#fic: little break

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[rexwrendraws]

Saw a gifset of Morpheus and had the random thought that he'd make a fantastic children's picture book mouse character— and now I really, really want a fic where he appears in a kid's dream as a Kevin Henkes/Helen Craig/Beatrix Potter -esque mouse as to not scare them or something. I think it's something about Morpheus' usual mousey moue and big wet eyes that make it work in my head lolll Mousepheus!!

[meltedmush]

You might’ve already addressed this, but have you ever played My Horse Prince?

I don’t think I have talked about it, but no I haven’t played My Horse Prince. I am aware of it though, and I’ve seen a lot of gameplay footage of the first 30 minutes. Real funky stuff ain’t it?

I’ve been getting screenshots of the game ever since I’ve started drawing Binghorse, and MAN THEY GET RIDICULOUS 😭

[starry-bi-sky]

The first time disciple Shen Yuan/Shen Qingqiu meets Liu Qingge, it is during a Bai Zhan peak raid. And what ends up happening is that Shen Qingqiu gets kicked in the jaw with such force he feels his teeth clack together unpleasantly. And frustrated with his situation, the system, and quite frankly a ton of other little things that have been building up over the course of the last few weeks, he feels something snap in the back of his mind like that of a rubber band after being stretched too far.

What ends up happening is that Shen Qingqiu turns and locks onto the very first figure he can see that is dressed in grey-and-white like a homing missile, and then with the force of a twin-tailed mountain tiger, lunges towards said figure with an equally menacing snarl.

He ends up taking the Bai Zhan peak disciple by utter surprise, and they both collide into the ground in a tangle of angry yelling and limbs. What ends up happening is that Liu Qingge gets the subsequent wind knocked out of him and pinned into the dirt by a Qing Jing peak disciple who is filled with the might and fury of a scholar having their peaceful afternoon interrupted and a once-grown-man re-experiencing puberty.

It is with that might and fury that Liu Qingge meets the wild, frenzied eyes of Shen Qingqiu, with his lips pulled back into a truly ferocious scowl. Shen Qingqiu hisses out, with such force it makes his voice rasp, as if he might as well sink his teeth into Liu Qingge's throat and rip it out; "Get the fuck off my mountain."

Liu Qingge is so shocked by -- well, quite a many things, but most importantly the fact that he has been pinned, and the way the sun is bouncing off this boy's face, -- that his brain needs five seconds to reboot. It's five seconds too long, because by the time he registers what just happened, Shen Yuan has clambered off him and disappeared. Gone and thrown himself into the closest dust cloud scuffling in order to unleash the rest of his fury on the other Bai Zhan Peak kids.

Qing Jing Peak experiences an unfortunate uptick in Bai Zhan disciple visits -- specifically of the Liu Qingge variety. Specifically Liu Qingge, actually. Who very much wants to find the boy that managed to get one over on him and demand a rematch. (Or maybe kiss him.)

[geezmarty]

im sorry to hear about your avabela disease. is there anything i can do to make it worse

it's already reached critical levels I'm afraid here's an older drawing I don't think I've posted here

[frownyalfred]

fic where the JL encounters some sort of force/person that can magnetize/manipulate metal and everyone gives Batman a hard time because they think he’s just unhappy his armor is magnetic but it’s actually because every single plate and screw he’s ever had implanted is slowly trying to tunnel out of his bones throughout their investigation

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[adverbally]

A Spoonful of Sugar

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day thirteen prompt “superstition” | wc: 637 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: fluff, domesticity, early relationship, getting to know each other, implied sexual content

———

Steve stumbles into his kitchen, bleary-eyed and sleep-stiff, to find Eddie rummaging through the Harringtons’ cabinets for mugs. The coffee maker burbles cheerfully on the countertop.

“I was supposed to make you breakfast!” Steve pouts, crossing his arms over his bare torso.

“You already let me stay over,” Eddie argues, sidling up to him wearing nothing but a pair of Steve’s boxers and a cheeky grin. “Stop trying to be a good host and start being a good boyfriend.” He leans in for a kiss.

Self-consciously, Steve flinches away with a hand over his mouth. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he mumbles.

“Baby,” Eddie laughs, “I have morning breath, too. Plus I know where your mouth has been and it doesn’t bother me.”

He lets his hand fall to rest at his side, where Eddie catches it and laces their fingers together. “Are you sure?”

“Try me.” Eddie leans in again, lips pursed exaggeratedly.

Steve smiles and meets him in a languid kiss. Both of their mouths are sour and stale, but Steve finds it hard to care when Eddie is licking into his mouth, warm and wet, and they’re surrounded by the scent of freshly brewed coffee. It’s sweetly domestic in a way that makes butterflies erupt inside him.

A little bashfully, Steve tells him, “I think I started us off on the wrong foot earlier. I meant to say, ‘Good morning, sweetheart, thank you for the coffee.’”

“Mm, apology accepted.” Eddie gives him a final peck before pushing Steve in the direction of the stools along the breakfast bar. “Now go sit and I’ll get your coffee. Just a splash of cream and a dash of sugar, right?” he asks over his shoulder.

Slumped against the island, Steve watches him work, pulling milk out of the refrigerator and grabbing a spoon to stir with. Curiously, Eddie takes the sugar bowl first, ladling a generous dollop into his own mug before putting a much more reasonable amount into Steve’s. Only then does he pour the coffee, top Steve’s with milk, and give both mugs an enthusiastic stir.

“I’ve never seen anyone put the sugar in before the coffee,” Steve observes as Eddie puts the milk back and wipes down the counter where his stirring had caused a spill.

“Really? I guess I never thought about it that much.” Eddie sits their mugs down and settles into the stool beside Steve, scooting close enough for their bare knees to touch.

Steve watches him over the top of his mug as he takes a sip. Perfect, just enough cream and sugar to cut the bitterness without overpowering the flavor of the coffee. “Mmmm. Keep making me coffee like that and I’ll never question your methods again.”

Eddie smiles and raises his own mug like he’s toasting him. “I can’t take credit, it’s just how Wayne’s always done it. He says it’s supposed to be good luck, start the day on a sweet note or whatever. I mostly do it because I use so much sugar. If I poured the coffee first and then dumped a whole tablespoon of sugar into it, I’d make an even worse mess than I already do.” He grins at Steve. “Not that a little extra luck could hurt.”

It feels strangely intimate to learn these little details about Eddie. Never mind the hours they’d spent exploring each other’s bodies the previous evening; that pales in comparison to the feeling Steve has here in his kitchen, sitting in the morning sunlight and talking about Eddie’s superstitious coffee habits. It’s not some kind of deep, dark secret, but Steve feels like he’s been entrusted with something precious nonetheless.

Steve raises his mug in response. “To good luck and good coffee.”

With any luck, this will be the first of many mornings they share together.

[blenselche]

you can only take so many hours of ancient aliens before u snap tbf

[demaparbat-hp]

Hey, @geothewriter, was it necessary to break my heart?

A little thing for Vermillion Seas, Cardinal Skies, a truly magnificent fic that has left yours truly rolling on the ground more than once. I'll post the entire artwork once it's finished! For now, you get a little sneak peek.

Start reading the fic here. You can find Chapter 19 (from which this scene comes from) here!

[lavendermin]

jing yuan is definitely the type of man to take your hand and kiss your fingers one by one WHILE keeping eye contact (literally STARING, waiting for u to break, become flustered and look away), and when you do, he would say smth along the lines of "look at me" / "is something wrong? why did you look away?" with that shitty grin of his

We’re dealing with a whole general in charge of the Luofu. That man is trained in the art of finding weaknesses to use to his advantage and effortlessly play off them. This partially translates into Jing Yuan’s methods for expressing love as well.

And he wouldn’t call these aspects your weaknesses per se. No, he would never degrade you like that. But he knows what makes you tick, what makes you short circuit, what buttons to push and when. Jing Yuan is well versed in the little things that draw out his favorite reactions from you. Something akin to cuteness aggression some might call it. His fondness for you is just that great. And your relationship is one that is lighthearted and filled with playful banter.

cw | suggestive, fem reader

He knows how to make your heart leap. Takes you to some secluded gardens past the hustle and bustle of the main city areas, away from prying eyes. He’s someone who prefers to love you in private, wanting to bare his soul to you and you only. The light breeze brings a beautiful rain of delicate petals from the plum blossom trees in the vicinity. With his tall stature he picks a low hanging flower from the tree without much effort, delicately placing it in your hair as he continues the pleasant conversation without missing a beat. It’s something that makes you momentarily fall out of step, caught a little off guard with the gesture. Your pulse quickens and the smile he wanted to see finally beams on your face, albeit shyly.

He knows what little things to do that get you looking at him with that lovesick gaze. During brief breaks between meetings he’ll bring you to the gardens in his estate, a blanket sprawled out for a quick afternoon snack to enjoy in good company. Some are favorites, other little additions are new and some just readily in season or imported. Jing Yuan always wordlessly insists on hand feeding you himself. Loves the flustered look in your eyes as he puts a slice of fruit to your lips, slowly parting them and glossing them with the nectar that drips from the treat. A sigh of contentment leaves you and he can’t help but smile fondly, leaning in to quickly place a peck on your lips.

Your eyes twinkle, heart full with the notion that he imported one of your favorite delicacies from a neighboring star system—and with such a limited season they are available in. He licks his lips, the sweetness from the kiss he stole lingering in his mouth with the taste of you. An ideal afternoon he wishes could be longer than thirty minutes before he’s off again. Might as well spend them with you.

He pulls you onto his chest as he lays back on the picnic blanket, eliciting a squeak of surprise from you.

“Just for fifteen minutes, let’s stay like this,” he whispers, pulling you down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s an intimacy that simmers and leaves your hearts full longer.

And with a smile you can’t help how love-struck you look at him, so prettily under you. Something that he mirrors equally as you both settle into the tranquil moment.

He’s especially good at teasing—knows what little habits you have and how to exploit them for his amusement (in good fun). And there are a lot of little habits that come with your shy demeanor.

You bite into the flesh of a peach, the juices running down your hands. He’s quick to seize an opportunity to take your hand, kissing each of your glistening fingers slowly—hungry gaze steadily holding yours. The action has you holding your breath without even realizing it. It warms your face with the intimacy of his soft lips pressing to the pads of your fingers—a heat quickly surging through your body like a wildfire. And you can’t move even if you wanted to (you don’t), his grasp firm on your wrist.

It’s almost like a little game of endurance. You’ve never felt more like a doe in a lion’s den than in these kinds of moments. His lips move to press to the second finger, the third finger…

“Eyes on me, little dove,” he mutters, voice an octave lower than usual. Commanding. The smirk on his lips reveals the mischief in his intention. “Don’t look away. Not for a second.”

Your eyes that had desperately tried to dart anywhere else are immediately back on him. Almost involuntarily. You can’t help but worry your lip to try and suppress any little gasps and whimpers that may threaten to leave you.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

He kisses the fourth, a subtle tremble on your own hand he can just barely feel. The glimmer in his honey eye tells you he wants to play with to his dinner today. You can only pray your weak heart can withstand what teasing he has in store for you as he slowly drags his tongue up your index finger. His mouth chases the sweetness of the fruit as it coats your hand, your eyes following the wet muscle with an involuntary whimper and shift of your thighs when he licks sensually between your index and middle finger.

And just like that he places a kiss to your palm and leaves you hot and bothered. Trembling and breathing a little uneven with a want settling deep in the pit of your belly.

“Were you hoping for something more?” Jing Yuan asks with that mischievous, innocent-looking smile he wears. His thumb swipes at the corner of his lips to catch remnants of the sweetness he stole from your delicate hands.

Sly goddam fox.

[naamah-beherit]

Imagine:

Sam, who's still new enough at his job that he doesn't know the unspoken rule "If a dishevelled bloke comes looking for Gwen and claims to be her brother, pretend you don't know her and walk away".

So when a dishevelled bloke comes looking for Gwen and insists he must see her, it's a family emergency, you see, he's her brother, Sam, being a good lad at heart, gets him a visitor badge and takes him to see Gwen.

Who gets one glimpse of him, stands up with an, "Absolutely NOT, Elias, haven't I told you not to come here--"

"Hello, Gwen," says Elias like the headache that he is.

And the computer speakers crack in three voices in unison, "ELIAS BOUCHARD".

_____________

This is now a fic because I'm incapable of not acting on my plot bunnies

[jadecantcreate]

little shepnax doodle because i had a Vision

the vision in question^ (freeform crashed so i left it at that lol)

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Danny and Sam cause chaos at a gala

So Sam is forced to one of her families galas, and Danny is also forced to go because he had convinced Jack and Maddie that it would be good for his future carer

Sam and Danny find this out after complaining to each other, once they realised they were both going to the same gala they started planning

.

.

.

Every member of the Batfam hated galas with a passion and Jason had thought he got out of this one when he got an alert that Joker was crashing Wayne gala

He was annoyed obviously

So he didn't know how to react when as he arrived 2 teenagers were half beating the shit out of joker and half dancing

All the goons were stuck to walls and furniture, and all the gala attendants were perfectly fine, there was also phineas and ferb songs and my little pony songs playing in the background

A girl in a poofy purple dress with knee-high combat boots was dancing to the cartoon songs while stomping on the jokers back

And a black-haired teen in a ripped-up suit with mismatched combat boots was dancing with the girl while kicking the joker's teeth in

He started recording...

.

.

.

Sam and Danny planned for a week, they would sneak in and set up speakers with my little pony and Phineas and Ferb songs, 2 sets of combat boots and a Fenton blaster modified to shoot a glue like substance

So in the middle of the gala Sam and Danny started their playlist

They gave no fucks

For the first 15 minutes, they were just smashing furniture(their rich they can pay) and giving people the finger while dancing with each other to cartoon songs

Then they hopped up on tables and started firing their Fenton blasters everywhere

It was the best

So like hell they were stopping just because Bobo the wannabe clown decided to drop by

[francixoxoxo]

𐙚𝒯𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ𝓇 ୨ৎ

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒳 ℬ𝒶𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨, 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝒴𝒶’𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒾𝓉 𝓌ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻ℯℯ𝓉！！

Ballet was your passion. It was like when you entered that room, glossy hardwood under-toe and expansive mirrors across the wall— you forgot your body’s limits.

At the end of the day, the lactic acid would kick in and you’d feel like a true cripple. Your toes were cracked, your spine brittle, your legs stiff from being pulled so taught.

Coriolanus was so, so endearingly supportive of you. Your grace was unmatched in every endeavor you took, yet ballet was your calling. He was at every performance, your enamored husband, yet careful to respect your wishes of letting your success be solely from your work. You were adamant that you didn’t want him pulling strings for you.

If he couldn’t use his political power as President to get you ahead, he’d dote on every single other aspect of your dancing.

A leotard in every color you pleased. The best hairstylists and gentlest products to keep your hair silky and healthy, unlike what most ballerinas had to deal with. Hell, a whole dance studio in the presidential mansion all to yourself for the few days you didn’t have rehearsal with your dance company.

Coriolanus noticed in particular that your feet took the largest toll. Bruised and battered between heels for events as the First Lady of Panem and pointe shoes for performances as a Prima Ballerina… it broke his heart. He saw to it that your slippers were custom-made to fit your feet, the finest quality and comfortable as possible.

And yet, though the pain was exponentially better, your passion continued to discomfort you. You’d insisted how much you loved ballet, insisted that you didn’t mind some pain in the face of your career.

That didn’t mean that Coryo didn’t feel awful.

One night, Coryo slipped into the dance studio. You were somehow more awake than him in the late hours of the night. He’d finished up his address for the next cabinet meeting, and for the first time in the past few months felt truly ready for bed.

You? Not so much. You were in your ballet slippers, in a cream-colored leotard and pink skirt. Working your pretty little ass off. You were practicing an important routine for the next show, which you had an important role in. When you heard the door open, your heels immediately hit the floor and your head whipped to see Coriolanus.

You let out a soft sigh. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Your husband cooed, his sapphire eyes shamelessly drinking you in. He waved a hand to you as he crossed the room to sit on the bench against the wall. “Keep going, my love, don’t let me stop you.”

You smiled a bit shyly, turning around so your back was to him. You met his eyes in the mirror as you began from where you left off in the dance, a dainty arabesque.

Coryo just leaned against the wall, his legs spreading lazily as he sat and watched you dance. You were absolutely captivating in every movement. Graceful and iridescently beautiful.

That was, until you couldn’t bear to dance on the pointe of your slippers and stumbled a bit. You groaned in frustration, slipping to your knees in a smooth and somehow still elegant motion.

“What happened?” Coriolanus sat up now, brows drawing in concern as you began to undo the ribbons of your pointe shoe. You shook your head, rigid with frustration.

“I think it’s time for bed.” You admit, slipping your right flat off and undoing the thick bandage wrapped from your heel to your toes.

You grimaced at the sight of your foot. Some of your toes were purple with bruises, cruel and mocking blisters on your knuckles. There were indivudual bandages around certain more damaged toes, a bandaid under the ball of your foot. The bones of your foot were strained against your skin. Even you could admit that you looked beaten.

Before you realized it, Coryo was scooping you up with his arms under your back and knees. You gasped a little, though it delved into a little giggle. He couldn’t pretend that your battered feet didn’t bother him, he couldn’t manage a smile. Your husband gently sat you down on the bench he had been on, reaching for your ballet duffel bag. He dug around a bit.

“Poor baby.” Coriolanus cooed, pressing a kiss to your knee as he shifted to kneel at your feet. In his hand he clutched a roll of soft pink bandages and a tube of Neosporin you kept in your bag. “It looks like it hurts.”

You hummed, admiring the sight of Coryo on his knees in front of you. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and baring his forearms, his dress shirt’s top few buttons unbuttoned. His hair was ungelled, to your delight. “It’s not that bad.”

But you flinched as Coryo pressed gently on a bruise with his thumb. He’d hardly applied any pressure, and you were reacting like that. “This? This isn’t that bad?” Coriolanus huffed, he held your foot in one hand and gestured to it by lifting it just a bit. He raised his brows, blue eyes wide in disbelief. He shook his head disapprovingly, looking down and applying some Neosporin to the opened blisters on your toes.

“My love, you’re pushing yourself too far.” Coryo murmured, his breath warm on your shin as he reached for the bandages. He took loving care in wrapping your foot, once, twice, as much padding as he needed to ease his mind.

You shake your head. “Don’t be dramatic, Coryo. This is normal.” You watched your husband’s jaw tick. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your ankle, his eyelashes tickling your calf.

“Normal, fine. But I’m not dramatic when I say that it hurts to see.” Coriolanus turned to lean his head against your knee, unraveling the ribbons of your other slipper with an agonizingly gentle touch. His fingers were featherlight, as if you’d crumble under his fingers. “You don’t deserve this. Such a good, beautiful woman as you shouldn’t have a scratch.”

You smiled faintly down at him as he slipped your pointe shoe off. He was unbelievably doting, despite what people might say about his coldness. Coryo was completely different behind closed doors. He melted with you. He adored you.

“You’re too good to me.” You murmured softly, Coriolanus scoffed and shook his head as he carefully unwrapped the fabric covering your toes. He could see the deep crimson staining the cloth already, his brow was already pulled taut.

You grimaced at the damage to your feet. Damn. You hadn’t realized it was bleeding until now, looking down at the rubbed-off skin and blisters cracking your toes. Now that the wounds were exposed to the air, they suddenly stung and ached. Coryo was staring down at your foot for a long few moments before rifling through your duffel bag for some baby wipes. He was sure this had happened before, he was sure you would be hesitant to tell him.

“My poor darling..” Coriolanus cooed, successfully finding a wipe and cleaning the blood from your skin. You whimpered at the touch on the raw skin, but when your husband looked up at you as if to ask if he should stop, you gently pushed your fingers through his blonde curls.

“I’m fine.” You assured him, watching as he squeezed some Neosporin onto the opened skin. Coryo was painfully gentle in wrapping up your foot, he cooed sweet words and apologies to you, though it wasn’t his fault.

Coryo was certain you didn’t deserve any of this pain that came with your passion. You were too good for any kind of pain, period. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your foot, his lips trailing up to your ankle, the length of your shin, your knee. That last kiss, he let his azure eyes flutter shut, humming lowly against your skin. You couldn’t help smiling down at him, gently scratching and rubbing his scalp. If only he could see himself now, kneeling in front of you, kissing up your legs and practically worshipping you.

“I love you.” Coriolanus murmured, propping his chin on your knee and looking up at you with soft eyes. Well, he was looking up at you like you were a goddess, like you were something to pray to. His eyes twinkled, his expression sincere.

Your smile only widened. You folded at the waist to press a kiss to the crown of Coryo’s hair, whispering, “I love you too.” That brought a fond smile to his lips, a little snort from his nose.

He tossed those devilish slippers into your bag after a long, lingering few moments of staring up at you. “Let’s get you to bed.” Coryo hummed, zipping up the duffel and swinging it over his shoulder as he stood. You moved to stand, opening your mouth to ask for the sandals in your bag, but before you could speak he was scooping you back up into his arms like a princess. You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling from your lips, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Coriolanus pressed his lips to your temple as he pushed the door open with his back, carrying you down the hall. He didn’t really care if a servant or an Avox saw you two; he wasn’t doing anything that a loving husband wouldn’t, anyway.

Your pain truly hurt him. Coryo felt an ache in his heart every time you’d complain of stiff joints or blistered feet. He made sure to have ballet slippers created specifically for you, so that you wouldn’t feel such pain again.

You didn’t have to ask; Coriolanus was a husband who jumped to your every need before the words rolled off your tongue.