t exactly been trying, but what else could they have expected? Rabbits they were, truly. A wry sort of laugh caught in his throat at the thought. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering there, breathing her in.  

“I’m happy,” he murmured, soft but certain, as if willing her to believe it as much as he needed to. “I promise.”

And he was—beneath the slight panic, beneath the breathless, dizzying realization that their lives were about to change—incredibly happy. He loved his wife more than words could ever hope to capture, more than he had ever thought himself capable of loving anyone.  

And somehow, somehow, he had convinced her to marry him.  

More impossibly still, she had stayed married to him. Two years, as of last Friday.  

His arms tightened around her instinctively, as if holding her close might ground him in the sheer wonder of it all.

It was surreal, really.  

It didn’t feel like that long ago that Remus had resigned himself to a life spent alone—save for the steady, unwavering presence of his friends and the fleeting, hollow comfort of one-night stands (which he still cringed at if it was even so much as alluded to).  

Back then, love—real love—had felt like something meant for other people, something he could admire from a distance but never truly have. He had convinced himself he was fine with that, that it was easier, safer. It would have been selfish to condemn someone else to a life with him, a life marred by the ever present looming danger of the beast that lay just beneath his surface. 

And yet, here he was. Married. In love. And standing at the edge of a future he never dared to believe he could have.

Before this, before her he had thought the idea impossible, laughably so, but now? As he held his wife there was no other outcome, was there? All roads, all broken bones, all self-sabotaging habits, and bone-deep loneliness lead him here. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

In the passing months, a new version of Remus seemed to be uncovered—the hovering husband. If he had to endure another knowing look or remark from James, who had been the first in their friend group to marry and have children, he would lose it. Not actually, because despite James’ teasing and claims that ‘You’ll see. All those times you lot took the piss, you’ll see why I was the way I was’ Remus knew that he had a point. 

He hadn't expected it, hadn’t realized just how instinctual it would be; this constant need to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was comfortable, to anticipate her needs before she even voiced them. It wasn’t annoying—or at least, he hoped it wasn’t—but he couldn’t help it.  

Every time she so much as sighed, he was there, asking if she needed anything. Every time she shifted in her seat, he was ready to fetch a pillow. He caught himself watching her when she wasn’t looking, memorizing every small change, every flutter of her fingers over her stomach, every absentminded hum that let him know she was there, she was okay.  

And if he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night just to listen to the steady sound of her breathing, well… no one had to know.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── 

“Here, dove, let me.” Remus reached for the box of packed clothes, his fingers brushing against hers as he attempted to take it from her grasp.

Ever the planner, she had already begun clearing out their shared closet, making space for the new clothes she needed as her body changed. It made sense—of course it did—but that didn’t mean he liked the idea of her lugging boxes around while he was right there to do it for her.

His concern was met with a familiar, exasperated sigh. “I’m pregnant, Rem. Not made of glass.”

Remus winced, fully aware of how overbearing he must have seemed, but that didn’t stop the way his hands twitched at his sides, itching to help. “I know that,” he said, though the way he hovered suggested otherwise. “I just—there’s no need to strain yourself when I’m here.”

She leveled him with a look. Pointed. Unyielding.

“You do realize that I carry this baby every second of the day, right?” she said dryly. “You can’t exactly take that from me.”

Remus opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, brow furrowing as he tried to find a way to argue without sounding even worse.

Instead, he sighed, relenting. “Alright, alright. But at least let me carry the heavy stuff?”

A smile ghosted across her lips, amused but indulgent. “Fine,” she allowed. “But only if you stop looking at me like I might crumble at any moment.”

Remus bit back a guilty smile. No promises. He takes the box from her hands, purposefully brushing their hands together in a silent apology. 

“Sorry,” he hears her say softly as she follows behind him as he goes to store the box. “I know you’re just… helping.” 

The regret in her voice made his heart ache.

His girl—his beautiful, intelligent wife—had been caught in the relentless tide of hormones and mood swings, and he knew that she hated feeling out of control. She was always so steady, so sure of herself, and now? Now, there were moments when her emotions got the best of her, when frustration or sadness crept in without warning, leaving her raw and exhausted in their wake.

And the worst part? There was nothing he could do to stop it.

He could only be there, hold her through it, remind her that it was okay, that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he loved her, even when she snapped at him for hovering, even when she got teary-eyed over things she would normally brush off.

“I know it’s frustrating, dove,” he murmured as he set the box haphazardly on their bed. He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “But you don’t have to be sorry. Not with me.”

Her lower lip trembled, and without a word, she melted into his arms, burying her face against his chest. He held her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, hoping—praying—that it was enough.

“I don’t know why I’m being so short with you,” she admits, her voice wavering in a way that makes Remus want to fall to his knees. “It’s like… I know when I’m doing it, but I can’t stop it.”

Her brows knit together, frustration warring with guilt in her expression, and damn it, he hates this—hates that she feels the need to explain herself to him, as if he’d ever hold it against her.

“Love,” he breathes, cupping her face with careful hands, his thumbs brushing against the apples of her cheeks. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Never to me.”

She lets out a shaky exhale, but he isn’t done—not when she looks like she’s one more intrusive thought away from crumbling.

“Your body is literally growing a person,” he reminds her, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s bound to come with a few… hiccups. Not to mention you’re carrying my kid. Little bugger’s probably already taking after me—moody, stubborn, a bit of a menace.”

That earns him a soft huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough that he takes it as a win. She sniffs, shaking her head. "Oh, definitely stubborn. That much I can already tell."

Remus grins, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "See? You don’t stand a chance. It’s not your fault, it’s ours—we’ve created a tiny menace, and now we just have to deal with the consequences."

Her lips twitch, fighting back a smile, and when she finally leans into him, resting her forehead against his chest, Remus exhales, relief settling deep in his bones.

"I love you," she murmurs, voice muffled against his shirt.

"I love you too, dove," he whispers, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Always."

“I just don’t want you to think I—” She says after a moment of silence. She swallows hard, glancing away, but Remus doesn’t let her.

“I know,” he says firmly. “And I don’t.”

She stares at him for a long moment, searching his face, and whatever she finds there must be enough, because her shoulders finally relax.

“Okay,” she murmurs, voice still small but no longer breaking.

Remus presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Okay.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

If Remus was bad, his mother was worse. Not that he could really blame her—not when this was her first grandchild, not when she had spent so many years worrying about whether Remus would ever let himself have this kind of life. And certainly not when his wife refused to let him.

“She’s excited, Rem,” she reminded him for what had to be the hundredth time, watching in amusement as he pinched the bridge of his nose while reading the latest letter from Hope Lupin—this one detailing her thoughts on nursery colors, prenatal vitamins, and the importance of playing classical music to the baby.

“I know she’s excited,” he sighed, dropping the letter onto the table. “I just wasn’t expecting her to be… this involved.”

His wife snorted, resting a hand over her growing bump. “Remus, she’s knitting an entire wardrobe for a baby that isn’t even born yet. You should’ve seen this coming.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She wants to come stay with us for a month after the birth.”

“And?” she said, arching a brow.

Remus spluttered. “And? Dove, we will have a newborn—I think that’s enough chaos without my mother hovering over our shoulders every second of the day.”

His wife just gave him a look—the kind that told him she had already made up her mind and that he’d best get on board. “Rem, she raised you practically on her own. I think she knows what she’s doing.”

Remus groaned again, flopping back against the couch. He knew she was right—of course she was—but that didn’t mean he was ready to surrender.

Still, as his wife reached over and laced her fingers through his, he sighed in resignation.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if she starts critiquing my diaper-changing technique, I'm kicking her out."

His wife only laughed. "Sure you are, love. Sure you are."

In the end, Remus was glad his mother was there.

He would take every bit of her fussing, her hovering, her insistent need to tidy up and make sure they were eating properly, if it meant easing his wife’s load. The birth had been long, it had been difficult, and even now, days later, Remus still felt the lingering fear clawing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t know what he would have done without another pair of hands to help keep him, his wife, and their home from falling apart.

He had anticipated the care their newborn would need. He had braced himself for sleepless nights, for endless cries, for the overwhelming weight of responsibility that came with holding something so small and fragile in his arms.

What he hadn’t anticipated—foolishly so—was the care his wife would need.

She had always been so steady, so sure, so insistent that she would be ‘be just fine Remus’. And Remus, against his better judgment, had let himself believe her. But when she wasn’t fine—when exhaustion stole the light from her eyes, when the pain left her trembling, when she blinked back tears she wouldn’t allow to fall—Remus felt like the world might end. She was, she is, and she would continue to be—the love of his life until the moment he took his last breath. And likely even well after that.

There was no universe, no version of himself, where she wasn’t it for him. No force of time or fate could unravel the way he loved her, the way she had settled so firmly into every fiber of his being.

He hated feeling useless, hated that he couldn’t take the discomfort and exhaustion from her, couldn’t erase the toll that carrying and delivering their child had taken on her body.

So he did what he could.

He helped her sit up when her muscles ached, massaged the tension from her shoulders, and made sure she had food and water within reach. He held her when the weight of exhaustion and shifting hormones became too much, when the tears came without warning and she could do nothing but curl into him and cry.

He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t tell her to stop, didn’t offer empty reassurances. He just held her, pressing slow, steady kisses to her hair, rubbing soothing circles into her back until the sobs faded into soft, hiccupping breaths.

He woke with the baby before she could, careful and quiet, shushing her protests before she could push herself up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek.

“Sleep, dove. I’ve got them.”

The days blurred together, the way they did when sleep deprivation and the chaos that accompanied the arrival of a newborn took hold.

Time lost its structure, marked only by the rhythm of feedings, diaper changes, and the soft, drowsy moments in between. Morning and night bled into one another, exhaustion settling deep in Remus’s bones, but he hardly cared.

Because in between the haze, there were moments—precious moments.

His wife, half-asleep, cradling their baby against her chest, humming softly under her breath. Tiny fingers curling around his own, impossibly small and impossibly perfect. Late-night whispers exchanged in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, where love was spoken through touch more than words.

It was chaos, yes. But it was theirs. And Remus wouldn’t trade it for the world.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

"Thank you," he had whispered into her hair one night after returning from putting their child back to bed.

Time had passed far too quickly. One day, they were bringing home the smallest, most fragile thing to ever grace the planet—tiny fingers, sleepy yawns, and a warmth that settled deep in his chest every time he held them. The next, they were wrangling a two-year-old with boundless energy and an undeniable streak of mischief, one that had clearly taken after their father.

There was never a moment of peace. Their little one was always running, always climbing, always finding new and inventive ways to nearly give Remus a heart attack. And as exhausting as it was, he wouldn’t change a second of it.

Because for every near disaster, there were sticky-fingered hugs and delighted giggles. There were quiet moments, like now, when he could steal a breath with his wife and hold her close, even as the knowledge settled in his bones—this wouldn’t last forever.

Their child would keep growing, keep changing, and one day, they wouldn’t need him in the same way.

So Remus clung to this moment, to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple as he murmured once more, “Thank you.”

Masterlist

[beelanddiavolosimp-blog]

Tell the brothers (or just Levi) I GOT A POTION TO GET YOU PREGNANT! WE WILL GENDER SWAP AaND I GOT A 10 INCH PACKERRR 😂😂😂time to spread em 🙏

LMAO 🤣 you're so real. Imma change it up a bit.

Fem brothers reaction to saying you'll get them pregnant

Lucifer

She glares at you. She then rubs her temples and after staring at your dumb face for a bit she caves. "I don't want children right now but...I may consider later on" she says with a small grin

Mammon

She immediately turns red and stares at you blankly "w-what?" A few moments regaining herself she responded properly "l-let's wait on that yeah? Y-yer so bold damn..." She definitely wants it but needs to relax a bit first

Levi

She squeaked and backs away a bit (afraid of getting railed not of you) "W-WAIT! l-let's talk about this okay? I-I don't know i-if you'd want to have a baby with me! A-are you sure?" She asks doubting herself alike her male version she is very insecure but definitely not fully against it

Satan

She looks you up and down and hums in amusement at your boldness "I admire your confidence but I fear you'd have to overpower me for that doll" she stayed and grins at you. She is 100% into it and wants you to attempt it.(Dommy mommy)

Asmos

"I'm on birth control but sure" she says nonchalant. She looks very serious too. If you were more serious about it she would 100% get off birth control just for you.

Beel

She looks at you and blushes a bit "I-If you'd like sure...why all of a sudden though?" She asks and holds your hand with a small smile (always wanted to be a mom alike how male beel always wanted to be a dad)

Belphie

She tchs "hell no pervert! Go find someone else to do that shit too!" She acts as if she isn't thinking about it. She will stab you again if you do go and find someone else to do that too though be weary.

Should I do more fem versions of them? 👀

[darlingdaisyfarm]

My Love Mine All Mine | Stanley Pines

★ Caryn Pines gives her son the only thing that truly belongs to him. love that will live in the people he loved and in the people they will love after him.

for Stanley Pines, whose soul was too big for his own body, so he gave the extra away. who had nothing and so he gave everything

i highly recommend listening to this song when reading <3 its by Mitski

before anything else, before words, before thought, there is love. and love is red, love is screaming, love is Stanley Pines coming into this world.

and his world begins with a cry. Stanley is loud as he will ever be, his tiny body shaking with a ferocity.

she holds both of her sons to her chest, skin to skin, two tiny bodies curling into her warmth, and she knows. these are mine.

and she loves them both like the ocean loves the shore.

Caryn feels two new hearts against her. she presses Stan close, feeling the tremble of his breath. he is too small to know what he needs, but she does.

Caryn knows that everything she does will leave a mark. she won’t leave them money, she won’t leave them houses, but she will leave love. a love so vast, so infinite, it will fill spaces long after she is gone, after the years pass.

“you are mine. all mine, my love. i will teach you how to love, because that’s the only thing that will ever belong to you.”

Ford is quiet in her other arm, calmer, softer, less of a storm, more a ripple in the ocean. but his twin is a storm and he will carry that storm with him always. it will be his curse and his blessing and Caryn will teach him how to contain it. she hopes it plants something deep inside him that will take root, that will never leave him, even when she does.

“Stanley,” she breathes, pressing a kiss to the forehead of the loud one. she shifts, pressing another kiss to the quiet one. “Stanford.”

Stanley never stops crying unless Caryn holds him. and Ford never cries at all. unless Stanley is taken away, so Caryn carries them both at once because her arms are strong and her heart is stronger. Ford rests in the crook of her arm, Stanley clings to her like a little stubborn monkey.

she sings to them before they understand words, sings because love is the only language they will ever need.

“moon, tell me if i could, send up my heart to you? so when i die, which i must do, could it shine down here with you?”

Stanley kicks his feet in time with the melody. Ford watches her mouth move, curious.

Caryn takes Stanley to the ocean, cradles him against her chest as the tide curls around her ankles. the waves roar, and he giggles, his small hands grasping at the sea spray.

“see, sweetheart?” she smiles, bouncing him gently. “this is yours. the whole ocean.“

Stanley realises, this is home. this is the ocean. and he will love it, because Caryn loves it and Caryn is his, so it belongs to him too.

Stan buries his face in her neck, grinning against her skin. Ford is on the shore, his tiny fingers curling into the sand, fascinated by the way it shifts beneath him.

her boys. her whole world.

it’s strange, the way children grow. they exist between moments, one minute they are so tiny, and the next, they are already eight.

and Stanley, with all his fire, all his want to hold the world in his hands, is too much. too much for this small house, too much for his small body. so he reaches.

when it rains, Stanley runs outside, arms wide open like he could hold the whole sky, mouth open to catch the drops. Caryn doesn’t mind, she never minds. she takes his hand and twirls him in circles until they are both dizzy, rain-soaked, laughing.

Ford stands under the porch, watching, waiting. he is quieter still, more thoughtful. he is different. he watches moths with wide eyes, reaches for mushrooms with eager hands

Ford loves the quiet things, the soft things, the dark, the mysterious. Stanley doesn’t understand it. how could he understand the silence when he was born from a cry?

Stanley finds the moths disgusting, he sticks out his tongue when it flutters too close. but Caryn only laughs, cupping one in her gentle hands, watching the delicate way it moves. “he sees the world different than you,” she tells Stanley. “and that’s beautiful.”

Stan pouts. but later, she catches him watching Ford watching the moths. he wants to understand.

that is the thing about love, she thinks. you don’t have to understand someone to love them. and she is proud of them both. they balance each other

but Stanley does understand love, because his mom has given it to him in every moment, in every touch. she is raising him on it, feeding it to him like milk.

but he doesn’t know yet that one day, when he is older and the world becomes too rough for him, love will be the only thing he has left. it will be the thing that pulls him through.

Stanley is joy. Ford is quiet. and Caryn is the bridge, the hands that hold both at once. she knows that love is different for each of them. she loves them in the way they need to be loved.

one more thing about love: it does not stop the world from moving forward and it's not enough to keep Stan and Ford from growing up.

the house is too quiet without Stanley’s voice filling the halls. he leaves with his mother’s love carved into him, so when she'll be gone, it'll feel like he is bleeding.

but when Caryn dies, she lives in him. Stanley wonders if he could send his heart up to her. he wonders if she knew if he still carried her love in his hands because no one else in the world could ever take it from him.

and that love, the one she taught him, it moves through him like a pulse, and Stanley doesn’t know how to let it go. but he does not need to. it will never leave him, even when everything else does

years pass, and his mother's love is still in him.

it’s many years later when he meets a boy without a father. a kid with a too-big heart. the same hunger for a love that doesn’t ask for anything. so Stan does what he was taught, he holds Soos close, he becomes what Caryn was for him.

Stanley does not think about it when he ruffles his hair, when he buys him lunch without being asked, when he shows him how to fix things.

he pours that love into the boy, as best he can, knowing full well it isn’t enough. but love, as his mother said, it is all he has to give. it is the thing that will stay, even after he is gone.

years pass, and when Mason and Mabel are born, Stanley stands at the edge of the hospital room, hands shaking.

Mabel is first, she arrives screaming, loud, red. Stanley strokes her tiny cheek with his thumb, only now realising how he looked when he came into this world. so this was me, he thinks. Caryn always mentioned it. now he knows. because now Mabel exists and she is warmth, she is loud, she is life, she is the echo of his own baby wail. too much love in too small a body.

Stan does not expect to cry, but he does.

because when Mason is placed in his arms, there is a birthmark on his forehead. a constellation written into his skin. Stan doesn't know if he's crying or laughing because the universe must be playing a joke on him.

six fingers, the big dipper, twins.

it’s too much like Ford, too much like the thing he lost

Stan's heart is too full, too raw, too open. and when he holds both kids, so small, so pure, he understands. he understands what it means to love something so much that it hurts. because this is what he does and he will do it for as long as he can: he loves. he loves the children, he loves the world in pieces, he loves the moment he’s in, because that is all he can do.

Stanley swallows hard and pulls Mason close, because he misses hugging his brother. he presses his forehead against the baby's and laughs. “kid, you got some big shoes to fill.”

Mabel gurgles in his other arm, as if reminding him she’s here too. Stan grins. "don't worry, sweetheart. i won't forget you."

he never does. because they are his now.

when they’re little, Stan carries them both at once, just like his mother did. he rocks them in his arms, sings to them like his mother sang to him and Ford.

so when i die, which i must do, could you shine it down here for her?

the years pass, and Stanley is there.

he carries Mabel on his shoulders, spins her in the rain, lets her paint his nails and knuckles with glittery nail polish.

Mabel reminds him of himself. she is messy, untamed, wild with love. Mason reminds him of someone he cannot say out loud, but that is okay.

Mason. . . Mason with his notebooks and his questions and his hunger for the strange. Stanley listens. always. because he remembers Ford’s voice, too. remembers what it was like to have so much inside you and no one to tell it to.

nothing in the world belongs to him. not really. not his home, not his name, not even his own history.

except his love.

Stan looks in the mirror and sees his mother’s hands, sees the way she used to hold his face, thumb brushing his cheek.

“i did good, ma,” he says, not expecting an answer. the moon is outside, glowing with a light it doesn’t own.

and Stanley knows. love is the only thing that never left him. his, all his. it lives in the ocean. in the rain. in the wings of a moth. in the laughter of a child.

it lives in the hands of a boy who learned how to fix things. in the laughter of a girl who runs into storms. in the eyes of a boy who sees magic in what others ignore.

when he dies, his love will not.

it will live in Soos’ hands, when he holds his own child for the first time

it will live in Mabel’s loud laugh, when she spins her brother’s kids in the rain

it will live in Mason's voice, telling stories to people who will listen

love is the only thing that does not end.

his love, his, all his.

[whenhypen]

falling for you...literally

maki x gn!reader, 1360 words playlist - heaven by txt content warnings: best friends to lovers? mutual pining

(masterlist)

author's note: maki said on live he went snowboarding in january and I thought I could make something cute. also, sorry if this is a bit inaccurate, I don’t live somewhere where it snows and have never been snowboarding.

It was Maki’s first day off in weeks, and he was beyond excited. There was something about the crisp winter air and the smell of snow that made him feel alive. Today, he wasn’t an idol—he was just a guy about to hit the slopes for a bit of snowboarding. But, there was one catch. He wasn’t going alone. 

You, his best friend who had never set foot on a snowboard in your life, had asked him to come along. The thought of seeing you try something new—especially something he loved so much—was a thrill he couldn't resist. 

“Maki, are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked, your voice a mix of excitement and fear as you stood at the base of the slope, wearing way too many layers for your first time on a snowboard. 

Maki smiled warmly, adjusting your beanie before pulling on his gloves. “Of course! Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Plus, it’s gonna be so much fun. You’re going to love it!” 

You swallowed painfully. His smile—always so effortlessly charming—made your heart skip a beat, but you pushed the fluttering feeling deep down. He was your friend. Nothing more. But still, being around him like this made everything feel…different. 

You looked at the snow-covered mountains, the gentle fall of snowflakes stirring around you, and your stomach fluttered again. You’d always been interested in snowboarding, but the idea of falling flat on your face in front of Maki? Embarrassing. 

But then, Maki gave you that grin—his signature mischievous, teasing smile that somehow made your heart race—and you couldn’t back out now. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll give it a try,” you said with a laugh, trying to sound casual, though you were sure your voice gave away just how nervous you were. “But you better catch me if I fall!” 

Maki chuckled. “Deal. I’ll be right there, don’t worry.” 

He led you to the bunny slopes, a small, gentle hill filled with children. You couldn’t help but glance around—little seven-year-olds zooming past you with the ease of seasoned pros. Your face burned hot. This was where you were going to learn? Surrounded by kids barely old enough to tie their own shoes? 

Maki seemed unfazed, though. He adjusted your helmet, making sure it was secure, before grabbing his own snowboard. “Alright,” he said, eyes bright, “let’s start with the basics. This hill is perfect for you. Nothing too crazy, just a lot of practice.” 

You looked at the tiny children confidently carving their way down the hill and then back at Maki, his smile wide and encouraging. Despite the initial embarrassment, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful. At least you wouldn’t be the only one falling flat on your face today. 

“You got this,” Maki said, giving you a playful pat on the back. “I’ll be right here the whole time. If you fall, I’ll catch you.” His words warmed your chest.

With a deep breath, you stepped into your snowboard bindings. Immediately, your feet felt awkward and heavy, but Maki was there every step of the way—holding your arm, adjusting your stance, and offering constant reassurance.

 “Okay, now we stand up slowly. It’s all about finding your balance.” Maki demonstrated with ease, hopping up effortlessly onto his board. “Like this. Don’t rush it.” 

You tried mimicking his movements, wobbling and flailing as you attempted to find your footing. The moment you stood, your knees buckled, and you quickly fell forward into the soft snow. 

“Whoops! First fall, but no worries,” Maki said, laughing and offering you a hand. You reached for it, feeling the warmth of his grip as he helped you up. 

“You make it look easy,” you said, brushing snow off your jacket and feeling embarrassed. “How are these kids doing it so well?” 

Maki chuckled, brushing snow off his own pants. “They’re just fearless. You’ll get there. The more you fall, the faster you learn.” He gave you a wink. “And you’ve got the best teacher, right?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach his playful flirting (protein) gave you as you smiled back at him. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see how good of a teacher you really are.”

The next few tries were… well, not graceful. You spent more time face-first in the snow than actually standing on the board, but Maki was there, laughing with you, encouraging you. He joked about your “snow angel” skills after each fall, teasing you in his usual playful way. 

But then, something clicked. After a few more tumbles, you finally managed to stay standing for a few seconds. The feeling of accomplishment made your heart race. 

“See? You’re doing great! You’re already better than those kids,” Maki said with a grin, giving you a high-five. Your face turned warm, wiping snow from your gloves, not sure if he was joking or if you really were improving. His praise made you feel like you were on cloud 9, even if you still couldn’t turn without falling. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll take it,” you said, laughing as you steadied yourself. “What’s next?” 

Maki gestured to the tiny hill. “Now we try the slope. Don’t worry, it’s real gentle. I’ll go ahead and you follow, alright?” You nodded, nervous but excited. 

You pushed off, slowly making your way down the slope. It wasn’t graceful, and you definitely looked nothing like the little pros zooming past, but the rush of sliding down the hill—controlled and fast—was addictive. You were actually doing it.

“Maki!” you called, your voice bubbling with laughter as you reached the bottom, still wobbling but feeling proud. “I did it!” 

He appeared next to you, his eyes gleaming with pride. “I knew you could. You’re a natural!” His grin was so genuine, so warm, it made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. “See? No need to be nervous.” 

You smiled back, your chest full of pride—but also something else. Something that made the snow feel a little warmer, the mountain air a little sweeter. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

Maki’s expression softened for a second, but before you could overthink it, he ruffled your hair in that familiar, playful way. “You’re doing amazing. Now, let’s do it again.” 

The rest of the day flew by, filled with more falls, laughter, and moments where you couldn’t quite tell if your heart was racing from the snowboarding or the way Maki made everything feel so easy. As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, the sky turning pink and orange, the two of you found yourselves seated on the chairlift, calmly watching the view. 

Maki looked over at you, his playful demeanor replaced with a softness that you hadn’t seen all day. “You really did great today. I’m proud of you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. That warm feeling in your chest was more than just the cold air around you. You tried to calm the fluttering inside, but it was impossible. “Thanks, Maki,” you said, a soft smile on your lips. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d make it this far. But you made it fun.” 

He looked at you, his eyes tender in the fading light. “It’s all about having fun together. I’m glad we did this.” He chuckled softly. “And don’t worry, you’ll be a pro in no time.” 

You smiled, a little bashful but also feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the cold mountain breeze. “Yeah. Me too.”

As the snow continued to fall, you couldn’t help but feel that today had been about more than just snowboarding. It had been about the time spent with Maki—the laughter, the shared learning, the way he always seemed to be there when you needed him. Something about the way he looked at you now, softer than before, made you wonder if there was more to this. 

Maybe these moments—these small, quiet moments—weren’t just coincidences. Maybe they were the start of something neither of you had expected. You caught Maki’s gaze, and for the first time today, you wondered if maybe the next step wasn’t just being friends anymore.

[ride-em-cowboy]

The Doctor, The Pilot and The Little Girl

Bradley’s little girl is sick and what should have been a routine doctor’s appointment might just change the both of their lives.

“I don’t want to go papa,” the little girl said as she squirmed in his arms, not wanting to go into the large building.

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’re sick,” Bradley tried to calm her as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. Her little head came to rest in the crook of her neck and he could feel the heat radiating off her.

“‘M not sick-” she began, but was cut off by a fit of small coughs racking her tiny body.

“Mmhmm, not getting out of it that easy baby girl,” he chuckled softly, holding her just a little bit tighter as he felt her tears begin to soak through the collar of his t-shirt.

“After this, we can go to the store and you can pick any toy you want, deal?”

A small whine left her throat. Usually she’d jump at the idea of a new toy.

Bradley walked up to the reception desk, still holding his daughter who had refused to pick up her head that was still buried between her teddy bear and her dad’s neck. The inside of the building was a lot more inviting then the outside, with a colourful corner for the children Lucy would usually be rushing to play with or pointing out and naming all of the animals painted onto the walls.

“Hi, my daughter has got an appointment with Doctor Jamie.”

The receptionist looked between the pair with a smile as she got a look at how pale and sad the small girl in his arms looked, “Sure thing, can I get her name?”

“Lucy. Lucy Carole Bradshaw,” he replied.

The receptionist typed away at her computer before she frowned. “Unfortunately her usual doctor is out on maternity leave, but we have an amazing paediatrician filling in for her. Doctor Jake will take great care of her,” the receptionist said with a smile, “take a seat and a nurse will be right out with you.”

“Nooo,” Lucy squirmed tiredly in her dads arms as he sat down in the waiting area. She wasn’t a stranger to coming to the doctors, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

”I know princess,” he soothed her the only way he knew how, smoothing back her hair and peppering light kisses on her forehead.

He hated having to drag her to the clinic but with her medical history, he couldn’t change it. Lucy had been born premature and been in and out of hospital growing up for various complications and check ups, so whenever she even had as much of a sniffle his protective instincts would kick in.

They didn’t have to wait long before a man with dirty blonde hair and wide wire rimmed glasses came out into the waiting room. He wore bright coloured scrubs and a name tag shaped like a bear with ‘Nurse Bob’ stamped across it. He knew Lucy, had helped treat her many times.

He walked over, slowly kneeling down in front of where she sat cuddled in Bradley’s arms, one arm around her bear and the other clutching to his shirt. “Hey Lucy, remember me? Somebody told me you’re not feeling too well.”

She sniffed, wiping her tears on the back of her hand before nodding.

“Well, how about we get you feeling better and guess what?” He said, whispering to her as if to make sure no one else could get in on the secret.

“What?” She croaked quietly.

“I’ve refilled my sticker drawer since your last visit and I think I have a few you and Mr Bear might like.” The bear she carried around with her had been one from the many hospital trips growing up, the cream bear with the little pastel outfit had been with her through countless check ups and procedures.

Despite the temptation of the stickers, Lucy made no effort to move, completely exhausted and cuddled in Bradley’s arms. Bradley rose to his feet, clutching his little girl as he followed Bob to one of the many exam rooms lining the hallway. Bob took a seat on a wheely stool and gestured for Bradley to sit up on the exam table with Lucy. “So, Lucy Lu. What brings my favourite patient back?”

She hid further into Bradley’s neck causing him to sigh. He looked exhausted himself, dark circles under his eyes, stubble starting to form where he hadn’t shaved for a few days. “She’s been running a fever since yesterday morning, can’t bring it down with tylenol or cool baths. With her history, I thought it best to bring her in.”

Bob nodded in agreement, “you did the right thing.”

“Okay, Miss Lucy. Why don’t we start with letting me take your temperature? Can we do that?”

She nodded, and allowed Bob to put the thermometer in her ear and wait until it beeped. Bob frowned at the reading, noting it down on her chart. “Definitely still running a fever.”

He ran through a few more questions as he set up the next piece of equipment, asking when her last dose of medicine was and if Bradley had noticed any rashes or anything else out of the ordinary for her. “

“Just the fever and the cough, she was complaining her throat was sore too but won’t let me near to get a good look. Spent half the night cuddled to my chest last night, the only thing I could do to get her settled.

“Lucy, can I clip my special laser on your finger? Like we usually do so we can show the doctor how good your numbers are?” Bob asked.

Bradley loved the way Nurse Bob was with her, he had such a way with kids and always explained things at their level and gave them the choice. She held out her little hand, letting him clip a pulse oximeter on her finger. Both him and Bradley watched the monitor closely. Being a dad of a sick baby meant you picked up a lot about the medical world.

“Her pulse ox is a little low and her heart rate is a little fast, but with the fever it's not unusual. I’m going to write this down and then go and grab Doctor Jake to take a look. But first, I think you did such a good job that you and Mr bear both deserve some stickers,” Bob said as he turned to his sticker drawer and pulled out a shiny blue box filled to the brim.

He set the box next to her, pulling out a few he thought she might like, “I’ve got some princess stickers, doc mcstuffins and my personal favourite, strawberry scented ones.”

She moved her hand slowly, pointing towards the strawberry scented ones, letting Bob hand her a few.

“And we can’t forget Mr Bear, can we?”

Lucy let out a tiny smile, the first one Bob had managed to pry from her that morning. He’d definitely be noting that down as a win. With Mr Bear covered in a few Doc Mcstuffins stickers and Lucy quietly sniffing the strawberry scent of the stickers, Bob left the room to go and grab Doctor Jake.

Bradley shifted her in his arms, letting her show him all the stickers doctor Bob let her pick out, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pushing the sweaty curls from her forehead. Lucy didn’t always do well with new doctors and despite reassurances from Nurse Bob and the receptionist, it still didn’t ease his nerves having someone new looking after his baby girl.

He didn’t have long to think about it before there was a knock on the door. Bradley didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe an older and wiser man, salt and pepper beard - been in the business for a while and was great with kids. What he didn’t expect was the tall, broad shouldered and blond-haired doctor who walked into the room. He was good-looking, there was no denying that. He grabbed the wheelie chair that Bob had not long occupied and rolled into position in front of the pair.

“Hi, my name's Doctor Jake,” he held out a hand for Bradley as he introduced himself. Bradley took his hand and adjusted Lucy who once again had buried herself in the crook of his neck, hiding from the new stranger in the room. Bradley watched as his kind green eyes moved to the little girl in his arms and tilted his head to get a better look at her.

“And you must be Miss Lucy? A little bird told me that you’ve not been feeling too good, huh? Can you tell me about that?”

“‘M not sick,” she mumbled.

He’d already got the low down from Bob and checked over her initial vitals. He had read her chart and noted her history; premature, spent time in and out of hospital in the NICU and had heart surgery for a small hole in her heart from being born so soon.

“Hmm, well. I guess you wouldn’t mind letting me check you over so we can prove your daddy here wrong.”

She shuffled a bit to get a better look at the stranger. He was at her level, wearing a kind smile as he looked her over. Despite watching him, she still stayed clutched in her dads arms, not looking like she was going to be moving any time soon. He noticed the bear clutched in her arms, the standard ones they give to pediatric patients when they’re in hospital and decided to change tactics.

“Who’ve we got here?”

“It’s my bear,” she croaked.

“Does he have a name?” Jake asked.

“Mr Bear”

“That’s a great name! And you’ve already got stickers from nurse Bob! I can’t say I’ve got as good a sticker collection as his but there might be some super special ones nurse Bob doesn’t have that we can put on Mr Bear.”

This definitely got her attention. “Can I have one now?”

Jake let out a chuckle. He knew this game, knew she’d end up with a shirt full of stickers and he’d still have an exam to complete.

“I’ve got to get a look at you first. Nurse Bob tells me you’ve got a bit of a fever and if you are feeling yucky it’s important you tell me so we can get you feeling better. Then we can have a look at the stickers and if you’re good, you can have three whole stickers!”

“Promise?”

He held out his pinky and curled his much larger finger around her tiny delicate finger, shaking it lightly, “pinky promise.”

Bradley shifted her around better so her back was against his chest, still holding her protectively.

Jake grabbed a pen torch from his pocket, “is it okay if I take a look at your throat first?”

She hesitated for a moment before letting him, it was red and raw as expected.

He continued on with his exam, taking the stethoscope from around his neck he noticed the faint pink scar in the centre of her chest. “Do you know what this is, Lucy?”

She nodded, “a stethoscope,” not quite getting the pronunciation right.

Jake chucked softly at the way she said the word, “that’s right! Do you mind if I take a listen to see how strong your heart is?”

She hesitated a moment before nodding. He checked her too quick beating heart and the way her breathing rattled slightly.

“Looks like you’ve got a case of the flu, Miss Lucy,” he said, speaking to her first before turning her attention to her dad. “Her lungs sound a bit congested but it doesn’t sound like we’ve hit pneumonia yet and there’s no new heart murmurs. We’ll get a couple of viral swabs just in case but I think we’re good to continue with Tylenol, fluids and rest. I can prescribe something to help her feel a little more comfortable and obviously if her fever spikes again or you’re worried you can always bring her back and we’ll take another look.”

“I know I’m probably overreacting but every cough or fever…” he paused, his mind wandering slightly before he continued, “just sends me back to nights in the hospital, alarms beeping, doctors and nurses rushing around and her tiny little body more wires and tubes than baby.”

Jake placed a comforting hand on his elbow, meeting his gaze. “You did the right thing, it’s always best to err on the side of caution especially with her history.”

“Thanks doc.”

“Now, Miss Lucy. As promised,” Jake spoke as he turned around in his chair and unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk pulling out another small box with his stash of stickers. He placed them on the exam table beside her, pulling out the sheets and spreading them out. “I’ve got princesses, special Dr Jake stickers, planes, because I’m a plane guy myself.”

“Can papa have one of mine?” She asked so innocently. Jake nodded as she pointed to the plane stickers, “he needs a plane sticker, because he flies planes!”

“He does, does he?” Jake asked as he glanced at Bradley who was most definitely blushing. “You’re a pilot?”

“I-uh, I’m a naval aviator.”

Jake smiled at that, “that’s pretty cool, you must be proud of your daddy, huh Lucy?” He continued choosing stickers for her and Mr Bear, helping her stick them on her shirt and her bear for her. She stuck the plane sticker to her dad’s shirt, cuddling into his side now the excitement had turned into exhaustion again.

Bradley picked her up easily, holding out his spare hand to shake to doctors before he headed out of the door. “If you need anything, just give us a call and I can see her again. I’d like to see her again in a week's time just to be sure she hasn’t gotten any worse. I’ll get that all sent through for you.”

Jake watched as Bradley held the small girl close to his chest, smoothing back her hair and placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, whispering something he couldn’t quite make out. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was secretly looking forward to running into the pair again the following week. Whoever her mother was, was a very lucky woman to have a man like him in her life.

“Alright, come on sweet girl. Let’s get you your medicine and get you home. I’ll call Auntie Nat and tell her I won’t be coming in today.”

Taglist: @robertsfloyd

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius)

Summary: Geta is staying on the island with his uncle and learns of the aliance made with the Alamanni and of his brother Caracalla's fate.

Geta's POV

Geta and Caracalla, 8 years old

They were spending the season in Sicily. Their parents were both there, along with fifteen servants, all stuffed into a grand white villa near the sea. Its courtyard was adorned with an outdoor bath surrounded by lemon trees which was where Geta and Caracalla spend most of their time.

Both sat on the edge of the bath, their feet dangling in the water. Caracalla was playing with a carved wooden bear while Geta attempted to read. Both were privately tutored, but Geta was a far quicker learner than his brother. Caracalla preferred games and animals to arithmetic and literature.

Geta yawned. The heat was oppressive, and he had slept poorly the night before. He always struggled to adjust to unfamiliar surroundings. He placed his book in his lap and gazed at his pale legs submerged in the water. His skin, untouched by the sun, was milky white from spending so much time indoors. Though it was only the beginning of June, Geta preferred the palace halls, wandering through their vast expanse, discovering hidden alcoves where he could escape his parents and immerse himself in his studies.

Lost in thought, neither he nor Caracalla noticed the servant calling them for supper, the rustling leaves masking the sound. Suddenly, their mother appeared. Geta squinted against the sunlight. She looked furious.

"Why are you ignoring the summons?" she demanded.

Geta swallowed and glanced at her sheepishly. "You called?"

"Yes!"

He exchanged a look with his brother, who was suddenly pretending to be deaf, stacking his wooden animals into a precarious tower. The fox kept falling.

"We did not hear it, Mother. I am sorry," Geta tried.

"Lies," she hissed, shaking her head.

Geta looked past her at the trees, unable to hold her gaze. Looking at her was like facing Medusa. His mother had a lifeless kind of beauty—her features symmetrical and refined, her cheekbones high—but her eyes were cold and unyielding.

Defending themselves was futile. She never listened. Caracalla continued stacking his wooden animals as if he were somewhere far away, though Geta noticed his right hand was trembling slightly.

Without warning, she grabbed Caracalla by the armpits and hauled him up. "Look at me when I am speaking to you!" she seethed.

Caracalla still refused to acknowledge her.

Then, she backhanded him so hard that he fell sideways, his cheek striking the stone edge of the pool. The impact made a sickening sound.

"Both my children have no respect for me. Do you know how that makes me feel?" she asked, though Geta knew it was not a question that required an answer.

He remained silent, his breath shallow.

Geta rushed to his brother, rolling him over carefully. A small cut just below Caracalla’s cheekbone had already started to bruise. Geta bit his lip to stop himself from crying. His mother was already gone, but he did not need to turn around to confirm it—he had developed a keen sense for her presence over the years.

"I want to go home," Caracalla murmured, his voice thick with tears.

Geta knew he did not mean home exactly. He meant away—from the pain, the rejection, the cruel indifference of a mother who did not love even a single part of them. They had only ever had each other.

"I shall find the healer after dinner," Geta promised, helping his brother up.

Caracalla nodded distantly, then looked at him. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

Geta nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

Geta's POV - The Dinner in Sardinia

Geta sat down at the lavishly decorated table. Before him lay a feast—roasted meats, fresh fruit, rich wine, and golden bread, all accompanied by fragrant thyme branches. He barely glanced at it.

"First, let us eat," his uncle said, pouring himself a glass of wine. Agrippa was absent—Aelius had insisted this be a private dinner.

Geta was not hungry. His body felt hollowed out. He picked at an apricot and took small bites while watching his uncle.

When Aelius finished his plate, he wiped his mouth. Two young women entered, their breasts bare, carrying honeyed cakes. His uncle smiled and placed a hand on the younger woman’s arm. "Thank you, dearest."

Then he turned to Geta. "Very well, then. While we enjoy these, I shall tell you what you wish to know."

He picked up a honey-soaked cake, biting into it. "Let us begin with the alliance, as it concerns you most."

Geta swallowed and tapped his foot nervously. "You spoke with Caracalla? How is he?" he asked eagerly.

Aelius exhaled. "Besides his illness, which still lingers, he fares well enough. He was upset, of course. But I am not certain he truly understands the situation. I tried to explain, but it did not seem to… take hold."

Geta nodded, waiting.

"Naturally, I wish for my nephew to be safe. Both of you." His uncle scratched his neck. "So I asked them how we might secure his release. They knew Caracalla still held value—remnants of the power you both once possessed. And I assured them that, yes, there was still potential, still something to gain." Aelius took another bite, watching Geta closely. "I have men, a small independent force, but compared to Rome’s, to Lucius’s, it is insignificant, as you can imagine. So I asked what else I could offer. They requested intelligence. A spy within the new Senate. Inside information."

He let the words sink in before continuing. Geta's eyes went wide. This was unthinkable. This could not be.

"At the time, I was unaware of your… bond with Lucius," Aelius said, his tone pointed. Geta shook his head slowly, not wanting to know where this was heading. "But rumors reached me. Very interesting rumors. So I returned with a proposal. If I could supply them with battle plans, strike points, army sizes—would they free Caracalla?"

Geta slumped in his chair, his face drained of color. "You want me to become a spy? To betray Lucius?" he whispered in horror.

"Yes, Geta. Because this is our chance to retrieve Caracalla."

Geta shook his head. "You cannot ask this of me. This cannot be the only option."

Aelius leaned in, voice smooth as silk. "Then tell me. How do you plan to retrieve him? Will you storm their fortress? Slip past guards? Do you truly believe they will show mercy?"

Geta’s mind raced. He felt like he was falling, spiraling into something dark and endless. He stared blankly at the table, the honeyed cakes, the wealth surrounding them—such stark contrast to the cruelty in his uncle’s voice.

"Laurentius is part of the alliance too." Aelius then added, making Geta gasp. His entire world was collapsing. He was used to betrayal, but this was different. Laurentius was one of Lucius's closest confidants. This was not possible.

"Since when?" He whispered, then remembered Lucius had told him Laurentius had not forwarded Geta's message when he had asked the guard to tell Lucius Geta was leaving the fesitivities to speak to his uncle.

"A few weeks before I visited you."

Geta shook his head in disgust. "What did you do to him."

"Nothing worth shearing dear nephew. Let's just say there are high stakes for him as well as his new wife.

Geta did not know what to say, just stared at his uncle in disbelief.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but sleep on it," Aelius said then, placing a heavy hand on Geta’s head. "Stay here at the house. Think it through. Then, we shall talk."

====

That night, Geta lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling as though his soul were being ripped apart. He felt an intense sense of guilt. He had done nothing yet, and still he felt like the worst person alive.

By the fifth day, he realized he had already made his decision. Perhaps he had even made it the moment he heard the news.

And when he understood that, he wept the entire night.

Eighteen days passed before he felt ready to return. When he reached the shore and saw Lucius waiting, he let himself be pulled into the water, disappearing into his arms. He fought not to cry.

Do not cry. Whatever happens, do not cry.

Lucius held him, stroking his back, speaking softly of how he was glad to have him in his arms again. Nothing felt better and nothing felt worse than to be held by him in that moment.

Geta broke the embrace first. He avoided Lucius’s gaze but failed. Lucius immediately saw that something had changed.

But Geta could not tell him.

The following days were agony. He had rehearsed his lines, but he could not speak them. Ulysis visited once when Geta was alone in the garden. It startled Geta but he should have seen it coming. Ulysis did not have an intense character. He did not push for information, or forced Geta to do anything. But he did not have to. Geta could feel the claws of his uncle from all the way oversees, the nails digging deep into his skin making everything hurt and bleed. He told Ulysis what he knew, which was not much as he had isolated himself so much the past days. Ulysis thanked him for the information about the size of the current army and the location of the their strongest defense posts and left.

The next morning Geta did what he was expected to and asked Lucius where he was going next. They were taking a break while sparring on the fighting grounds. Though they were still using practice knives, Geta was rapidly improving. Both were breathing heavily from the physical exertion, wiping away the sweat from their foreheads, their tunics drenched.

“I have to go away for a while,” Lucius told Geta, slowly straightening, giving Geta an easy opening to jump in.

“Where are you going this time?” Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand, not able to meet his eyes. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. “Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?” Forcing out the words was like swallowing his own vomit. He could feel Lucius' eyes burn and looked up briefly.

Lucius furrowed his brow. He was pondering whether to tell him, Geta could see it in his face: all the emotions traveling through there. Confusion, rejection, hurt.

“Talk to me Geta.” Lucius pleaded. “Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know,” His eyes were begging and Geta felt like he was stabbing him and twisting the knife.

“It’s okay.” Geta shrugged, forcing carelessness. “I don’t need to know.”

Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. “Well, fuck this then,” he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.

Geta stayed there, feeling a weird sense of relief and panic. Knowing anything meant having to pass it along and puting Lucius at risk. Not knowing anything was dragging out Caracalla's imprisonment. No matter what he did, Geta felt like his soul from this point onwards could not be saved. It'd be tainted forever. He'd be awful, forever. He wanted to collapse then and there and never get up.

===

That night Geta could not sleep.

He kept torturing himself, thinking out every worst possible scenario. Receiving knews that Caracalla had been killed by the Allimani because it was taking too long and they had broken the alliance. Watching Lucius leave for battle and getting defeated, and then hearing back how he was stabbed to death on the field and Geta would never be able to hold him in his arms again, or look at his peaceful face while he was asleep.

His thoughts spiralled so out of control he eventually started hyper ventilating and could not get any air in. He fisted the sheets, gasping for breath, silent tears streaming over his cheeks. When calmed down enough to sit up straight he wiped his face with the back of his hand and walked over to Lucius' sleeping quarters. Without thinking it over he knocked on the door. He was certain he was not able to get through this night on his own.

As he was let in he knew he was being selfhish. It might have been the most selfish thing he had ever done but he was not in his body anymore. His thoughts were not his own.

Lucius was eying him wearily, confusion lacing his face. He was laying on his back, propped up on his elbows, looking almost angry. He was not happy to see him.

Anger Geta could deal with. Anger was good. He could make him more angry. But he also needed to feel him. Maybe one last time. He did not deserve it but he was going to ask for it anyway.

“Can you please pretend not to hate me for tonight?”

He stood before the bed and only then realised he was crying again.

Lucius did not say anything. He just looked at him in silence.

Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius’s. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders. He did not know what he was doing. He was acting from instinct, from pure need. He stood there, completely naked, letting Lucius look at him, let him hate him.

‘I know you do not trust me." Geta said. "I’m not asking you to. But please pretend you love me for tonight.“ He breathed and added nercously, "You can have me in any way you want.’

Lucius' throat bobbed. His fingers were digging in the mattress. He looked in pain almost.

'Come here.' He said in a quiet voice. Geta wondered if he was on the verge of crying. Lucius gestured to the side of the bed and went to sit on the edge himself. Geta lowered himself on his knees inbetween Lucius' legs until their arms and legs were touching.

Lucius hand traveled over Geta's wet cheeks until it rested under his jaw, cupping his throat.

One tear slipped out of the corner of Lucius eye en he sniffed once. He looked so hurt Geta regretted coming here. He could not take it. Lucius' hand stayed posessivily around Geta's throat, keeping him in place.

'What is going on with you huh?'

Love to hear your thought in the comments :) x Murphy

[effieotto]

Random Hunger Games headcanon

•Haymitch liked to trace the lines of Effie’s face when they were in bed to keep her in memory, because he loved her features and usually couldn’t see them properly when she was all caked up

•Katniss and Peeta had a hard time deciding which of their last names they would choose for their children. Because even though she knew that hers hold too much weight, for being forever associated with the mockingjay -and she didn’t want their kids to be associated with everything she once meant- It also represented the name shared between her, her Father and Prim, and she didn’t want to erase their memory from such a important thing in her life. So later on, Peeta suggested for them to use both of their names (Mellark-Everdeen) so the kids could decide which they would use when they got older

•When his rage had settled down and the Hummingbird Operation (along with everything else he had done during the war) had finally sink, Gale had a very ugly breakdown, while they waited for Katniss’s trial, and Haymitch was the one to pick him back up. The boy sobbed on Haymitch’s shoulder and he decided to, for once in his life, be the father the boy never had and help him through it all

•Effie Trinket had a bunny (i won’t go further, but she looks like the bunny type. So yeah, after the war she had a white fluffy bunny called Daise)

•Annie knew all those things about Gale when she wrote the letter for Katniss because, after the war, him and Johanna developed a close enough relationship and she had those informations by overhearing their conversations sometimes

•Haymitch resented Katniss a little for how blunted she had been when she asked for him to take Peeta’s place when the announcement from the Quell came out (even if he had been the one to offer it, he wished she had at least hesitated a little bit before throwing him to the wolves), and even though he had never (and would never, for countless reasons) tell her that, he always carried the feeling that she didn’t care for him as much as he cared for her, and the coldness of it hurt him badly….even if it wasn’t exactly true.

•Effie felt uneasy every time she went out with Katniss and Peeta’s daughter and a man talked to her too softly, because as much as she knew District Twelve’s citizens were warmer and that she wasn’t in the Capitol anymore, she couldn’t shake the memory of how the men usually talked to her when she was the same age, and as irrational as it goes, she didn’t want anything like what they did to her back then to happen with that little girl. So, not so politely, she would excuse them and nudge the girl to walk faster every time she gave too much attention for them

• When he got his recess from the Peacekeeper job, Gale went to District four and he and Johanna went out every Friday night to drink their sorrows away and find a easy fuck to each other -which wasn’t really an easy doing, because Gale was too shy and Johanna was too picky, but they had fun anyway-

•Even though Haymitch never enjoyed to leave District Twelve for long, he had managed to get involved in a handful of political activities for the knew world, since President Paylor had decided to have some use of his limited oficial knowledge and strategies to help Panem back to its feet. So he traveled once or twice per year through the Districts to help the new President with small social programs

[honestlyanowl]

"Oh yeah, they love you."

(REQUESTS OPEN) Heyy :) I've had a little idea in my head for a while now about Jinx; so I thought I should write about it. Let's say the reader and Jinx met when she snuck onto one of the blimps, going to Ionia. Anyway, reader is from Ionia and worked making deliveries to Piltover, Noxus, etc, etc. She knew of Jinx through small mentions of the people in small town, though instead of wanting to imprison her, like most of the people in Piltover would've wanted... she welcomed her, gave her a place to stay, and with that, the small community near reader's home, helped her heal. I don't know how accurate this is to League lore ig? But bare with me okay I've never touched the game once in my life 😭

Jinx wasn't the easiest person to love, but that didn't make it impossible. There were moments of distance, where Jinx would push you away, needed time to herself to think, and to process. But it was never very long until you'd find her, sat beside a gentle stream of water, her bare feet dipped under the crystal liquid.

Her smoky pink eyes dulled, and for a moment they almost seemed a subtle shade of blue. You caught yourself gazing it her, like a moth to a flame, but at this point, who wouldn't? To see someone who was always on some sort of edge, some sort of high, so... calm. It was a sight to see. She was dressed in a long maxi skirt, it was one you'd given to her to borrow, and yet she'd never given it back; though, you didn't mind. Over it, was a cloak. Slightly ripped, but you'd helped her stitch, and patch it back to a comfortable state. And her hair, over the years had grown a decent amount, now fallen just past her collarbone. "How long are you going to stare for...?" Jinx murmured, her eyes lifting to meet yours. Her expression was unreadable, and yet still the furthest thing from the broken look it used to hold. You felt your face heat up a little, a gentle crimson colour freckling over the tips of your ears, and brushing over the end of your nose. "Ah, sorry." You chuckle, a noticeable tremble in your voice. You sat beside her with a small smile, inviting yourself down onto the soft grass. A couple flowers folding under you. Jinx hummed, her lips tugging upward for a moment as she shrugged, and yet her eyes remained blank and barren. "What's got you in such a go-lucky mood?" Jinx inquired, cupping her hands and scooping up some water from the stream, dipping her head and rinsing it through her side bang.. washing out some old paint. The kids here loved to pester her, which usually ended in them convincing her to do their face paint. And to no surprise, always resulted in mess. "Me? Nothing," You giggle, turning your gaze to the small town in the distance. "Just... happy you're fitting in." You finish, turning to look back at Jinx. Jinx met your glance, her bang falling over her face in a kind of fringe... She ran her slender hand through it, moving the blue locks out of her vision. "You think so...?" Jinx asked; though, in place of her usual teasing manner, was a sincere question. "Oh yeah, the kids love you." You answer without having to think. You didn't hesitate, not even for a second. And it was certainly not a lie. Although Jinx's rough past, she'd made a huge difference here in this side of Ionia. A good difference. Jinx had helped you deliver cargo to Noxus, and stayed back to help harvest whatever was necessary when you'd go to Piltover. She'd use her old skills in tinkering to make toys for the children, little wind up monkeys, or even as far as vibrant face paints for special events. Children practically swarmed around her in the holidays. and despite Jinx's awkwardness around them, she still managed to have a soft spot for their playful tendencies. It was a welcomed change, Jinx was healing. "Oh," Jinx blinked, even after all those little moments of connection with the community here. She'd never considered they actually... liked her. You gave her an affectionate nudge on the shoulder, a shit eating grin on your face. "You're doing good, I'm proud of you." You mutter, your tone was softer now— as if to prove your words held truth. Jinx's brows furrowed, and her eyes remained fixated on the water that lapped over her ankles. Yet, before she could muster the words to respond to the praise; you pressed a kiss to her cheek. A chaste show of your love; something still fresh between you two, but more than obvious by now. Jinx went a little rigid, but quickly relaxed. A soft heat forming over her cheeks. She'd never admit how much these moments meant to her. Her and her sanity.

I hope this was okay! I really enjoy writing my version of Jinx. And I hope you enjoyed reading about her! Let me know if you have any requests or questions! My inbox is always open <3

- Owl 🌹

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt. 15)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙��⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Wife!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight part nine part ten part eleven part twelve part thirteen part fourteen

CW: Blood, gore

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Kyorlin adjusted his hold on Lythaera, his arms cradling her swaddled form tightly. Her small body was cocooned in dark fabric, preventing her from thrashing or trying to escape, but it didn’t stop her from wriggling in frustration. She glared at him with fiery defiance, her expression so much like her mother's that Kyorlin couldn’t help but smirk despite the situation.

“You can glare all you want, but you’re going to listen,” he said, his voice firm yet softened with an almost brotherly tone.

Lythaera grumbled, her lips pursed in a pout, but she stilled.

“Good,” Kyorlin said, adjusting her slightly as he began his tale. “Do you know why you’re so important, Lythaera?” He didn’t wait for her response. “It’s because of who we are—who you are. You’re descended from Liakyre, an aasimar, and a daughter of the goddess Eilistraee.”

At the mention of the name, Lythaera’s brow furrowed deeply. “Bad,” she said simply, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric.

Kyorlin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You only think she’s bad because that’s what Lolth and her priestesses have drilled into you. That’s what all of us were taught. But Eilistraee fights for our freedom, Lythaera. She doesn’t want us chained to the darkness.”

Lythaera squirmed at his words, her little face scrunching up in disapproval.

“No!” she declared vehemently, her voice rising. “Eilistraee betrayed Mother Lolth! She is an insult to all drow kind!”

Kyorlin sighed, rolling his eyes. “By the Abyss, you sound just like your mother.” He smirked a little at that. “She drilled that into you well, didn’t she?”

Lythaera gave him a triumphant glare, as much as her limited movements allowed.

“Fine,” Kyorlin said, shifting into a softer tone as he continued. “But let me tell you the real story—the one Lolth doesn’t want you to know.”

He began walking again, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the quiet tunnel.

“Liakyre was an aasimar, born of Eilistraee and a mortal man. She was a beacon of light, meant to unite drow and surface dwellers alike. But Lolth, ever the schemer, saw an opportunity. She seduced Liakyre with promises of power, twisting her into a weapon to use against her own mother.”

Lythaera tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

“Eilistraee tried to save her daughter, to bring her back to the light,” Kyorlin continued. “But Liakyre was too far gone. She led armies of drow to slaughter in Lolth’s name, spreading chaos and death. In the end, Eilistraee was forced to make an impossible decision. She killed her own daughter to stop her terror.”

“No,” Lythaera whispered, her voice small but defiant.

“Yes,” Kyorlin said firmly. “And she grieved, Lythaera. She grieved deeply. But she didn’t give up. She turned her focus to Liakyre’s children—our ancestors. She wanted to lead them into the light, to free them from Lolth’s lies. But Lolth had other plans. She kept us in the dark, downtrodden, using us as pawns in her endless schemes.”

Lythaera shook her head, her tiny hands balled into fists against the swaddling.

“Any of Liakyre’s descendants who showed power, she hid,” Kyorlin said, his tone growing more intense. “She used them for her gain, ensuring they never realized their true potential. And then, your mother came along.”

At the mention of you, Lythaera stilled completely, her eyes wide.

“Your mother,” Kyorlin said, his voice softening, “was something Lolth couldn’t hide. Her power was too great, her will too strong. Lolth bound her to House Baenre to ensure her loyalty, to keep her in the cycle. And now she’s doing the same to you.”

“No,” Lythaera said again, but her voice wavered this time.

“Yes,” Kyorlin said, his voice steady. “But you, Lythaera—you’re going to break that cycle. Eilistraee is fighting for you, and so am I. And whether you believe it or not, you’ll see the truth soon enough.”

Lythaera’s lips trembled, but she didn’t say anything more. Kyorlin glanced down at her, his expression softening.

“You’re stronger than you know, little one,” he said quietly. “And I’ll make sure you live to realize it.”

As he continued down the tunnel, the crystalline spider hidden in Lythaera’s robes clicked softly, its presence a silent promise that her true family was coming for her—and that Lolth’s wrath was close behind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The air in the Underdark is thick, heavy with the promise of violence. Every shadow seems alive, every faint sound echoing like a war drum in your ears. You move with purpose, your body still weary from the ordeal of giving birth mere hours ago, but your resolve burns brighter than the pain. Lolth’s presence lingers around you, an invisible shroud of power and rage, fuelling your every step. Minthara strides beside you, the sacred cocoon bound securely to her chest, its silken threads pulsing faintly with life.

She shifts uncomfortably, still adjusting to the weight and balance of carrying a newborn in such a way. In all this horror it is the one thing you manage to find amusing, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the grim circumstances.

"Not so easy, is it?" you murmur, your tone teasing. "At least now you understand what carrying a child feels like."

Minthara huffs but says nothing, her focus sharp and her sword hand steady. Her other hand briefly touches the cocoon as if to reassure herself the baby is safe. She may not voice it, but her protective instincts have already wrapped around the child as tightly as the silk encasing her.

Ahead, the meeting point comes into view. Melinoe and Lesaonar wait in the shadows, their forms barely visible until you draw closer. Melinoe stands tall, her daggers sheathed but her posture radiating readiness. Lesaonar, as always, looks slightly out of place, his bow slung over his shoulder more for show than practicality.

As soon as they see you, Lesaonar's jaw drops. His gaze flickers between your face, still pale but determined, and Minthara’s chest, where the cocoon rests.

“Are you serious?” he exclaims, his voice carrying just a hint of a whine. “You just gave birth! I bet you don’t even have a name for her yet, and you’re out here?”

“Keep your voice down,” Minthara growls, her eyes narrowing. Though she doesn't answer him, it is true, neither of you had yet thought of a name for the babe. “Do you want to alert every Seldarine lackey in the Underdark?”

Lesaonar throws up his hands but lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Fine, but you can’t expect me to pretend this is normal! A newborn strapped to your chest like some kind of battle talisman, and her,” he gestures to you, “barely able to stand, yet charging into battle!”

“I’m standing just fine,” you snap, your crimson eyes glinting dangerously. “And we don’t have the luxury of time, Lesaonar. Kyorlin has my daughter, and I will not let her be offered to that false goddess.”

Melinoe steps forward, her sharp eyes scanning you briefly before settling on the cocoon. Her expression softens, something akin to awe flickering across her features.

“That’s… sacred silk,” she murmurs. “The babe is blessed by Lolth herself.”

Minthara nods stiffly. “The healers believe she’ll break through the cocoon when she’s strong enough. Until then, she stays with me.”

Lesaonar pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two are insane. Absolutely insane. And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” you agree coldly and Lesaonar cannot help but shrink within himself, remembering what happened to the duegar when he last say you in this state. You press them, “What have you found?”

Melinoe takes over, her tone brisk. “We’ve tracked them. They’re heading to the surface, but the Seldarine forces are larger than we anticipated. They’re attacking in waves, clearly trying to stall us.”

Lesaonar crosses his arms. “We believe Kyorlin is offering Lythaera to Eilistraee. To appease her, to gain her favour.”

The words hang heavy in the air. You don’t reply immediately, but the way your fists clench speaks volumes.

“Then we don’t have time to waste,” you say finally, your voice low and full of menace. “We press forward.”

Minthara’s hand briefly brushes yours as you both step past Melinoe and Lesaonar. The bond between you, forged in blood and strengthened by shared purpose, is unshakable.

Moments later, as the cavern walls narrow and the echoes of distant footsteps reach your ears, the seldarine ambush springs. It begins as all chaos does—sudden and violent. Melinoe tenses, her blades drawn in an instant, and Lesaonar stumbles back, fumbling for his bow. From the shadows, a group of Seldarine extremists surges forward, their weapons gleaming in the faint light.

“Ambush!” Melinoe hisses, already disappearing into the darkness, her movements swift and silent.

Minthara steps in front of you instinctively, her blade raised, the silk cocoon swaying slightly with her movements. You call forth your magic, the air around you crackling with power as bolts of energy fly from your fingertips. The extremists rush toward you, their chants mingling with the clash of steel.

The cavern is alive with chaos as the battle rages. Minthara fights with a ferocity that borders on reckless considering what is attached to her, her longsword cleaving through enemy after enemy with sheer brute strength. Her strikes send enemies staggering backward, her presence alone forcing them to reconsider their approach. Each movement is a calculated offense, her aggression an unrelenting tide.

Melinoe, on the other hand, is a shadow slipping through the battlefield. Silent and swift, she darts between enemies, her twin daggers flashing as they find vulnerable necks and exposed arteries. Her movements are elegant, each kill precise and clean. She’s almost invisible in the gloom, a predator among prey.

You stand at the center, the eye of the storm, waves of magical energy radiating from you. Bolts of eldritch power streak through the air, cutting down foes before they can even reach you. Shields of dark energy deflect incoming attacks, but your focus is split. Melinoe stays close, circling you protectively, dispatching anyone who dares approach too close.

Lesaonar, meanwhile, cowers behind you, clutching a delicate-looking bow that’s clearly seen little use. He occasionally looses an arrow, though his aim leaves much to be desired.

“I’m a courtesan, not a warrior!” he complains, ducking as an arrow narrowly misses his head.

Melinoe glances at him over her shoulder, a sly smile on her lips even as she plunges a dagger into an enemy’s throat. “This is why I love you, husband. You’re so… pathetic.”

Lesaonar straightens indignantly, sputtering. “Pathetic? I just saved your life!”

Minthara, cutting down another enemy with a vicious swing, snorts loudly. “How? By hiding behind your sister and missing half your shots? Melinoe, I’ll never understand what you see in him.”

Lesaonar pouts, offended, and turns to you for support. “Sister! Tell them I’m not useless!”

You sigh, hurling another bolt of magic that sends an attacker flying.

“Lesaonar,” you say, your tone dry, “you are still lovingly pathetic. But Minthara and Melinoe can save their bickering after we’ve dealt with this.”

“Thank you!” Lesaonar says, relieved—until your words sink in. “Wait, what?”

Melinoe laughs softly, delivering a swift kick to an enemy’s knee before slashing his throat. “Even your sister thinks you’re pathetic, darling.”

Lesaonar groans but doesn’t have time to argue as the battle intensifies. Minthara shouts over the chaos, “Focus! Unless you want to be dragging your husband’s corpse back to the infirmary!”

Lesaonar’s eyes widen, and he ducks behind you again as another wave of enemies closes in. You roll your eyes but can’t help the faint smirk tugging at your lips as you unleash another spell. Despite the chaos, the banter provides a strange sense of normalcy, a reminder that even in the heat of battle, your peculiar family dynamic remains unchanged.

But as another wave of attackers begins to close in, you feel a surge of frustration at their persistence.

“Enough of this pointless rabble,” you mutter under your breath, clenching your fists. The air around you crackles with energy, and with a sharp gesture, you summon two towering driders from the shadows.

The first drider steps forward, its spider legs clicking ominously against the stone floor. Its twisted form is unmistakable: it was once the acolyte who betrayed you and Minthara on your wedding day, forever cursed for her insolence. The second drider emerges a moment later, and Minthara and Melinoe both freeze in shock.

“Valindra?” Melinoe’s voice is incredulous as she stares at the familiar face twisted into a monstrous form. “She was supposed to be on the front lines.”

Minthara’s eyes narrow. “She made it back months ago. Why is she—” Her gaze shifts to you. “What did you do?”

You glance at Valindra, her monstrous form looming over you, and shrug nonchalantly.

“She made a comment about Verona,” you say simply, referring to Valindra’s daughter, the head of your mistress’ guard. The latter the only ones trusted to hold down House Baenre in their absence. “I didn’t like it.”

Minthara stares at you, her expression torn between disbelief and amusement. “You cursed her into a drider over a comment?”

“Of course,” Melinoe murmurs, shaking her head with a smirk. “This kind of pettiness is usually beneath the Mistress, but when it comes to Verona…”

Minthara chuckles, despite herself, and raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re full of surprises.”

You turn and glare at them both, your crimson eyes flashing. “Do you two mind? We’re in the middle of a battle.”

“Don’t mind us,” Minthara says with a faint grin. “We’re just marveling at your ability to hold a grudge.”

Melinoe smirks. “It’s inspiring, really.”

You shake your head, ignoring their teasing as you stride forward. The driders loom behind you, their presence enough to send a ripple of fear through the enemy ranks. Whatever doubts or distractions linger are banished by the renewed urgency of the fight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The battlefield falls eerily silent in the aftermath of your summoned driders' rampage, their monstrous forms casting long, jagged shadows in the flickering light of glowing fungi. The air is thick with the scent of blood and the tang of magic, and yet you find no satisfaction in the victory. Your crimson eyes scan the ground, noting the shattered remains of enemy weapons and the lifeless forms of the Seldarine extremists. They had been reckless in their assault, and now you understand why.

“They targeted the mounts,” Minthara growls, stepping beside you. Her voice is low, almost a snarl, as she adjusts the silk sling cradling the newborn. “Ours and theirs. They wanted to slow us.”

Your gaze shifts to the remains of the spiders you rode in on, their legs curled inward in death. The extremists’ mounts are no better, their bodies strewn across the battlefield as if the attackers had slain their own to ensure you would be forced to continue on foot. Your fists clench at your sides, magic sparking along your fingers.

“This will cost us time,” Melinoe murmurs, returning from the shadows where she had been scouting. Her voice is calm, but her sharp eyes betray her concern. “If we wait for another scouting party to find us, we’ll lose hours. By foot, it’ll take half a day to reach the surface.”

“A half day?” you snap, your voice echoing through the cavern. “By then, Kyorlin will have done whatever twisted ritual he has planned. Lythaera…” You can’t finish the sentence, your rage surging at the thought of your daughter being offered up to Eilistraee.

Lesaonar shifts uncomfortably behind you. “Sister, calm yourself,” he says hesitantly, gesturing to the blood still staining your fresh robes. “You’re going to reopen your stitches from labor.”

You whirl on him, your eyes blazing. “Calm myself? You expect me to be calm when my daughter is in the hands of traitors? When we have no mounts and precious little time?”

Before Lesaonar can respond, your attention is drawn to a faint, pained groan nearby. One of the extremists is still alive, clutching at a bloodied wound as they murmur prayers to Eilistraee. In a few swift strides, you are upon them, your hand gripping the front of their armor as you drag them upright.

“Where is my daughter?” you demand, your voice a low growl that reverberates through the cavern. “Where is Kyorlin taking her?”

The extremist’s eyes are unfocused, their lips moving in a ceaseless prayer. “Eilistraee’s light… she will guide us… guide her…”

Your patience snaps. The raw power coursing through your veins surges outward as you hurl the extremist to the ground, a blast of magic tearing through their chest and silencing their prayers. The echo of the strike reverberates through the cavern, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

“Enough of this,” you hiss, your hands trembling with the lingering energy of your spell. The glow of your magic reflects in the widened eyes of your companions as they stare at you, their expressions shifting from frustration to astonishment.

“Behind you,” Minthara says softly, her voice tinged with awe.

You whirl around, magic sparking at your fingertips, but the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks. Emerging from the shadows is the crystalline matriarch, her massive, shimmering form radiating an otherworldly light. Her multifaceted eyes glint like prisms, and her eight legs move with deliberate grace. Behind her, two large crystalline spiders flank her, their chitin glistening like polished gems.

The sight is both awe-inspiring and deeply familiar. Memories flood your mind—of your youth, when you sought refuge in the crystalline caverns, earning the respect of the matriarch and her brood. Now, as she looms before you, it is clear her presence is no coincidence.

The matriarch’s towering form looms over you, her crystalline body shimmering faintly in the dim light of the cavern. Her multifaceted eyes glint like polished gems, reflecting your bloodstained, exhausted figure in sharp fragments. She steps closer, her long legs clicking softly against the stone floor, her movements deliberate and cautious.

You stand still, allowing her approach, your breath catching in your throat as she lowers her massive head toward you. One of her sharp yet delicate legs brushes against your arm, the touch oddly tender for such a fearsome creature. It’s as if she can sense your exhaustion, the deep ache in your body from giving birth just hours ago, and the raw, protective desperation that fuels you.

The matriarch chitters softly, the sound reverberating through the cavern. You’ve heard it before, long ago, when you sought refuge among her brood as a young drow. Her presence was a sanctuary then, and now, that same comfort washes over you. She knows. She understands.

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, and place it against her crystalline surface.

“I need you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “She’s gone. I need her back.”

The matriarch lets out a low, resonant chitter, and her antennae twitch in what feels like acknowledgment. Without hesitation, she shifts her body lower, settling herself into a position that allows you to mount.

Minthara steps forward, the silk cocoon cradled protectively against her chest. She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering between you and the matriarch. You nod, and she moves with careful precision, climbing onto the matriarch’s broad back beside you. She adjusts the cocoon, ensuring it is secure before placing a steadying hand on your arm.

“Are you sure about this?” Minthara asks, her voice low.

“I am,” you reply, though your voice wavers slightly.

Behind you, Melinoe and Lesaonar stand before the two smaller crystalline spiders that flank the matriarch. Both creatures are imposing, their jagged legs clicking as they shift impatiently.

“I don’t like this,” Lesaonar mutters, eyeing the spider nearest him with open apprehension. “These aren’t battle spiders. They’re…” He trails off, his face pale. These spiders were notoriously savage and Lesaoanar was not going to disregard that over convenience.

“They’re my allies,” you say sharply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “They won’t harm you.”

Melinoe steps forward without hesitation, her daggers still in hand. She places a hand on the spider’s smooth surface, her expression calm despite the obvious danger.

“If they’re with us, then I trust them,” she says simply. She climbs onto the spider’s back with practiced grace, casting a glance over her shoulder at Lesaonar. “Come on, darling,” she says, smirking. “It’s not so bad.”

Lesaonar groans but reluctantly approaches the other spider. “This is not what I signed up for,” he mutters, climbing onto the creature with far less elegance than his wife. He clings to its back, his knuckles white. “I’m a courtesan, not a spider rider.”

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a drow,” Minthara mutters under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Lesaonar.

“Enough,” you snap, your tone cutting through their bickering. “We don’t have time for this.”

With everyone mounted, you turn your gaze to the driders that loom nearby. Their grotesque forms shift in the shadows, their monstrous eyes fixed on you.

“Scout ahead,” you command, your voice cold and firm. “Deal with any Seldarine ambushes.”

The driders hiss in acknowledgment and skitter off into the darkness, their presence a chilling reminder of your power and wrath.

As the matriarch begins to move, her steps deliberate and purposeful, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you. She isn’t wandering aimlessly. Her movements are precise, her path deliberate. She knows where Lythaera is.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave, and your throat tightens with emotion. Tears prick at your eyes as you lean forward, pressing your forehead against the matriarch’s smooth surface.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her crystalline head. The matriarch chitters softly in response, her legs moving with unwavering determination.

Behind you, Melinoe and Lesaonar exchange a glance. Melinoe’s expression is soft, a rare show of vulnerability. Lesaonar, clinging tightly to his spider, mutters something about needing a drink when this is over.

Minthara rests a hand on your arm, her grip steady.

“We’ll get her back,” she says quietly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The surface air is thick and stifling compared to the cool, damp depths of the Underdark. Kyorlin pauses at the cave's threshold, the harsh glow of the sun spilling into the entrance like molten gold, stark and unforgiving. The extremists gather around him, their expressions tense. They are drow, born to the dark, and while they have dedicated themselves to Eilistraee’s path, stepping into the light still feels unnatural—dangerous.

One of the extremists, a younger male with wide, wary eyes, swallows thickly before speaking.

“Our scouts reported… strange things.” His voice is low, uncertain. “They say we are being hunted. That driders stalk the tunnels behind us.”

Kyorlin turns to him sharply.

“Rumors,” he says, though there’s a hard edge to his voice. “Fearful whispers. Lolth’s filth may be chasing us, but they do not command driders.” He forces confidence into his tone, even if part of him wonders whether that’s a lie.

The extremists shift uneasily. Kyorlin knows they feel it too—the growing weight of bloodshed, the echoes of slaughter in the distance. The presence of something monstrous closing in. But they cannot falter now.

He exhales and turns to the still-unconscious form of Lythaera, cradled between two of the extremists. She is their future. Eilistraee’s chosen. He kneels beside her and murmurs an incantation, weaving protective wards over her pale skin. A soft silver glow spreads over her, sinking into her flesh. It should shield her from the worst of the sun’s wrath—enough to let her stand beneath it as she was meant to. With a final glance at his followers, Kyorlin nods.

“Step forward,” he commands. One by one, they move, emerging from the cave’s mouth into the blinding light.

The moment Lythaera’s body touches the sun, she screams.

A raw, agonized sound tears from her throat as her skin begins to sear. She thrashes, breaking from the extremists holding her, and collapses onto the ground. Smoke rises from her exposed skin, and blistering burns bloom across her arms and face.

The wards—his protection—are failing.

“No—no, no, no—” Kyorlin moves swiftly, reaching for her as she convulses, her cries turning hoarse.

The extremists drag her toward the shade of a nearby outcropping, their voices panicked.

“It’s Lolth,” Kyorlin hisses, his hands shaking as he hovers over Lythaera. He clenches his jaw. “She’s punishing her for embracing the light. For choosing Eilistraee.”

The extremists murmur in horror, their eyes darting between Lythaera’s trembling form and the bright, cursed sky above.

But Lythaera doesn’t hear Kyorlin’s words. She chokes on a sob, curling in on herself, her body wracked with pain.

“I—I'm on fire!” she gasps. “Fire!"

The words cut through the group like a blade, hearts breaking for the girl, their resolve beginning to waver. And then, a new sound—high-pitched, sharp, frantic.

A small, crystalline spider scuttles from the folds of Lythaera’s robe, its iridescent body catching the cruel sunlight. It chitters in distress, its delicate legs twitching as it presses itself against Lythaera’s burned skin. Kyorlin recoils. His heart stutters.

Lolth’s spawn.

His hands clench into fists, his breath coming in ragged, furious bursts. He lunges, hand raised, ready to crush the wretched creature beneath his palm—

But his fingers never connect. The crystalline spider moves faster than his eye can track, darting out of reach and vanishing back into Lythaera’s clothing.

“Damn it,” Kyorlin snarls. “We've been tracked this entire time, which means they are close. We need to move now!”

The extremists scramble into motion, hefting Lythaera’s barely-conscious form between them. Kyorlin grips the hilt of his sword, his eyes flashing with rage and something else—something dangerously close to fear. Behind them, deep in the tunnels they left behind, the shadows stir with movement. And Kyorlin knows: whatever is coming for them is nearly here.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn. I promised another chapter and here it is. Poor lythaera... but seems she isn't as powerless as Minthara thinks if you are picking up what I'm putting down...

Hope you guys enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments and I cherish and adore every single like and interaction. Love you all! Seluney xox

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