#atticus x reader

The weather was changing, leaves falling from trees, the air sweeping in the chilly air. Winter has arrived.

You were walking at the market, people coughing all around you.

That's how you got sick.

A sour throat, a headache and at some point a fever.

You were lying in bed, coughing non-stop.

"I'll bring you some soup" Atticus said while looking worried at you.

Atticus loves food, so be sure that the soup will be a delicatesse.

You couldn't taste much, but it helps to ease the pain.

The fever was finally gone.

You are weak, not able to leave the bed at all.

Atticus has blocked the sun, so the brightness wouldn't trigger your headache.

He never left your side, not once.

He was there in the morning, and he was there in the evening.

When you are sleeping or awake, he was there watching, ready to get the doctor in case you got worse again.

One day you woke up, feeling better than the day before.

"Atticus?" You muttered, looking for your friend.

Your friend looked up, worry in his eyes, but when he saw that you gained some color on your face, he relaxed a bit.

"I'm here, how are you feeling?"

"Better" You answered, not able to say much yet.

"I'll get you some food."

So once again, Atticus disappeared and reappeared, a bowl of soup and a platter with some bread and some cut apples with honey.

You slurped from the soup, dipped the bread in it, and took a small bite.

You saw Atticus sneaking an apple in his mouth that he must have taken from your plate.

"Hey! That's mine" You laughed, a small cough escaping you.

Atticus grinned back at you.

He was relieved that you could joke and smile again

He won't tell you, but he is glad to hear his friend laughter again.

He knew now, that you will be fine, and be rid of your bed in a couple days.

For some reason, Valerius won’t stop crying that next morning. You occupy yourself with the babe by rocking him back and forth gently, kissing his little head as he squirms and wails in your arms in spite of having eaten and ridded of any gases that might be causing him discomfort, whilst you watch Atticus break up the camp again. 

“So much for sleeping in,” you mutter with a half-hearted smile which the marshall briefly mirrors. You can tell he had hoped to stay under the comforts of the blankets for a while longer, and you share that sentiment. Broken nights have made it so that the circles under your eyes begin to grow darker as the weeks pass, but you try to not let the sleep deprivation get to you.

“All packed up,” announces the cohorte and he turns to face you, a small noise leaving him as he sees you standing there, your son in your arms. 

“What?” you muse, flustered under his sudden scrutiny. Atticus steps forward and kisses your forehead, lips lingering there for a moment longer.

“I did not mean to be impolite and stare, but you are just so beautiful,” he rumbles, “I’ve missed looking at you.” Atticus commits the moment to memory. You nearly preen at the soft words, trying to not beam too brightly lest your ego swells too much. 

Putting your hand over his chest whilst holding the baby in the crook of your other arm, you gleam up at the marshall. “You’re still a flirt,” you hum.

“I simply cannot help myself.” He raises an eyebrow, smirking, “Now get yourself onto the wagon, my darling. Here, let me hold Valerius for you.” 

Stalling is no longer an option. Once settled, you take the baby back in your arms and he immediately stops his whimpering, that had increased ever since being handed over into the arms of his father. He wriggles a bit, struggling to get comfortable. For a moment, your gaze shoots anxiously to Atticus, who has taken a seat next to you in order to take charge of the horses.

You wait as your son begins to show off just how strong his lungs are. You search Atticus’ face as the baby wails, trying to find something — anything — to indicate displeasure, or annoyance, or anything on that spectrum, but there is nothing that tells you that he’s cross. Your heart skips a beat when he looks at you, giving you a soft smile before letting his attention shift to the baby in your arms. 

“I know, son,” he murmurs, “Life isn’t always easy, hm?” There is a lopsided grin over his lips that shows the humour behind his words, and you let out a nervous exhale that you only now dare to let go of. 

Realising that you’re thoughtfully observing his mannerisms, Atticus gives you a look. “Are you alright, my love?” 

Blinking, you shake yourself out of it. “Yes!” you breathe, “I was just… You know. Thinking.” 

The wagon drives through a particularly deep hole in the road and you huff at the impact, Valerius only beginning to belt louder. 

“About something in particular, I presume.” 

“Just the fact that Quintus often complained to shut up Valerius one way or the other whenever the poor thing was crying his eyes out.” 

Atticus grimaces at the mention of your husband and the way he regarded the innocent child in your arms. “Bah. That’s not how it works. It’s a baby, what did he expect? Children don’t see reason, and an infant doesn’t have the words to express himself yet. He knows one thing and one thing only: to use these strong little lungs of his.” Your lover gives you a wink. “I can already tell that he’s going to have a powerful voice to serve the Empire with one day.”

You hum at the words, both touched at the fact that he takes no offence in the noise and a bit uncertain about that Atticus considers the child a good fit for the Empire. Honestly, you can barely stand the thought of losing Valerius to the Emperor and his desire to expand the Roman territories. No, you want to hold onto this little bundle of innocence for as long as possible. 

“My father,” you begin all of a sudden, the words fronting before you had even realised that you were thinking of him, “Has he… Received word about this ordeal yet?” 

“I haven’t personally written to him, no,” Atticus mutters, “But it’s a matter of days before word reaches Rome. News like that… Well, it spreads like wildfire.” 

Valerius begins to ease — at last — and you chew your bottom lip until you can taste a bit of blood, then run over the chapped area with your tongue. “Now what’s that look for?” Atticus worries, gently tugging your lip from your teeth with a gentle motion. 

Taking a sharp breath, you shake your head. “My pater,” you mention again, “Do you deem it… Likely that he would disband my marriage to Quintus due to recent developments?” 

The cohorte steers the horses to the left when a fork in the road appears. “…I’m not sure. I have never met the man. But from what you’ve told me, I have deduced that his reputation and status mean a whole lot to him. Something like damage control… May cause him to indeed attempt to annul it. However, when you take into consideration our relationship… I feel like they might make different arrangements.” 

“Arrangements in which I will be nothing but a pawn,” you bitterly conclude, “No one influential would ever marry an unfaithful, disgraced woman with an illegitimate child. And perhaps it would do even more damage to my father’s reputation if the reason for our divorce came to light, than if I were to remain married to Quintus…” 

Atticus lets out a noise. “…Men become monsters in the face of power.” 

Your gaze flickers to the side of his face curiously. For a few long moments, you watch him as he navigates the three of you over the road to Jerusalem. “…It’s hard to comprehend them, sometimes,” you admit. 

A brief silence lingers as both of you are reminded just how uncertain the future is in ever sense of the word. Everything hangs in the balance: your relationship with your parents, Quintus, Atticus and Jesus alike. 

Change is on the horizon, and it may just break your heart. 

“I hope it will not drive us apart.” Where the words come from, you do not know, but they leave you before you can swallow them back in. 

Atticus doesn’t respond at first, heaving a long sigh as his brow knits in worry. 

“So do I, my love,” he tells you, “So do I.” 

__

Halfway through the morning, you take a seat inside the carriage against the blazing sun overhead so that you can nurse your baby properly. In the silence, you think back on your conversation with Atticus.

As the wagon jostles unexpectedly, you jump up slightly, Valerius whimpering inside his makeshift crib at the sudden disturbance. “Sorry,” you hear Atticus’ voice from the front, and you are about to tell him that it’s fine when your eye falls on the distance. With a gasp, you shift closer to the side in order to take a proper look at your surroundings.

The Holy City stands proudly under a bright sun, the hustle and bustle present even on the outer walls. “Pretty, right?” Atticus muses upon sensing your enthusiasm, “It is coveted for a reason.” You pass through one of the high gates and you feast your eyes on all the sights it has to offer, from the architecture to the townspeople to the business surrounding the carriage. Atticus has to concentrate properly in order to not run anyone over by accident. 

There is poverty, too. Your smile of awe falls as you see a few orphans glance after the wagon with curious, hopeful eyes. Regretting not having your bag nearby, you sigh. The urchins turn their attention to another wealthy traveller, who turns up his nose at the sight of them. 

Unfamiliar scents enter your nose. People from all cultures shimmy around each other as they traverse the crowded streets. “It’s busy here,” you comment, and your lover chuckles lightly. 

“You haven’t seen the worst of it. Just wait until the Feasts roll around; can’t even get a single horse through here without knocking someone over… We’re here.” 

The carriage slows to a halt and you are met with a estate that the mansion you had in Capernaum doesn’t hold a candle against. Ostentatious as it may be, Pontius Pilate has taste. Hues of red and orange, adorned with gold and shades of dark blue for contrast are reminiscent of Roman architecture. Even from the outside, the plasterwork is impeccable. 

The cohorte hops off the driver’s seat and opens the door for you, offering his hand so that you can get out of the wagon. Stretching your sore limbs, you smile upon standing on Jerusalem soil for the first time in your life. “Thank you,” you murmur, turning to scoop Valerius out of his crib. A few servants have noticed your arrival and wordlessly begin to unpack your things, not even asking you for either your name or if you need to be shown inside. 

Atticus notices how it takes you aback and chuckles, holding out his arm. “I’m a familiar face,” he reminds you, “There is no need for formalities.” 

He leads you inside through the set of double doors and you step into a vestibule that reminds you of the one your father has back in Rome. Deities have been painted onto the walls with great craftsmanship and a servant is busy dusting off the grand, marble statue of Jupiter standing proudly in the centre. You hold your baby a little closer to your chest.

“This must be her!” a young voice bounces off the tall walls loud and clear, and a crisp chuckle leaves the young Governor’s lungs as he gestures his hands in the air, as if to show off his estate. Both Atticus and you turn to the flight of stairs, which Pilate descends. “Welcome to my humble abode.” 

It takes you a moment to fully comprehend that this is Pontius Pilate; you had expected someone older, someone with more experience and less of a happy-go-lucky kid. He looks like he’s in his late twenties, although the mild signs of ageing you notice upon closer inspection tell you otherwise. Mid-thirties, you think to yourself. Only one or two years older than you, if older than you at all.

“My name is Pontius, and this…” he turns to look over his shoulder to gesture at the person he had thought would have followed him, but a woman with cropped hair and luxurious robes still stands at the top of the stairs, hands resting on the railing that overlooks the vestibule from the landing, “I mean that… Is my wife, Claudia. Come on, dear. Don’t be shy.” 

For a few long moments, your gaze meets hers, and you can sense her initial animosity melt away almost right away. A soft smile tugs at her lips and she gives you an almost imperceptible nod, which you briefly mirror. She joins her husband and takes your hand into hers to greet you. 

“I’m Claudia,” she tells you, “It’s great to meet you.” 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Pontius and Claudia. I’m (Y/n).” 

Pontius smiles and raises an eyebrow, amusedly letting his gaze flicker to Atticus and then back to you. “Trust me, I know who you are.” Atticus lets out a noise that borderlines on bashful, and you cannot help but nearly squirm at the notion that he has perhaps been gushing about you in front of the Governor. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Pontius,” Atticus warns the young man, patting his shoulder amicably, “It’s good to see you again. Once again, thank you for going through with this.” 

“Yes,” you add right away, “I have no words to express how grateful I am to— “

Pilate cuts you off with a wave of his hand, pulling a face. “Ah, don’t even mention it. If my old friend comes to me with the question whether I could temporarily look after his lady, I cannot say no.” 

A little flustered, you look at Atticus, who is also a little caught off guard. “And who is this little one, huh?” Claudia murmurs upon realising that you are holding a securely swaddled infant against your chest. 

“Oh,” you breathe, tilting the boy to show him off a little, “This is Valerius, he’s about… About ten weeks old now, if I’m not mistaken.” 

Claudia tuts in admiration as she croons. “Oh, what a little sweetie…” 

Pontius clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Don’t get any ideas, darling.” His wife gives him a sharp look. 

“Who says I’m having ideas?” 

“I don’t know, I’m just… Just saying…” 

There is a tension you cannot quite explain, and you exchange an awkward look with Atticus, who shrugs uncertainly at you. 

Clapping his hands together, Pontius brings the attention back to himself, “Anyways,” he quips, “I bet that the two… Three of you, I mean, are exhausted and looking forward to freshening up. I suggest you follow one of our servants as they show you to the room where (Y/n) will be staying. You’ll be able to wash up and put on something clean for dinner, which is planned in an hour from now.” 

“Ah, dinner,” Atticus murmurs, winking when you give him a knowing look. “I’m starving.” 

“I expected as much,” Pontius chuckles before snapping his fingers. “David?” 

A servant barely out of his teens halts in his dusting and turns to the Governor. “Yes, sir?” 

“Please see our guests to the room prepared for them.” The Jewish man named David bows slightly and turns to you and Atticus. 

“Right away, sir. Please, come with me.” 

Heading after him, you head up the stairs and once again take in the grandness of the villa. It is clear that no expenses have been spared, even when you compare it to the palace of Herod Antipas in Machaerus. A gentle, warm hand rests on your lower back as Atticus holds you close, not letting you get out of his sight just yet.

“Here you go, my lady.” David unlocks a door and hands you the key, allowing you access to your lodging that is nothing short of luxurious, with a balcony and silken sheets on a bed almost larger in and of itself than your entire home study back in Capernaum, “If there is anything you need, please let me or another servant known, my lady.” 

You smile at the man. “Thank you, David.” He nods and stands a bit awkwardly, until you give him his next command. “You’re uh… You’re dismissed.” 

“Of course, my lady. Right away, my lady.” 

Only when the door shuts, Atticus lets out a chuckle. “You’re still not used to that.” It’s not a question, but a statement, “Having servants do your things for you, I mean.” 

You hum. “I just try to be nice to them.” Walking around the bedroom, you momentarily finger the sheer curtains. A bassinet has already been situated between the washbasin and the bed. You gently place down Valerius to give your arms some rest. 

Atticus watches you for a moment, taking in the grace you carry yourself with, and he steps closer to you. 

“You didn’t let him break you,” he establishes, and your mind drifts back to the conversation you had shared with him around the time when you had first been intimate. He had expressed his admiration how you refused to let Quintus extinguish your spirit, in spite of how he treated you, in spite of his influence over your life. Much time has passed since then, and here you are, changed, but not broken.

Giving him a soft smile, you inhale as he gently cups your cheek and kisses you sweetly, chastely. A warm peck that makes butterflies linger in your stomach that remain even after he pulls away. “We should get ready for dinner,” you whisper, causing the spy to hum in agreement. 

“We should. The servants have already brought your things up here, I see.” Indeed, the small chest of items you had taken from Capernaum stands at the foot of the bed. You walk over to it, opening it to take out the first dress you see. 

“Did you bring anything to wear—” Atticus drops his bag onto the bed and pats it before you even need to finish your sentence. “Ah, I see. Well, let’s wash our faces and get dressed up then, shall we?” 

He watches how you head for the room divider, a thin screen from behind which the shadows of your form are still visible to him — due to the candles positioned just right — and he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he stares for a moment. 

“Are you waiting for something, Atticus?” you murmur knowingly. He snaps out of it and chuckles upon being caught. 

“Once again, I cannot help myself.” 

You let out a pleasant noise, but wait for him to turn away to get dressed himself. Only then, you take the liberty of stripping down, taking a long look at yourself in the vertical mirror that is positioned against the wall. Your skin seems dry and the bruise from Quintus throwing the abacus into your lap is still on visible your knee.

Had you not waited for Atticus to turn away, you are certain that he would have seen the changes in your body, the noticeable curve of the baby fat you haven’t lost, the increased weight around your thighs and arms and the stretch marks that cover your tummy horizontally from left to right. You don’t feel as confident in your own skin like you once did. The fact that Quintus had complained about the weight you’d put on owing to your pregnancy didn’t help much, either.

Letting out a sigh, you slip into the dress you had grabbed from the chest; it is a sage green gown you haven’t worn so much, with bare shoulders and a pretty embroidery on the hems, alternating between golden thread and a dark shade of pine. With the boar bristle brush that lays on the washbasin, you detangle your (h/c) locks until they are shiny, deciding to only tuck them back with the small brooch you had already been wearing. 

When you step out from the behind the screen, Atticus is already dressed in a simple dark blue toga, his usual attire gone. His dark eyes immediately give you a once-over, an inaudible murmur leaving his lips. “You look wonderful, as always.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it; charming, with a hint of mischief in his expression. Even after all this time, he never fails to make your face turn pink. 

“I could say the same about you,” you flirt back, albeit a little flustered. Atticus winks and looks down at his toga, smoothing his hands down the surface, which is lined with dark orange borders.

“Huh. I don’t wear it often. I’m even surprised that it still fits... Let’s head downstairs, I’m sure they are waiting for us.” 

Before heading that way, you grab a palla from your things that goes well with the colour of your current dress in case it gets chilly and drape it over one shoulder.  Upon exiting the room, you instruct a servant to come fetch you whenever your son wakes up in need of attention.

Atticus takes your hand into the crook of his arm and leads you down to where the dining area is located. Due to his familiarity with the home of Pontius Pilate, he knows where it is. A large, low table stands in the centre, loaded with enough food to feed a small village. 

“There you are,” Pontius muses, smiling at the two of you, “We were already wondering what was taking you so long. But we understand, don’t we, Claudia? You two have been apart for quite some time after all.” 

Claudia clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes at the suggestive cheekiness of her husband. Pontius simply chuckles and takes a sip of his drink, gesturing at the two empty sofas at the table. “Please, be our guest and make yourselves at home.” 

You release Atticus’ arm and both of you recline at the table, a servant pouring you a cup of mulsum. Flinching at the strong taste of honey within the wine, you wonder if the Governor has a sweet tooth. 

“This is your first time in Jerusalem, no?” Pontius asks you as he loads his plate full of food, as if anyone would take it all away from him. You clear your throat and nod, putting your goblet down and going for some nuts and olives, first. There hangs a strong scent of fermented fish sauce in the air, the source being a bowl of devilled eggs standing in your way. You gulp and move it further away without making it look too obvious. 

“Yes,” you reply, looking from him to Claudia. “I originate from Rome, but I moved to Capernaum due to my husband…” You pause, taking a breath, seeking aid with Atticus. 

“It’s fine,” Pontius reassures you, “He has told us everything.”

That takes some of the load from your shoulders and you hum. “My husband was stationed there as Praetor,” you continue to explain, “It is a fishing village, rich in trade but not very eventful…” 

“…Until that Preacher came along, hm?” The Governor gives you a curious look before tucking into a thick slice of roasted pork belly. Claudia takes a careful sip of her drink, her eyes not leaving you. The comment surprises you, for it implies that Atticus has apparently told Pilate about Jesus, yet it doesn’t necessarily mean that their conversations about the Jewish Messiah have been positive. 

You have been silent for too long, you think to yourself, and give a small nod. “Yes,” you breathe, “When Jesus of Nazareth began showing up, things became more… Interesting.” 

“Interesting in what way?” Claudia questions.

Atticus hums ambiguously next to you and scoops some lentils onto his plate. You aren’t certain how to respond to that sound and eat another olive to give yourself time to think. 

“Well, He… His teachings are quite radical, to say the least,” you tell them, unsure where it will put you regarding their favour. After all, if your hosts happened to be nothing but averse to Jewish preachers and their teachings, a single trip back to the Peninsula to live with your parents again seems too close for comfort.

Pontius traces the edge of his goblet with his finger as he gives you a thoughtful look, whilst his wife leans a little closer to catch your words. “And the people,” Pilate asks, “How are they… Responding to these, as you put it, radical teachings?”

“Jesus definitely goes against the status quo,” you explain, “I mean, from what I’ve seen, His teachings don’t just talk of forgiveness and repentance, but he also calls out the Jewish religious leaders on their hypocrisy, and He does not just turn to Jews alone. He is kind to Romans and other Gentiles as well.” 

“A Gentile?” Claudia wants to know.

“A non-Jew,” you say, “Like you and myself.” 

Pontius lets out a noise you cannot place. “It sounds like you don’t mind His presence all that much.” 

A pregnant silence fills the room, hanging like a curtain that threatens to drape over the situation and suffocate everyone present. It is nothing short of awkward and you clear your throat, hiding behind a way-too-sweet sip of mulsum that you nearly choke on. 

“Do you reckon that this… Jesus of Nazareth will cause trouble for our Empire?” 

“I cannot say,” you admit, suddenly feeling something odd grow within your chest, as if you’d personally be responsible for Jesus’ actions from now on, “But if anything were to happen to Him, martyrdom would not be out of the question.” 

At that, Pontius quirks up the corner of his mouth into a smile. “Hm. It seems like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, (Y/n). I didn’t expect anything different from you, though. After all, it’s not like I’ve ever seen Atticus with anyone longterm.” 

Your gaze goes to Atticus, who is wearing an unreadable expression. In his reclined position, he looks more relaxed than he actually is, and he blinks when he realises that you’re watching him. A soft smile plays over his lips. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he rumbles, a dangerous confession, seeing that you’re very much a married woman, dishonourable discharged husband or not. 

It seems to shift the conversation to something lighter. Pontius teases his old friend by telling you about the first time Atticus mentioned you, and the way his eyes had shone during the entire conversation. The mulsum gets to your head and you laugh softly at the anecdotes shared, gladly chipping in on your occasional moments with the cohorte, who chuckles and enjoys the banter just as much. 

The eyes of Claudia mainly remain on you for the entire dinner. Even after all the fresh fruits of dessert have been consumed save from some pomegranate seeds and a handful of dried apricots, she is watching you with observant eyes. You can tell that there is something on her mind and you reckon to hear it once the two of you are alone. 

It’s long past midnight when you decide to call it a day, thanking the Governor for his hospitality. “Once again, thank you for allowing me to stay here,” you say, “I can imagine it feels odd to allow a total stranger into your home, no matter their relationship to your friends.” 

Pontius Pilate smiles and politely kisses the back of your hand, a gesture that for once doesn’t fluster you. “You are most welcome, (Y/n),” he reassures you, “And don’t mention it. I’m sure that things will figure themselves out as time passes. You can stay for as long as needed, free of charge.” 

“I greatly appreciate that.” 

He turns to face Atticus, whose hand has found a home on your lower back, warm and secure. “When will you be leaving for work?” the Governor wonders, “After all, I bet you’ve got quite some… Paperwork to catch up on, seeing the incident with the Praetor.” 

The daze of wine seems to quickly leave the marshall’s eyes to make place for brief sobriety. “Ah, tomorrow morning.” Your heart sinks. “I wish I could have stayed longer, but duty calls.” 

You don’t know what you had been expecting, but part of you feels silly that you had almost begun to daydream that your love could stay for another week or so until you had at least settled in. Of course, with all recent events going on, he has become busier than he was before.

“Very well, we shall not keep you any longer.” Pontius smiles and takes Claudia’s hand in his own, stepping back towards their own private quarters. “Have a good night, you two.” 

“Good night, Governor. Claudia.” You nod at the woman in question, who bows her head in greeting. 

“Sleep well,” Atticus concludes, and you part ways with your hosts.

In silence, Atticus and you head for the bedroom assigned to you, but it’s nowhere near unpleasant nor awkward. You push away the feeling that he has to leave so soon and enter the chambers, which have apparently been tidied by a servant. Your son is still asleep, although you know you must wake him for a feeding. 

Valerius groggily looks up at you but accepts your attempt to nurse him eagerly, and Atticus sits next to you to keep a watchful eye over the scene. He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder and hums. “You smell nice,” he muses, at which you blush. 

Still not completely out of his sleepy state, Valerius ceases to drink and — after burping, of course — falls right back into his peaceful slumber. Wiping dry his chin, you take him back to his bassinet, in which you tuck him away. 

“I’ll slip into something more comfortable,” Atticus announces, grabbing his bag to take out a sleeping tunic you had never seen before. On the road, he had to be prepared to fight at all times, after all. You nod and momentarily watch over the baby for a minute or so before heading back to the privacy screen to put on your nightgown.

You carefully slide your dress off your body, letting it pool around your ankles, and the candles around cause your full glory to be exposed to the grand mirror you’re standing in front of, stretch marks and all.

Turning to grab your nightgown, you nearly let out a yelp when Atticus suddenly steps up behind you, dressed down to just his undershirt. He places two gentle hands on your upper arms, softly caressing them up and down before letting them slide to your hips as he rests his chin on your shoulder, locking eyes with you through the reflection of the mirror. “Beautiful,” he rumbles in your ear, breath tickling the shell thereof. 

Part of you is inclined to cover up, to hide the blemishes and curves and marks that your body has developed over the course of the past nine months. Even though you aren’t with child anymore, your belly still looks pregnant when you look at your tummy from the side, but his eyes are already on you, inspecting the changes with warmth. 

“…Absolutely breathtaking,” Atticus doubles down. 

“I look like I—” 

“—Do not dare finish that thought,” he commands with finality. 

You inhale sharply as his hands drift. 

“You have no idea how I feel about you. There are no words to make it known.” A lingering kiss is pressed against the place where your neck and shoulder meet as he moves aside your (h/c) locks. He purrs in appreciation at both how close you are and the way you smell. 

Your gazes meet once again in the mirror when he opens his dark eyes, and he gives you a playful nibble on that exact same spot, causing you to squirm. He chuckles at your reaction. 

“Now, I already mentioned having to leave again come morning,” Atticus reminds you, something you’d rather have banished from your mind a while longer, “But the sun won’t come up for a long while.” 

There lingers a promise, and how can you deny him when he looks at you like that?

Your eyes go to the crib, where Valerius is already asleep, but Atticus gently catches your chin with his index finger and tilts it up so that you face him, close and short of breath. 

He delves down, meeting your mouth with his own, fierce and all-consuming.

That night, you forget where he ends and where you begin.

---

As a nine year old Jewish girl you were completely aware of the Romans. Those scary men in armor with swords at their hip, it looks nothing like the wooden swords your brothers play with. It was heavy, forged with iron and deadly. Your young eyes has seen much, too much.

You hated to go to the market, even when your eema and brothers are at your side. You were scared, no, terrified, you were terrified. Any kind of violence was a trigger to get a panic attack, your parents didn't know what to do with it and your brothers didn't understand it and neither did you.

The first time you had it, you thought you would die. You didn't, obviously.

You had screamed your lungs off to your eema, begging her to let you stay at home. Your mother won, you had no choice but to go with her to the market.

So here you are now, trying to avoid the people as much as you could. "Eema? Can we go to the toy stand? Pleaaaase" Your younger brother begged, dragging the please extra longer. Your mother sighed, thinking. "Alright, but JUST looking" she said in a stern voice. Your brother smiled his gap toothed smile. You gave a small sigh as well, going to the toy stand equals staying longer in the overcrowded market.

Your eema was skimming through the market stands, desperate to find the best fruit and fish. You pulled up your nose as the smell of fish wafted your way. You don't like fish, but your eema buys them again every single time. As your eema was talking to the merchant of the fish stand while buying herrings.

You could tell that your younger brother; Judah, was having a hard time to not whine to your mother. You tapped his right shoulder while standing on his left. As he looked to his right and back to you, you averted your eyes, pretending to not know what happened. As your brother tried to look at the fish, which he was too small to see the stand, you tapped him once again, but this time your brother was quicker in his reaction. "Y/n stop it! I don't like it" He said in his tiny voice. "Or what, little brother?" You said while reaching down to tickle him. Judah tried his very best to stay angry, his mouth pouting but there was already a smile coming through.

"Children, let's go" your eema said, taking Judah by the hand. You followed your eema, your brother looking behind him as he stuck out his tongue to you, you replied with the same thing.

"Aaah! I don't know what happened! Please, have mercy!" Someone suddenly shouted. "You should know better, Jew!" A roman soldier spat back with hatred. "Children stay close to me" your eema said as she hurried away to get off the market square. But you couldn't move, your eyes were glued to the scene, which was getting out of hand. The Jewish man desperately tried to reason with the roman guard. But the roman guard took his sword of his sheath, causing the jew to stumble backwards with his hands raised in defeat. Your breath started to quicken as you saw how the roman soldier hurt the man with his sword. Blood staining his iron sword.

You were having a panic attack. Black blurred your vision, your head was becoming light headed as you tried to breath. People were scurrying away, bumping into you. You have scraped your knees, but you did not notice as you tried to focus on your breathing.

Suddenly a shadow came over you. 'The roman soldier found me' you thought while trembling in fear. But whoever it was, he dragged you out of the market square. Putting you down in an small alley.

"It's alright kid, just breathe" The man said with a kind voice, "that's it, just in and out." As you followed his instructions, your breathing has become less shallow. Your vision is coming back as well. As you looked up, you saw the tall man staring at you. A cloak was covering his clothes beneath it, but you could tell that he was not a Jewish man.

"Can you tell me your name kid?" He asked in a kind voice. Too kind. Why would someone who's not Jewish help you? A Jewish child. "My name is Y/n" you replied in a soft voice with a slight tremble in it. "Y/n, I'm Atticus, you had quite a fright, there right?" You nodded silently, trying to remember this stranger's name.

"Who are you?" You asked curiously. Atticus chuckled lightly, ruffling your dark brown hair a bit. "We should find your eema and brother" he said while taking your hand in his, leading you the way. You were confused, but you have figured that he must be some kind of Roman person. But it didn't fit in your mind that a Roman could be nice.

"I must leave you here kid. Remember to take your breaths measured when you have another attack, alright?" Atticus said while ruffling your hair once more before leaving you behind.

As you walked back with small steps to your eema and brother, you obliged yourself to remember that kind man forever.

Simon the Zealot

He never got a lot of cuddles during his childhood, so he’s totally touch-starved. 

Simon still has this tough persona he wants to keep up. Besides, he cannot show to potential enemies that you are his weakness, lest you be used against him.

Seriously, they cannot witness that this former assassin is putty in your arms. What if they would hurt you to get to him?

Behind closed doors, however, this man makes up for his lack of public affection by snuggling his head into your lap and being all soft and baby.

If people could purr, Zee would do so whenever you’re carding your hands through his hair. He’ll get this mopey smirk on his face whilst his eyes are closed in total relaxation.

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s really nice. I could just fall asleep like this.” 

He definitely does fall asleep, which you don’t mind in the slightest. You like him most when he’s completely comfortable like this, with his guard down.

Something that Simon also really likes is to have his arms wrapped around you. It makes him feel that he can protect you against anything.

Atticus

Atticus isn’t home a lot, so whenever he is with you, he makes the most of your time together.

The cohorte is well aware of the effect he has on you and will definitely use it to his advantage.

He will make it his personal mission to make you blush as much as possible.

He’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it and pull you against him, making you squirm whilst he chuckles in your ear.

Atticus will rough his whiskers against your cheek to get you to giggle and playfully swat at him.

“Stop it, that tickles!” 

You should not have said that.

Now you’ll never know the end of it.

In truth, Atticus just loves the way you feel slotted against him, like two pieces fitting together perfectly.

If you happen to fall asleep in his arms on the couch after dinner, he’ll observe you closely with a dreamy grin over his lips, pressing soft kisses to your forehead whilst thinking just how lucky he is to have you to come back home to.

Yussif

This man is one big cuddly bear. And he’s still so smitten with you after all these years, so one and one is two.

He gives the warmest, biggest hugs. The first time he embraces you, you basically melt against him and don’t ever want to let go. You’re instantly hooked to his cuddles.

Yussif is wearing all these layers of clothes so you tend to get lost underneath them just to feel his warmth.

He’ll nuzzle his face into your neck whilst you sit on the couch together, all snuggled up with you in his lap. Seriously, he loves you so much and you’ll know it.

Yussif will protest whenever he needs to let you go whilst cuddling.

“Darling— I need to pee, I mean it.” 

Disgruntled mumbling against your neck soon follows.

He’ll let you go though, but only if you promise to be back as soon as possible.

Soft grin and playful grabby hands as soon as you return.

Atticus is a man who values control over any situation.

His position in the shadows often gives him the advantage of a certain safety.

He doesn’t have a lot of friends, either, even less so, ones that he feels protective towards.

You are one of his informants in the city of Jericho, so when you suddenly don’t respond to his correspondence anymore, he decides to check up on you to see if you’re alright.

You’re probably just very busy, he thinks to himself on the journey to your place.

The cohorte thought he had it all figured out; he truly did. Until he found you wounded in the house he swore you’d be safe in.

Atticus shouldn’t have arrived a day later. You sit slumped against the wall, all drawers and cupboards wide open and raided empty. 

You can barely believe your eyes that he’s actually here, and for a while, you wonder if it’s just a mirage because of your blood loss.

“Atticus… Am I… Going to die?” 

“Not on my watch.”

The marshall instantly springs into action, throwing down his stuff so that he can take care of you.

You’ve got quite the large gash under the ribs that’s trickling blood.

Hissing in pain, you grit your teeth as Atticus bares the skin for him to clean it. 

“That was my best dress, too,” you meekly mutter as he slices open the fabric for better access.

He grumbles something under his breath before he begins cleaning you up.

“You were lucky, (Y/n). They could have easily gutted you if they’d only stabbed a few centimetres to the middle.” 

Sweat beads on your forehead as your body fights a fever. “So, my organs are all still intact?” 

He nods and begins to heat up an iron poke into the fireplace. 

“This might hurt.” 

And hurt it does, as he singes your wound shut. 

You call him all names under the sun, causing him to chuckle in mild amusement. “Sorry about that.” 

Huffing a laugh through your tears, you shake your head. “No, you’re not.” 

Leaving you to gather yourself, he begins to prepare you a meal with the few scraps that you’ve got left in the kitchen.

“So, what happened?” he asks at last as he hands you a bowl of food. 

You tell him all about it, and he listens closely, taking a mental note to make quick work of these raiders later.

There is little about Atticus one might deem… Traditional. He never backs down from speaking out against those in positions of power, even if they happen to be above him.

This includes his relationship with you. Whereas your female friends have husbands who do not always respect their wives, Atticus would never lay a hand on you, nor would he follow every social norm that is expected of him when it comes to treating you. He doesn’t see you as an object, opposed to many of his peers.

One day, whilst he’s cleaning his swords at the kitchen table, you are observing him in the dim light of the room. He notices this and looks up, smirking a bit.

“I know you’re staring at me, you know?” 

You hum. “Do you mind?” 

The chuckle he gives you makes you blush.

“Here.” He hands you one of the polished swords and you inspect the heavy iron weapon.

“It looks shiny,” you comment, about to hand it back to him, but your husband shakes his head and stands up instead, taking another one of his clean blades. 

Giving him a look from your chair, you try to piece together what he wants.

He gently hooks his sword against the one you’re holding and gives you a stern look that makes your heart stutter inside your chest.

“Do you… Want me to…” 

“Stand and fight, my lady,” he teases, smirking a bit as he sees the expression on your face.

You stand up slowly. “Atticus… Not in the house.”

“Why not? Just… Mind the kitchenware.” 

He gives a few weak blows of his sword and slows them down so that you can easily block them.

After a minute, he tuts and shakes his head. “That’s way too shoddy, love.” 

He puts aside his sword and walks over to you to fix your posture. The moment he stands behind you to move around your arms, you gasp a little, blushing up until your ears at his proximity.

“What, do I still make you shy after all these years?” he chuckles, knowing the effect he has on you, “Pay attention, I’m teaching you a few tricks here. They might save your life some day.” 

You try your best to follow his instructions. Trying to not hit the table or the shelves, you manage to make a few bold moves with your arms in spite of how heavy the sword is. 

“That’s not bad at all, my dear,” he murmurs, “Think you’re up for the challenge?” 

You gulp as you turn to face him. “What challenge?” 

The look he gives you is one you know all too well, and you nearly squirm when he grabs his own sword again.

“Didn’t I tell you that I want you to be able to defend yourself? Now fight.” 

The kitchen is filled with a few sharp clangs of sharpened iron against iron, and after a second, you find yourself at the sudden end of Atticus’ blade, gasping as he holds it against your chest without applying pressure.

“I see there’s still work to be done,” he purrs, “But not to worry. We’ve got plenty of time for that.” 

As a reward for himself, he hooks the tip of his blade against the top button of your dress and slices it off in one fell swoop, careful to not hit your chin in the process. 

You gasp and blush heavily at the cheeky grin he gives you. 

“Atticus! That dress was way too expensive for your little games!” 

He sheathes his blade and gives you a look. “Then fight better next time, my lady. And put on a cheaper dress, because if you keep fighting like that…” 

Andrew

He is the first to say it to you, because he’s been an absolute fool for you long before you even as much as noticed him.

If it hadn’t been for his big-mouthed older brother that made him feel a bit insecure about himself, Andrew would have approached you ages before the two of you began following Jesus.

Imagine his joy when he found out that you were a follower of the Messiah, too. It meant that he finally had a chance at getting to know you.

Now both well into adulthood, Andrew feels less intimidated by the reputation that Simon used to have around Capernaum in earlier days, and often spends time with you.

Little did he know, you have felt the same for him all that time.

However, Andrew is not yet aware of this. Regardless of it, he tells you that he loves you quite early on in your budding relationship.

He flinches as soon as the words leave him, for the former fisherman instantly wonders if he messed up.

The son of Jonah feels so stupid. He is definitely scaring you off now, proclaiming that he loves you only weeks after the two of you confessed having feelings for each other—

“—I love you, too.”

Andrew blinks and turns red. Did you mean that? Yes, the way you’re looking at him tells him that you truly mean it.

He just embraces you after that. “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted to tell you that, (Y/n). You are everything to me, since forever.”

Atticus

You are the first to say it to him.

Honestly, when you first started seeing Atticus, he never expected for things to go as far as they did. He didn’t expect to fall for you so deeply and truly.

So when one day, when he has to leave for a mission somewhere halfway across the region, whilst you two are saying goodbye to each other, he doesn’t expect you to sweetly whisper into his ear as you embrace him: “I love you. Come back home safe.” 

It takes him by complete surprise. Not so much the fact that you do love him, but more so the fact that it renders him entirely speechless for a second. Only now, he seems to realise just how much you mean to him.

Upon coming to his senses, he cradles your face and looks you in the eye. “I love you, too, my darling.” 

After kissing you warmly and leaving you in favour of his duty, he cannot get it out of his head. The way you sounded whilst saying it, so soft and genuine, coupled with the reaction it had gotten out of him… He can not get you out of his mind.

Atticus comes to a conclusion right then and there.

Once he returns from his trip, he carries a little gift for you on his person, consisting of a small square box involving a ring and a forever-promise.

Big James

He is the first one to tell you that he loves you.

James doesn’t realise that he actually loves you after nearly losing you.

He knows that he should have asked you first whether you could swim when he invited you out on a fishing trip one day.

James thought it was the most romantic idea ever: taking you out on the water and sharing some wine and good stories whilst being all by yourselves. A good way of getting to know one another better before your upcoming wedding.

He also should have warned you about the strong current, for you aren’t prepared when a particularly powerful wave hits the side of the boat and pulls you right over the edge.

“(Y/n)!” James cries out and instantly dives in after you when he notices your struggle to stay above the water. 

Once he pulls you back into the boat, you cough up water for a good five minutes before you’re ready to die of embarrassment.

James makes sure you are safe and sitting up straight, helping you out and offering you comfort. 

“You didn’t tell me you couldn’t swim—” 

“—I didn’t know I was going to fall into the water!” you sob. James pulls you into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you hear me? I love you too much to lose you.” 

That makes your shivering instantly stop as you sit with your head against his chest.

“You love me?”

“Of course I do.”