bbrainr0t

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flover VI

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, angst, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, misogyni, etc.), toxic/abusive, choking/death threats, alcoholism, sexual/sensual content, mentions of violence, suicide, rape, blood, death, and slavery (sometimes only implied)

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), dark romance (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative, hurt/comfort

Summary: Pulled from a new-found peace, the hellen finds herself in an dramatic confrontation with the sparrow, Geta. She wonders again and again: what are feelings, if not to be felt?

Word count: 3.6K

Dictionary for this chapter:

Nothing! whaaat!

I sit in quiet, wondering and thinking about life and how I ended up like this. Between my legs lay one of the men I am sure that I am destined to kill someday. The man who was responsible for so much pain – and whom I’ve longed to see decay. Yet, I feel no remorse of his touch or how his breath meets my leg like how the wave hits the shore. I try putting sense into the situation by remembering my brother, but no good comes of it. It’s like the agony is erased in this curious second, ticking on by while the emperor sleeps soundly, nested in my embrace. Instead I end up thinking about how this man is a brother as well, and how his brother seemingly cares for his health rather than his own. It’s exactly what alienates them from the description I once let fit their profile; they’re no longer masters of blasphemy and war but humans with flaws; and so am I. Am I foolish for thinking they can change?

Caracalla looks so peaceful as he sleeps. His lips parted just a bit, his eyes relaxed and no longer as puffy and dark as before. He has been nothing but nice to me ever since I arrived – that I must admit. If I am not to accept that they can change then I can at least acknowledge that this one never had the chance to be at all. Scars all over his face and skin shows the true nature of his past as well as destiny. It can be that they say he is mad, but I am slowly starting to think that he is the sanest of them all; at least he is a man true to his word, although they can be demanding.

My hand over his forehead, I catch myself praying for his well-being. A warmth beneath my touch. “Apollon, there is nothing in this world other than you that can help this man, though his past might shows otherwise, I pray that he will show you-“

“Are you praying for my brother?” A cold air slaps my skin so that it shivers. I gulp.

Geta comes to light from behind the bed, his voice jumping ever so slightly off the walls like a haunting ghost. Has he been hiding, watching all along? He settles on the silk furthest away from me and Caracalla. It is like he is afraid to approach as his hands seems unsure crossing the invisible borders between the right and the left side of the bed. There seems to be a thick and uncomfortable silence in between that I can’t quite place. A peace that is although just for the tainted soul upon me.

He can’t attack me with his brother sleeping on me. Is that why he’s not at ease?

I am unsure whether I am allowed to speak or not. So, I nod, somewhat sternly and proud. I must take a stand when I can. I will not deny my submission to the only righteous Gods.

The sparrow merely stares at me, blankly, his shoulders slightly slumped and somewhat weak. It’s only his upper body that is turned towards the two of us, his legs are staying on ground so that I cannot see his feet. For a short moment I see a sadness rush the empty gaze before he turns to let his elbows settle on his knees, his head held by his rigid hands. There’s a cloud forming in the air around him, full of thunder, seemingly a swarm of thoughts, all piercing into the skull. He’s nothing without his strength, without his power. Am I holding his only will? I curl Caracalla’s hair around my finger like a ring.

“I told you not to speak.” Sour is his spit, I am sure. Puncturing is his words to my soul. If only he had heard his brother and how he was happy to hear me speak. Maybe that’ll change his mind. Does that even matter? I am led astray, emphasizing for someone not deserving of it.

The Gods know what they did – but still.

“You will get yourself out of this … distraction… and come to my chamber.” Though he is quite familiar with the tongue of my people, he sometimes speak as if he knows no words at all. I am puzzled by what he means, but I dare not object. Geta puffs and stands up to leave. “You will get what you deserve.” He mumbles as he walks away, evidently drowning in either doubt or gloom.

I realize my heart is beating out of my chest, and that the pit in my stomach has hollowed even further. There’s a ringing in my ear that keeps my thoughts at bay. I feel dizzy, nauseous even. The peace from before long gone.

Am I to leave now? I watch the other brother sigh in his sleep. Surely, he can feel how my legs have started shaking, can he not? I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t get moving now.

I carefully lift Caracalla’s head and pull one leg after the other away, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to wake. Swiftly I find myself on my feet, watching the emperor before me lie still. Something so fragile about how he lays, unprotected and yet salvaged from misery of being awake. I put a pillow beneath his head in hopes that he will continue to fall deeper but softly further into his slumber. For some obscure reason I hope that he rests, knowing no bad will reach him now. What are these thoughts? I pull a blanket over his shoulders.

With a few steps I reach the exit, but I don’t know the way. A purple guard stands on each side. “Follow me.” One walks past me almost like a shadow without grabbing me - a freeing feeling, and oh so intoxicating. No wine to keep my thoughts further away now, only this man and the unearned respect he delivers at my feet. I know not to take it to heart for that would be foolish of me, yet…

Shame bubbles within, slowly filling the whole hole with the tiniest drops of guilt. I think of my people and how I am led to this place and this sudden respect. Their bodies dead, flowing into the sea. The water red. My brothers head. I remember where my loyalties lay. I acknowledge his hospitality, but I wish not to take it heart - but oh...

I enter this new chamber, the purple guard leading me inside, though leaving me to walk alone. I am but a rabbit in an open, unknown field and land of predators – or rather the predator. A stabbing pain grows inside, prickling in the tips of my fingers; all my blood has left my limbs and gone to my head.

Geta stands by a desk, identical to the one inside of Caracalla’s chamber, sipping the same red liquid. His shoulders are rising and falling in a dangerous speed, revealing that there’s a race inside of him. If I just come but an inch closer, perhaps I can hear the beating of his heart, beating in sync with mine. He’s nothing but a man. A sparrow, but surely, he wishes that he was more. He takes in a deep breath like last time except this time no words leave his mouth. I wonder if he has lost them on his way here.

I wish that he was to lose his head – it would make killing him so much easier. His brother’s words are poisoning, misleading from what I can conclude or admit as of right now; I wish not to find out whether his can be as well or not.

“You may speak to me.” He speaks. “Speak.” He commands.

I try to forget what Caracalla told me to do yesterday. And forget how it pains me to try to do so. Remember, I do not care for these tyrants.

“I do not know what you want me to say.” I speak. The words grating my throat. A struggle I didn’t know I would face - wanting to stay quiet, to be a part of the sweet abyss, but forced to practice a right, I forgot I had. Speaking my truth, I dare not to do. What would he do if I did? Does it matter? I forget anyway.

He stays quiet as he places his glass, both hands on the table as he leans forward, relying all his weight on the wooden table. He looks too heavy to carry on his own.

The sparrow drops his cape slowly, and I watch it fall to the floor like a body robbed from life. It loses all color as it reaches the ground, the grace vanished into the air like a soul from a corpse. Suddenly, Geta looks so small.

I need nothing but a knife to spare me from this. Would I take my life or his? I remember my brothers smile. Caracalla’s laugh.

I feel unsteady on my feet. My heart ache. I am weak and that is all that Geta will see, if he just looked. What’s happening in his head? I stand in a shadow where no power yield. I sharpen my words. “You’re just as mad as him.”

At first it seems that he needs to process my words, but then Geta laughs shallowly, his shoulders dropping. He pushes himself up from the table and stand barely upright, his torso tilted to the right as he turns his foot to face me. Never have I seen a man so stellar in his most melancholy attire. Kohl smeared so that he looks as if he never has met the insides of his eyelids, his jaw so tense, and his lips so red. He even looks as if he has been hunting a prey, having teared his teeth into it, tearing muscle from muscle.

I dare chuckle. “You look more a mess than him.” I serve him his own words on a silver platter. If I must die, I will do so with pride.

“What are you afraid of?”

I am taken aback by his words as they hit harder than any punch.

“It surely isn’t death, so that I will not give you.” Geta approaches slowly and sloppily. He gets so close to my face, his breath crawling into the cracks of my lips. I smell the wine so clearly that I am sure that I can get drunk on the smell alone. “How can I best torture you?” He grabs my chin almost tenderly as he whispers. The sparrow watches my lips - by now it seems he has made it his duty. A feeling creeps on my spine and my breath jerks. Geta grins.

“I went to your little… bed, and I found this.” From his pocket he pulls out the knucklebone, given to me by Alexandra. Instantly I reach out for it, but he is quick to remove his hand. He shakes his hand and from his mouth comes these demeaning sounds: “tsk, tsk, tsk.” It sounds like a squirrel’s chatter. I feel so little. His lips only inches away.

“What does it mean to you? It’s just a bone…” He takes a step back and inspects the knucklebone between his fingers. His filthy, filthy fingers.

An anger and an anxiety spewing within. “Nothing. Give it back.” I spit.

He turns his gaze to me again from which fury rages in its scornful manner. There are no words, only a war between our stares. In this moment I wish to cut off his every limb, dismember him like they did my brother by the order of those beneath him. The tyrant. The unbelievably gruesome man who dresses to cover his mediocrity. The man who’s taken Alexandra from me, only a few inches away.

“You do not order me around.” He warns ghastly. “Answer me.”

I reach out again, and Geta stomps on my foot. I cry in pain and try to fight back, but he pushes me off my balance. Harshly, I land on the floor, on my side. A lightning bolt crashing through my body from my hip to my head. I weep, but I fight to press words through the startling numbness, growing out of the floor, infiltrating my core: “I won’t tell you.”

“Shame.” Geta grits his teeth. Hastily he walks to his table and places the bone as he grabs ahold of a book. Giving me no time to think or react he holds it above his head, ready to motion it towards the only hope I have. He wants to shatter it. He will.

Panic endues. “WAIT!” I yell.

He stops.

I wail. “It’s a bone given to me by one of the other slaves.”

“Who?”

I give him no answer, leave him in quiet. My heart feels as if it was the one to be stomped on. My head beginning to throb.

“WHO?!”

“Alexandra.” Her name falls out and, in my head, regret takes its place, settling among all other sensation fed by this menace.

“Alexandra.” Geta tastes her name as he puts down the book slowly.

I let my body completely break to the ground. The cold of the marble being the only comfort I need. The sound of my tears hitting the surface resembling the sound of small childish chatter and broken wishes. They fall, seeking truth but finding sorrow so deep. Suffocated by the limited space between my faith and my destiny, both brittle and frail. His little laugh stifled, making its way to my ears in between the chaos that is my mind. The chaos that is him.

I hear him walk up to me, crouching down. I feel his eyes, scanning my frigid body. They burn. “Looks like I found your torture.” I look up from the floor and see how he is entertained by the state, I am in.

“Please, don’t hurt her.” I only wish. I gulp. “Master.”

The word vibrates on his skin as his eyes look at me more attentively. It strikes a nerve, but one of the good. It looks as if it activated something in his obscene brain, like it spiked his interest in me. I feel and see the filth soar in his eyes. He undresses and dresses me dirty in his mind, I am sure. Disgusting beast.

“I won’t hurt her…” Geta lets his words hang in the air before finishing. “… just yet. Get up.” He stands. Shakingly, I follow. I don’t know how I still find the strength. Adrenalin keeping me afloat. The sparrow grabs my chin once again. “I hope you now understand the power, I have over you.”

I don’t understand what I have done to fully offend this man. I haven’t given him any treatment he hasn’t seen before, I am sure. He scans my face as if it’s his last chance, breathing in my air like he has never tasted an air so fresh. Geta looks almost obsessed.

“You do not speak to my brother – or near him. But you will keep him company for I have never seen him so controlled before…” Geta admits amidst the threats. “I am keeping you alive for him. Remember that.” I feel a lie linger from off his tongue.

A tear trails off my cheek onto his finger, yet he seems unbothered. He’s nothing like his brother. I remember how Caracalla held me and dried my tears away.

“I won’t hurt him.” I assure him for that is the truth, I admit. It seems if I strike it must be him. Caracalla is incapable of the inhumane things his brother puts him up to. I watch Geta’s eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and my lips.

“Good.” There’s an uncertainty in his growl. “You do not wish to see my wrath if you were to disobey.”

If he just knew how I would tear him apart if I had the chance. Leave him to rot in the sea.

Geta stands, staring at me intensely without shame. His stance is tall as he is towering over me with all his might. I wish to find the crack, and he looks to want to fill out any cracks I possess in the nastiest possible sense. He licks his lips. “I might just reward you if you do.” His words mingle together with other tingles inside, distress. “Do you know what it takes to please a man?” His grip becomes firmer. His other hand removing hair from off my face.

Although I am given no seconds at all to respond, he is quick to be unsatisfied. His hand moving from the chin to its rightful place. It finds shelter around my neck, tipping my head back. Geta examines the marks he has left from the day before. My air choked up and piled beneath the skin, scared to try and peak out. I shake my head in obedience. I do not know if I do it out of fear or because of the sudden thrill of unfamiliar attention - only introduced to me shortly by his brother. I am disgusted by the way my body reacts; a sour taste lies burying inside my mouth. The pit in my stomach prickling, reminding me of its existence.

I force closed my eyes to try and numb out this new feeling, but instead it enhances. Geta leans in and I feel his damp lips brush by the hairs of my neck. I feel how to sensation provokes hysteria within my heart. I choke, not by the force of his hand but by the impotence of my lungs. He makes way across the bare skin of my throat by trailing his hand down to my collarbone, his lips nibbles on the bruise. A sensation of both pain and pleasure.

My hand jolts to hold at his shoulder as my insides flips. The tingling turning to a throbbing like a headache but lying deep in my gut. A fuzzy feeling censors all thoughts, sorting away purity and logic. The amorous feeling eating me away. There’s a noise that I do not register as my own, leaping from my mouth.

Geta jumps in motion. His hand possessively grabbing at my waist, stabling himself to my body. The other keeping my neck in place, pressing deep into my skin. The nibble becomes a bite, the bite into devouring every scent on my neck, devouring my every sense. I am blinded to reality and led into a dreamscape of sorts.

Soon enough I find myself lying on his bed as he pins my arms over my head. Having lost all control, I let it happen. My leg slightly bent, slightly keeping him on a slight distance. A bulge hidden beneath his clothes is almost stabbing into my thigh. His length. Arousal brews between my legs. I almost feel the urge to shy away.

All over my collarbone, my throat to behind my ear he tries to eat me away. A surface I never knew was so sensitive. He groans. “You’re not only his.” He hisses, pushing himself past my guard. His hand grabbing beneath my knee, positioning me for his desire.

Before my closed eyes I see Caracalla smile.

“This is so wrong…” I mumble.

I see my mother, my father, and my brother. The beach, the war, the flood of blood. I feel the way it paints shame across my mind, feeling the emperor’s filthy hands grabbing at my flesh like one of his concubines.

I try to push him off but to no use. He’s settled upon me like stone, heavy. I groan and suddenly I cry. I feel as if I am betrayed not just my brother but also the burdened. I am confused.

“What is happening in your mind?”

There’s a sudden rush of tears. I claw at his upper body, hoping that he will stop. The arousal is numbing, but I do not wish to obey. Not this easy.

Frustrated, he groans and slaps my cheek. It stops me from crying. He grabs my cheeks. “Stop it.”

I shake my head.

He mumbles something, discontented in Latin, sounding so bitter, but as I open my eyes to face the anger, I meet only unease. Worry. Geta’s eyes filling with tears. He’s… panicking…? The world stops its fret. All I hear is how Geta is far from catching his breath. He looks to me as if I have all the answers. There’s no end to the distress which grows from this man’s heart.

“Please let go of me.” I beg.

Fear ravishes his soul in the depth of his brown orbs. Sweat mixing with the tears dipping onto my chest. He looks as if he doesn’t trust his own tongue, mute he slowly releases my arms, my body from his might, his weight. I crawl and scrunch my knees to my shoulders. Images starting to reappear. Bodies. Blood. I hyperventilate.

I feel his hand at my shoulder, but I pull away.

I let the moments drag me away. I only hear him whimper before I faint.

The next moment I am awake, I am back in Caracalla’s bed. All alone and all tugged in. I feel a faint kiss on the top of my head, and a sweet whisper: “Sleep soundly, meus flos.” A pet on my hair. “I will be here…” - Words unknown - ” … again. I will make sure of it.”

Next chapter: ehhh soon enough... (rough times are happening)

All support is greatly appreciated <3

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[bbrainr0t]

Playlist - for when you flower

Here is a little list of the songs I listen to while writing; I thought it would be a nice addition for all of those who are curious :)

(will be updated as I go...)

Generel plot background music/motivators:

"La foule" by Édith Piaf "Can't catch me now" by Olivia Rodrigo "Ta Mallia Tis" by Nalyssa Green "Foreigner's God" by Hozier "The Seed" by AURORA "L'enfer" by Stromae "the fruits" by Paris Paloma "Me and the Devil" by Soap&Skin "The Moon Will Sing" by The Crane Wives

Highlighted angst:

"Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" by The Smiths "My Love Mine All Mine" by Mitski "I Bet on Losing Dogs" by Mitski (or generally just everything with Mitski...) "Nothing's New" by Rio Romeo "Lights Are On" by Tom Rosenthal

Lovey dovey/comfort:

"Je te laisserai des mots" by Patrick Watson "Mystery of Love" by Sufjan Stevens Spice/"excitement":

"Disease" by Lady Gaga (or anything Lady Gaga...) "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower V

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, sexual/sensual content, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: She awakes in the role of being Caracalla's pet, but what does this mean to be this pet and what is expected of her? There is so much to remember for this Hellen, but soon the feelings overwhelm and it seems that gratitude takes on a whole new meaning for her and maybe even for the emperors.

Word count: 3.7K

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the ancient greek name for ancient greece

I spent the whole evening thinking of Alexandra, watching Caracalla try to entertain himself. He was drunk on wine, so it was an easy job. I was still pained and somehow, he seemed to understand. He petted me lightly and had a separate room made for me, where I got to spend the night. Supervised, I laid afraid.

All night, I could hear moans.

Back in Hellas I never participated in rituals with ecstasy, because I was afraid of what I might do to me. All my life, I had gotten told how it ruined people’s moral compasses, and how they went wild. Men, women, boys, and girls. Some were even killed in the midst of the practice.

Once and only once I accidentally walked near a holy land, where a ritual was taking place. Their moans lured and so I looked. Never had I seen such a sight before. I was conflicted with feelings. There was blood mixed with wine, saliva with seed of life. They were hitting, slapping skin against skin, rolling across the grass like animals. A boy overpowered by men; a woman jumped. But they were enjoying it. I was aroused but filled with fright. I felt a need to join, but I never did. My mother told me to keep my distance.

The cult of Dionysus were people I never got to understand. Celibacy had taken a big part of my life as I was waiting for the hands of Apollo to feast upon me. No other man was allowed. I was kept behind walls like any other young girl of Hellas. The only boy, I had ever talked to, was my brother. He was younger than me, but his dreams were so much bigger than both me and him combined.

We were partners in crime as we would cause trouble around the house. We would misplace our mother’s clothes and pick the pretty flowers from our garden. Everything was right. Each night he would have me tuck him in and kiss him goodnight, just a peck on the cheek. I adored how he would look at me with such light in his eyes. He was the reason I believed the Gods were good - they had given me him.

One day he got the silly idea that he would be a soldier.

I never found out what happened to him, when he was at war, but something had truly changed him. There was no light left in his eyes.

At night when I was about to tuck him to sleep, he began speaking of horrors, but they were none of my understanding. He lost the ability to talk.

I found myself praying for his health every waking hour, but it never helped. Our parents started to blame me for the absence of his well-being. They started calling me names. They asked me questions like: what good am I, if not to help my brother? I was to be the oracle of Apollo after all.

The night before his death, I had tucked him in for the last time. I did not know at the time, but something tells me he did. He smiled at me for the first time in months. He spoke of my name. I was over-joyous.

When I finally fell asleep last night, I dreamt of him. He was smiling.

Then I was awoken by a servant who fed and dressed me like a child. It is as if they are accustomed to treat their masters in such manner. But I did not dare to tell her off as I was afraid of Geta hearing me speak.

It feels like his eyes never left my lips.

I am being summoned to a party – why? I do not know. The servant who told me seemed urgent and so I hurry, afraid that time might be fatal for the outcome of my punishment, if I were to be late. I don’t know what kind of punishment they give their pets, and as of yesterday I’ve decided to live till the day I��ve avenged by brother. I must flower. I must fulfill the prophecy.

Though I am also afraid of what I will meet. Who, I might meet. And what they will put me to - the moans of the night echoing my mind. I ache for peace at heart.

As we reach the doors that I can hear hold back a war of chatter, I get anxious once more. But still, I try to put it aside. All night up until my long-awaited slumber, I thought of all the outcomes. I have nothing to return to back in Hellas - I can only imagine how my home looks today. And so, if I must think of a future, it would be foolish of me to believe the thought, the lie that is “my family is waiting for me to return.” They are not. For that sole reason I must make my efforts last now; I must get close to the emperors so that I can strike them, where it hurts the most.

I could see the burdened’s eyes cry those sapphire tears, the sparrow fail to spread his wings. It hurt, but I am sure, I must succeed. I should not feel bad for them.

I calm myself as I embrace the change of atmosphere. The doors open and I am met with sunlight and song. Beautiful servants all around grabbing at men and women, seducing with their God-given charm. A table full of food and decorated with dead animals in all their lost pride. There’s a light breeze, pushing the delicious smell of wine to my nose. I must not. What is this longing for wine?

Remember my brother’s smile.

I continue to follow the servant as we make it through the crowd. Everybody is busy with each their form of lust, so we glide through smoothly, quickly, thankfully. There is so much life in here that I truly wish not to be a part of. So many deeds that I hope, I only will continue to hear the echoes of in the halls.

Suddenly the servant stops before a clothed table, pointing towards it.

She wants me to go under it.

At first, I am confused, but as I look down at the table, I see a foot slightly poking out. Cautiously, I bend down to slowly remove the cloth to which the foot disappears, scared. I pull my hand back, maybe equally as scared. I take one deep breath as I make my way beneath the table, once again unsure about what, I am about to meet. My heart racing with the beat of the crowd. The temperature rising just well enough, so I feel a small sweat break. I am shaking. But to my surprising, there is an unexpected calm which settles in my heart as I see Caracalla the burdened dressed in his own erratic attire. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and shaking hands, he is holding around legs, hugging his knees. There are no tears in his eyes, only a biting fear, ill-suited for the occasion.

I had hoped that it was him.

He stares at me, processing, I think, and I just sit and look at him. I must not talk. Caracalla doesn’t move a single bit, but it looks as if his breath slows down. He is regulating himself, and I do the same. His eyes softening by the second as he slowly crawls over to me. “What happened, meus flos?” He looks so concerned. I almost can’t hear him over the crowd.

“…?” I must not talk, so I merely look at him, feeling my eyes lightly flutter. Does he see something I don’t? There was a switch.

He reaches out a hand to go to my throat, and instinctively I flinch, aching my entire being. I hit my head into the table leg behind me. Almost embarrassed, I try to cover it up with a weary smile, but that does not seem to fool him. Another panic grows, confused and fused together with curiosity. I suddenly feel like the one who’s out of her mind, like we’ve switched roles. His eyebrows furrow lightly. “Let me see. Come here.” His voice so soft, astray.

I was wrong, this is not Caracalla the burdened nor the erratic – this is a whole new side to him. What is he doing here? How has he deprived me of all my sense and taken it for himself? A prey and a predator with soft paws and no claws.

Caracalla’s hand reaches my throat and trails a pain all around. His fingers so kind. I look at him and see only worry. The fear is gone as if it never existed. The noise miles away, him so close in body, in mind. I try to pick the pieces together for the puzzle that is him, but I can’t. The same I do for me, but I cannot.

“Who did this to you?” He meets my eyes.

Eyes on my lips. A hand on my throat. The images of yesterday flashing, overruling my reality. Geta’s arm holding me up as if I am nothing, a strength unfit for his figure. An act so fit for his position, but not towards me – a mere nothing compared to him. Hatred, a pure desire in the eyes of a madman. The fire within. He burns.

Caracalla plays along and holds his hand there like Geta - but it’s not the same.

It’s like he dances with the flame, so it tires out. Caracalla knows and so he acknowledges. He might not know the whole truth, but he dares to see the pain which has been inflicted on me. His touch almost healing.

God, I long to be drunk on something.

I feel myself on the verge of eruption. I dare think, I want to tell him, in hopes he will help. Foolish. Remember my brother’s eyes.

“My emperoooor? Ceasar… Caracalla, where are youuu?”

And there I see the burdened return. He removes his hand quickly as he crawls back, further in, underneath the table. Seemingly, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. I yearn for them to be put back on my neck.

The cloth behind me moves as I feel a hand graze my shoulder. I yelp as it drags me out from underneath the cover with such brute force, throwing me up at my feet. Though the world slightly shaken, I am met by a man much taller than I with slobber hung from his lips, his eyes dark with lust, his breath drunk on desire. “You’re not him…”

I stare at him blankly, afraid to move. He seems thoroughly disappointed. At my ancle I feel Caracalla’s fingers nudge me, pulling me carefully to come down again as if he is warning me. The man lets his eyes wander all over me as he licks his lips.

Then I hear them again, see them in his eyes. The bodies from the cult all intertwining in a mess of ecstasy. It’s lust, a feeling so raw and vicious known for tearing even the best of man to his knees, to atoms. It’s a feeling that does not mirror in me yet something my curiosity won’t let me settle about. I feel repulsive and even more when admitting to myself that I am curious to hear this man’s thoughts - to figure out the mysteries of the Dionysus cult.

Caracalla nudges me once more, this time a bit more like a yank at my sandal.

“I haven’t seen you here before…” The man inspects my entire being inch by inch with a heavy gaze, seemingly finding an interest at my throat. I can only imagine what he must think. He talks some more from which I only understand a few of the words. “Let me see …, won’t you, …?” His hand reaches out for me to take while a grin spreads on his face, wine having colored his teeth red. It’s first now I notice the smell of opium that this man reeks of.

I blink. There is such a strong want inside my heart intertwining with my logical reasoning. For a moment I see him not as a man but as a ticket to the bottle, even if it just is a small drop. I long for the numbness. Have I lost my moral compass already?

“Quintus.” Another speaks.

Saved by chance, perhaps. I correct my back and look towards the voice.

“Emperor Geta!”

The sparrow wears new clothes but still the crown. “For how many times must I remind you not to attend these events?” Geta’s voice is stern.

“Well this servant-“

“Out.” He doesn’t let him finish. It’s not only a warning. Geta waves over some guards and they arrive swiftly.

They grab at Quintus and try to pull him away, but he gives them a fight. He dares to throw a punch, making one of the guards drop his helmet. A little victory, yet it is to no effort for his apparent escape, because four more guards gather up close. He fights until he is knocked out. A guard smashing his staff to his head, blood splattering from nose in front of and on Geta and I.

Solely, I stand shocked, perhaps even more scared. I seem to be watching it all happen before me, but I struggle to apprehend the reality. Dissociated. I feel as if I take blame of this man’s struggle. I blink again.

Geta stands unbothered, wiping the blood off as if it was dirt. However as soon as the man is out of the room, he switches just as Caracalla did just before. A puzzle piece unfit for the big picture of the emperors. “Where’s my brother?”

For a second I see myself reflect in his eyes. Reflect in him. Foolish. Perhaps I should ask, where is my brother, tyrant?

“Please.” It’s only a whisper.

The whole image I had put for Geta in shambles right in front me. I see how he wishes to have the courage to cover it by how it looks to pain him to say that word to me, to the woman he had threatened the night before. I see how the wine has settled between his lips and left its mark. Is this him without sense?

I point to the cloth, covering the table. I notice how Caracalla’s hand still lingers at my feet, his rings cold on my skin. I don’t want them to move away, but I see Geta and the ticket to the senselessness. Geta, the worried.

I might not understand him, but I think I understand this worry.

My brother dead in the sea. My own voice repeating in my head, praying: Hades, please lead him safely into death and let his soul perish but beautifully, carefully into your hands. The cold coin in his mouth, tugged under his tongue.

His gorgeous, gorgeous smile.

Geta pulls his brother out from underneath the table, both looking disarranged, but it’s not long before the sparrow puffs his feathers, his responsible-brother gown. They talk briefly, quietly, so that the crowd steal their words and throws them around. The only words I hear is Geta, speaking to me in my tongue: “Take him to his chamber.”

“Why are you speaking that language, brother? You know, I don’t understand.” Caracalla marks.

“Do not worry.”

I nod at Geta. Maybe out of fright or perhaps of a mutual understanding. The man who had me at the brink of death just yesterday now barely feels like a memory, more of a nightmare. A distorted depiction of the reality before me. I must not forget how he pained me. But… oh, how I understand. I am split in two.

I want to hate them so bad. I do; I must do. The Gods knows I must.

Caracalla looks at me with eyes so trusting. A fragile and troubled soul trapped behind a fancy façade. A will so unwilling. He holds my hand and walks off, dragging me along. Geta gaze follows yet he is frozen in place. A parade of pride waiting for him to perform before the party, I am sure. Intoxicated, incompetent of his role, I am sure.

But he stays, loyal to his duty, and here I hold Caracalla, incapable of the duty.

The Gods must know this empathy is only human. My brother must. Alexandra must.

What would they have done? I do not know. I am only human after all. Please, Apollo, bear over with my own fragile soul.

We make our way to Caracalla’s chambers. His eyes daring only to remove themselves from me to look ahead, to find his way. I try to take mental notes where and when to turn. He seems curious of my thoughts, but I know to not tell. I only wonder how it might shamble him to hear them, the truth of how I wish to be gone, and how I wish not to forget. Too much is already disappearing from my head.

My brother’s smile.

“Do you like wine?”

I look at him. I think I must not, I mustn’t. It will do no good for my mind, for my conscious. My guard will be gone; who knows what might happen?

The Gods know that I want to do well, when I nod.

I’ve had enough of these thoughts.

Caracalla calls over servants, handing me a glass as we enter through the ports of his chambers. The red poured almost to the top; they’ve been accustomed to do such. The drink of the Gods, I think, it must be good for something. Is it not?

I take a sip. Two. I can’t get enough of the taste that touches my tongue, the way it tingles as it goes down my throat. I feel it warm almost instantly, much more than the sun preying from outside. I feel Caracalla watching intensely as I do. His eyes on my lips. He takes a sip or two as well. He watches my lips just as his brother did - with such pleasure.

I calm my nerves with another sip or two, and it seems to spark a laugh for Caracalla.

“Careful now, meus flos! So eager…” He giggles and shakes his head. It’s like his earrings play a sweet symphony, glowing in the light of day. Playfully, they call to me. Caracalla says my name as he walks towards his bed, patting on the silk for me to sit.

My heart is beating so fast, yet my head is not flooded with thoughts. The sweet, sweet symphony flowing in my blood. I sit. “Good girl.” He praises me as his pet, flashing his golden tooth.

Those words do something to me. My cheeks heat. He chuckles and takes another sip. I watch how his finger holds the glass so delicately yet so possessively. How they grasp the neck softly, not letting go.

I go to take another sip, but before the sweet liquid reaches my mouth, he snatches it from me. I yelp, trying to get it back, making him hastily remove his hand from out of my reach. He laughs and drinks the rest. “You have to make yourself deserving of this drink, meus flos.”

He’s messing with my insides.

“Lay down.”

And I do so, my head on the pillow.

Caracalla puts down the glasses and crawls over to me, lowering himself to lay his head on my stomach. A feeling so odd crawling beneath my skin. Usually, my nerves would be alarmed, infected with filth, but I cannot deny this feeling that his touch feels good.

His hands crawling on the side of my legs, caressing and feeling on top of the fabric. The warmth of his touch and the wine keeping me from hesitating, from being frozen. Curiously, I let my fingers linger in his hair, watching as his entire body tenses but then relaxes. God, his hair is so soft beneath my touch. I take a joy in petting his hair, twirling it in between my fingers and pinching the ends. Sensation after sensation as his own hands wander from my hips to my waist, feeling the curves almost a bit too carefully, inspecting my body.

I notice a pit in my stomach that I never knew I had.

It’s like he inhales me as he breathes at a pace I haven’t seen before. It’s heavy as if he barely carries the heavy weight of it, so slow as if he is afraid of seeing the end of the next minute to come. I copy this manner and feel how our bodies flow into one, feel how his hair entwines and melts. I melt beneath his weight.

He starts banging his fingers to my side as if they were drums, tickling me to the point where I jolt - I feel a giggle escape my lips.

“no-“ A word escapes as well. I stop completely. Fright replacing every nice thought fluttering in the depths of my stomach.

But Caracalla looks up at me with such delight. Light shining from his eyes, endearing to look at. His smile is so wide, so bright, and pretty. It looks so pure. “I knew you could talk.” His voice like grains of sand falling through a strainer. Raw but so delicate. “I’ve thought of your voice from that night, every night.”

I blush. He chuckles once more.

“Keep it safe for me. I want it to be mine to hear. And mine alone.” The words are so sour but coated so sweet. There are sparkles all over the sea within the blue orbs. The alcohol starting to numb even further.

“Now. Hold me as I sleep.” He nods. “Will you do that for me, meus flos?”

I nod.

“Will you?”

“Yes.” I answer, quietly.

He smiles satisfied and lays his head back down, humming a joyous melody. My hands getting lost within his goldish locks.

A part of me feels as if I should be alarmed, warned even, remembering the harsh touch, the peeking which the sparrow threatened me with, but I do not. And I know, I shouldn’t take pleasure in this moment, but the Gods know. They know how a human must have its flaws. It’s how they intended it to be. Is it not?

I fear this new feeling in my stomach is far from done.

A/N: Okay... it's getting there guys... the tension. I am a bit nervous about this chapter, so I hope it's for your liking :,) Please do give me feedback as it helps me and motivates me! Any like, comment or question will do - it is all very welcome!! And I quite enjoy answering them/hearing your thoughts!!

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[bbrainr0t]

I would spoil him if he would let me

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower IV

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, violence, mentions of blood, death, and slavery CHOKING!!! MURDER ATTEMPT !

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: In the shadows the Hellen slave learns of the rest of those, who arrived with her, but it is only a short while as she gets pulled back from out of the shadows by the sparrow, Geta.

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: I have to admit that I am starting to halt with writing this. Not because I don't want to, but because my personal load right now is quite heavy. So the publishment of the chapters might take a little while longer... maybe a few days extra. But I promise to deliver! I am invested in this as much as you are, trust me.

Thank you all so much. I hope all is well for every reader of this story!

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellen/Hellenes = the ancient greek name for the ancient greek, singular/plural

Hellas = the ancient greek name for ancient greece.

Alexandra = In Hellas Alexandra is an epithet given to the goddess Hera and can be translated into “the protector of man.”

I told her everything.

I told her about the horror, about how I had fallen straight into the arms of the evil, about the child and the cruel, the two emperors, and warned her of their looks and how they deceive. I told her about the true nature of the madmen, I had been stuck with for far too long though it only lasted a few hours. I told her about my restless night, and how I prayed… and prayed… and prayed.

My words spilled out as if I didn’t have any breaths to spare, which might be true. That I talked about too, about my encounter, and how I had ended up here with her. By the end of my story, she took my hand and put her forehead too it. It was such a beautiful act that I hadn’t seen before, but it was like she transferred her serenity to me.

Everything in that moment revolved around her. It all felt so natural and warm. A drastic change from the cold outside in the halls.

Soon I found out that many other Greek slaves were put here because they didn’t know yet where to put them, that they had bought too many slaves and were yet to have decided their destiny. The old woman talked of the stories of each woman in this room, we find ourselves locked inside together with. This cell. They are mothers and daughters of both the poor and the rich. All not meant to be bestowed to other than their husbands by their fathers, greeting their brothers farewell. One was mourning her son, who they picked out to be hung for mere entertainment. He was but 10 years old. They claimed him of adultery, but the poor son had not even learnt to properly dress himself yet. She cried - but not of sadness, of somewhat joy. At least he was safe down under. No horror can reach him now.

Once I had calmed down, the women had opened their arms to claim me as their own. We do not know when one or another are to be taken away, so, as they told me, they sat and kept every moment sacred to remain in a calm, they know, they will not meet outside these walls. We do not speak loudly, hoping we would go unnoticed.

The missing light prolonged each second to an hour.

As I sat on the ground with my back against the wall, I looked at the old woman once more and realized that I had not yet learnt her name. Something I longed for others to ask me about. “What am I to call you?”

She tasted her teeth and sunk. “Alexandra.”

For the first time in a long while, I smiled. She said it with such ease. “Of course.”

“And you, my paidion?”

I told her my name, and Alexandra looked at me with even softer eyes than before. Her face changed. “Of course you are.”

If I hadn’t been so tired as I were, I would’ve asked her about this sudden change, but it was as if I was enchanted by her looks. The overwhelming feeling of comfort lulled me to sleep, letting my guard down just this one time.

I just felt at peace. My head didn’t dare to budge. Hope blossomed in the quiet and in the shadows.

I don’t know for how long I have slept. As I open my eyes once more, it is not to the looks of other women, but to guards of purple, standing in the opening of the cell. Quickly I rustle to correct my back and throw the chiton, so that it covers me. But who was I to kid? No other woman in here is dressed as I am.

I hear Alexandra whisper calm words, but my panic is soon to drown it out. She grabs my hand and places something in it, moments before the guards seize me and two others. I scream on top of my lungs. Once again, I am being torn away from home. The energy I just had obtained poured into the tears that once again spill from my eyes. I cry and reach out for Alexandra. The men dragging me by my armpits towards the outside. The last I see of her is her reassuring smile. I press my eyes together and hope that destiny once again will put her in my path. I feel the strain of my throat like a blade to my lungs. I can’t take responsibility for my actions.

The surroundings clash into my mind like the waves onto the shore, ripping apart all the small grains of what I consist of. Small fragments gone. I clench onto the item given to me. My sight too blurry to see but I know that what I hold is her word, her heart.

The heart washing away into the sea, no longer pumping blood. His face glowing in the sunset but not with life. In the sand I see a finger, his hand clenching onto my necklace. He held it when he died. He prayed before his soul passed on. I prayed when opening his mouth or what remained. I placed the coin and prayed that he will have mercy on him, many meters underground.

By the time the guards let go of me, I am weary once more. I barely stand, struggling to breathe. Should I finally pray for mercy on my soul for once I’m gone? For I hope it is soon.

The heart is in my hand. Between my panic I look at it. It’s a knucklebone.

“You look more a mess than him.” His voice is so bare when he speaks my tongue.

Quickly, I hide away the bone behind my back and look up at him. The sparrow stands before me once again. Geta. Before me stands a man clothed in riches, but beneath it all is nothing but a boy. However, he is far from his brother. This one mean no well by choice like how some kids will pull a beetles legs apart from its body. The burdened and the sparrow. Unfortunately, before me is only the sparrow, gritting its beak. He still wears Apollo’s crown.

The guards must’ve taken the other girls another place, for I am alone with him now with only a few guards behind. They do not see me as threat. I feel my knees shake.

“I should’ve discarded you the moment, I saw him lay eyes on you. My brother will find no good in your service. I can just tell.” His use of my tongue pains me even further. Of course, the emperor is educated. He knows of the crimes that his empire has committed. So how would he not know the language from which he steals it sound?

I do not wish to satisfy him by answering to him. I can barely control my breath.

“Do not think of yourself as powerful because of his foolish interest in you. You have no power.” Geta stares without blinking. It’s like he sees right through me. He sees my every thought on my face. Maybe he can tell by the way my tears fall or the way my breath hitches. “You will serve him, so he says, and it seems he will not forget that you will.” The sparrow suddenly seems puzzled. It inhales and puffs his chest wide, stepping closer. “So, you will serve him.” He does not want me to.

“No, I will-“

Geta grabs ahold of my throat and bangs me into the nearest wall. “YOU DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS YOU’RE SPOKEN TO.” The spit splatters across my face, etching my skin. He speaks of filth once more, Latin.

I can’t breathe.

I watch him with fearful eyes, afraid to touch him. He is up in my face. Eyes wide. Nose flared. Jaw clenched. Veins popped. He stands like this for a little, watching my life flutter before him. I am fighting every urge to close my eyes. I curl my toes to feel control.

He draws a breath as he trails his eyes across my face. “You’re Hellen, you should know your place as a woman.” It’s like he mimics my breathlessness as he speaks. “You’re nothing.” A whisper, not in Latin.

I feel every color drain from my face.

“Say that you agree.” He watches my lips. Colorless and dry. “SAY IT.”

“I agree.”

He lets go of my throat and steps back. His hand grabs his own jaw and at his throat, pinching his skin, while watching mine – probably turning blue. “You did this. If my brother were to ask you, you say nothing of this.” He corrects his crown and his bracelets. “You will not speak a word to him or else I will have your tongue cut off. And that would be a shame.” He grabs my cheeks to force my mouth open. Squinting, he looks at my tongue. I hold my breathe. He stares a long time before letting go, almost unwillingly. He shies away. Taken aback, it seems, he sniffs.

I feel so dirty.

“Guards. Take her to Caracalla.” He waves me away.

Too busy catching my breath, I do not pay the halls any attention as the guards pushes me along. My body so weak. He could’ve killed me on the spot. He could’ve taken my entire being and done what he wanted, but he didn’t. He wanted to… I swear, he did.

“Meus flos!” The burdened lightens up as he sees me and hurries to grab ahold of my jaw like the night before. I flinch but he doesn’t seem to notice. Mania in his eyes. It’s like he sees me but not like shapes. I mirror abstractly in the pale blue orbs of his head. “Oh, you came back to me.” He smiles, foolishly.

I feel tears crowd my eyes again. I can’t seem to stop. I can’t seem to escape this destiny. This cruel, cruel presence. I think, I must play along. I must. Maybe they’ll kill me, if I just give them enough.

I try pulling a smile, pushing my tears so that it blurs my vision, but I can see straight enough to see how this pleases him. I shakingly reach for his cheek, and he leans into my touch. Sighing, relieved. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t see the tear falling from my eye. He does not even feel it. I smell the grape on his breath. The mystery liquid. I look at his lips shortly, seeing the red cracks that the fermented fruit has left. The corners of his mouth bloodshot. He doesn’t even feel my hand shake.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He hugs me. My body weak against his. On him I smell the alcohol, the sweat of the sun. So many senses all at once.

Instead, I imagine Alexandra is hugging me or that I am hugging my brother, jolting just the tiniest of life into me. I clench the knucklebone to my heart. I hope, they will let me see her soon, if not him. It’s my only wish. Will they grant me just one if I comply? One more likely than the other, I am sure.

I look over at the big, marble statue by Caracalla’s bed, and greet him with greater fright than before. But still, I do not dare to speak of his name. I am not ready yet. Soon, I will follow the emperors to their bed and there I will strike. With hellenes fresh in my mind, I will strike with revenge and bestow them a holy war. I will flower and win over this maddening power.

Caracalla lets go of me and he greets one behind me. “Look, brother, I found her! I found flos!”

Geta laughs so lightly. It’s so frightening. “Are you sure that’s her name?” He’s amused, maybe even satisfied.

Caracalla grabs my shoulders and holds me out in front of him, looking me intensely in the eyes. “What is your name?”

I can feel Geta’s presence burn my whole back. I can still feel his hand around my throat, choking me as if it gave him pleasure to see me plead for life. To see me beneath him, obeying his touch and his might. He wanted to destroy every atom of my body and drink it whole like wine. He wanted to get drunk on me. Maybe he still does.

Chills run down my spine and I just look at Caracalla blank. I must not speak.

“Oh. Right. You’re mute.” He laughs.

“Maybe she can write It down?”

A gasp leaves Caracalla’s mouth. Without hesitation Caracalla runs to his desk, wobbling. For just a second I look back at Geta, and he stares right back. His eyes threatening to burn me, to bleed me, to strip me of my rights.

Caracalla comes back and hands me a pen. In the red wax of a wax table I etch my name as clear as I can. I want them to know the name of the woman, who will be their end. The woman who they will regret having brought into their house. Caracalla says my name with such delight. Geta does not.

Keep your friends closer, but your enemies closer. That’s the last sensible thought left in my head. I will fight through this, and I will flower. I must.

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower III

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, violence, mentions of blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: The senate calls and Caracalla drags his new pet along. It all seem so harmless, but not in the eyes of his brother.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Seriously thank you guys for all the support. I love answering asks and comments and hearing you guys' opinions. So really, thank you. I am afraid that I cannot stress it enough. Thank. You.

Dictionary for this chapter:

Pithekos = Ancient greek for "monkey" (Pithekon is the accusative form) Operae = Latin - plural form of "opera" which can translate to "business" Kaos = It is what the greek believed happens when the world is out of order (if you were to - for example - act like a god, breaking the 'holy laws' and therefor committing 'hybris') Paidion = Ancient greek for "little child." (but sadly enough also ancient greek for "young slave") Hellas = The ancient greek name for Greece

He says those words with such delight. It’s like a drug to him, intoxicating him time and time again. Rocking from one foot to the other he chirps and sings: “meus flos, meus flos, meus flos!”

It’s been like this ever since he woke up from his slumber. His mood had changed from erratic to ecstatic. But still, he is but a child dressed in the skin of a man. There is both so much and so little to him. It sort of pains me to watch him like this. An unfamiliar woe in my seas of troubles. I try to drown it.

He arranged so I would have some bedding on the floor, not far from his bed. Some thrown straws packed neatly into a rectangle, covered by a sheet and some fur.

When we entered his chambers at night, there wasn’t much to see. The sun had gone down and the moon was out of sight. I was left to wonder and fear in the shadows; no sleep came to me. I was afraid of what he might do to me, if I did fall asleep. Yet his touch didn’t feel like filth when he caressed me with such ease. I try to forget.

This is not the emperor, I am watching, that I am sure of. The only thing hinting of such horrifying picture is the room here, shinning in the sunlight. There’s a twinkle of torment.

The bed big enough to fit three people with silk on silk. Marble on the floor, on the ceiling, the walls and the magnificent pillars - taller than any man can reach. There’s a table with papers not only on top but all around like they’ve been disowned and thrown with a violent temper. There are curtains of brown, gold, and white – vases decorating between every supposed opening, guarding the windows like soldiers.

And then there’s him.

Not the child-emperor but a statue of a man, greater of him. The instance I let my eyes ponder in the light, he stood out like a sore thumb.

It’s a man with a big and bushy beard and beautiful, almost black locks falling on top of his marble toga, colored in a golden brown. He holds a staff with two teeth, a bident, proudly but also somewhat stiffened. His muscular arms tense and alert.

At night, the burdened spoke of his name, but not of one of those I know of. He whispered it so quietly: “Serapis.” Not a roman name, but still, he must’ve been either foolish or brave when saying this God’s name.

The God of the underworld.

No mortal man who seeks life should speak of his name. But what respect does the burdened have? I wonder, and I know I probably should not. But the Gods know that I can’t help it.

I am still seated on the bedding and feeling a bit of disarray. A part of me longs for the mystery liquid. I yearn for silence within. I grow sadder of watching the burdened dance before me. I wonder, how long will it take before I become like him?

He grabs at his hair and at his clothes. His feet deciding to take a break as he pats over to a mirror. It looks as if he has a sudden realization that he must tend his body – but only to the extent that he has servants to help. Privileged.

He calls upon aid which shocks my core. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice me. He is too distressed with himself. I’ve never seen a man so lost before.

Women and men come running and I get to watch as he gets pulled apart and put back together. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I grab at my knees and close my eyes. To myself, I mumble a prayer to the Gods above. I will not let go of the hope that they someday will hear me.  It’s oh so fragile, but I know that all it takes is a prayer for a miracle.

In my mother tongue I pray to pull these riches off him. That the gods shall rob him of what he himself has robbed. I pray that the injustice gets undone, and that Apollo guides me to resolve this myself. I will no longer be of bad health, I pray. I will not become mad like him.

“Apollo, you, the god of healing diseases, if there is no guidance to be given then ready your bow to pierce my heart. Show me the true nature.” I hold onto fear as I mumble. I must not feel betrayed just yet.

Lies, trailing down my cheek as tears.

A wind rushes the curtains and the door to the room opens abruptly, followed by hurried steps. The sight I meet when I once more open my eyes is no miracle. It’s the other one.

“Caracalla, you’re missing the meeting with the senate. It’s disrespectful of you to be absent.”

This one bears a crown and is less fattened in his cheeks. His face is less glassy and more rigid with a deep line between his brows. They have the same hair, but two so distinctive faces. His eyes are tinted black and brown with all seriousness. He bears garments of royal colors. The color of the sea and the color of the sun.

He bears a crown like Apollon.  

“Brother!” Caracalla cheers and smiles widely, revealing a golden tooth that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. He opens his arms, supposedly greeting his brother by showing off. He is wearing the proper clothes but no crown. The color of blood.

Something clicks inside of the other, because he barely opens his mouth before he forces it close and clenches his fist tightly, knuckles white. He forces his eyes closed before sighing heavily. This is no brother, but a caretaker, stressed as revealed by the many wrinkles on his face. No white paint can cover the burden, he must bear. The burden of the dead and the burden, taking form of his brother. Or so he is signaling.

I remain quiet to try and stay invisible.

“Let’s go.” The other, who’s name I’ve forgotten, sighs.

I don’t need to know his name, I know what he has done.

“Can I bring my new pet? I call her flos.” Caracalla refers to me. The other now knows of me. But my name is taken and replaced.

“I do not care what animal you drag along with you.”

“She is NOT an animal!” The burdened snaps, his mask dropped completely. He has stepped closer to his brother, pointing at his chest.

“I DO NOT CARE!” The other yells back, spitting in Caracalla’s face. The veins in his neck almost popping. His fists now whiter than the makeup on his face. He bares his teeth like a lion while drawing a quick breath. “Get yourself inside the hall. NOW.” He pokes Caracalla’s chest before storming out.

The burdened is left to stand there shocked. A tear in his eye that he is quick cover as he removes the spit from his face. “I hate him.” He claims.

Caracalla spots me once again and he sighs, almost shallowly. “Do not listen to such a man, meus flos. He is no good.” Then he says something, I do not understand. “Come. Stand.”

I refuse to show that I do understand. The last thing I want is to be his pet.

“Come on.” The impatience shows on his restless fingers. Something in me calls me to hold them. I am once again conflicted. What is happening to me? I stand up slowly.

He examines me before calling over others to help me. With standing. With my clothes. My looks. They decorate me. Touch me. A panic grows. But they are quick to be gone again.

“Better.” He grabs my wrist and drags me with.

As I walk, I hear jewelry jingle. Not his. But mine. I’m wearing their blood. The pain. It feels as if the gold burns into my skin. They are chains of slavery. Bondage to suppress me and yet they complement my skin so beautifully. It’s a beautiful irony. I yearn for freedom, for death. I see my brother and I see his blood. Maybe he is in this gold or maybe it’s the Gods.

They killed him. Right now, I don’t know if it’s the Gods or the twins. Right now, I fear both. But right now, one is more righteous than the other. I do not know which one.

My blood is boiling beneath Caracalla’s touch. I pull my hand, and he lets go. He’s caught up in his head or maybe he is not. He cares, does he not?  I see my brother in the reflection of his earrings. The lifeless limbs. I do not see the romans; I only see the roman who’s showing my brother. All the symbols are melting into one another.

We walk into a big hall, filled with old men, with filth, and with a stench of death and intensity. It’s those who they call the senate. The dead dream, the Romans call the Republic.

They stare.

“My emperor.” One of them bows and Caracalla lifts his chin proudly, giggling as if he didn’t just shed a tear, one hand over the other. “Accompanied by…?”

“My new pet.”

I hate how proud he looks, flashing his golden tooth. All grief gone from his face. I hate how that comforts me. His smile is holding me upright, hollow is my heart.

I spot the other as he spots me. His eyes widening and yet he looks as if understands. I do not know what. An anger rages in the dark orbs that is his eyes.

“Does she speak?”

Caracalla steps aside and looks at me. He doesn’t seem to know either. Maybe he wonders the same. They do not even know my name.

“She does not.” The other speaks. “She’s mute. You know, how women and pets are supposed to be.”

It’s the first time that I am grateful for him. And hopefully, the last time. The words do not hit as hard as they probably should.

Caracalla clears his throat and nods, agreeing. “Yes. Geta is correct. Flos is mute.”

Of course, his name is Geta.

“What a pretty name. Flos. Like the flores!” The senator tries to encourage this behavior. He acknowledges me and goes back to his seat.

Caracalla shows me to a seat, a bench far away from the assembly, seated next to a dressed pithekos. Like a pet, with a pet.

“Flos, this is Dondus. Now. Behave while I take care of operae.” And so, he leaves me in the company of this tiny animal, eating away. I feel a slight embarrassment.

Following Caracalla with my eyes, I see Geta. He is staring me down with such fury, but he also seems amused by this sight. In him I see the Roman responsible for the death of my brother. The abuse of my land. But he is disguised as a god - Apollon.

I once heard that the Romans truly believed that they, the emperors, were a vessel of the gods. I didn’t believe it at first, because it felt as if it was a nothing but a joke. How would they be the voice of gods, when they do not even seem to experience the agony that they crown the people with? It’s what makes us humans. For there is an order to follow or else kaos will reign – but it just seems that the Romans, the filthy, fit the Gods to their needs. Not the other way around. It’s revolting and distasteful. Disrespectful towards what they claim to be the divine.

They certainly act as if they were Gods. They serve up blood for dinner and expect respect. They bear their crowns and decorate their houses with their furniture. They claim the things that they want and expect people to deliver.

Perhaps they remind me too much of the Gods. However, they are present, my Gods… seem not to be. No, I must not think of such foolishness.

I mutter another prayer. This time for just a sign for them to be present. The pithekos nibs at me but I do not pay it any attention. I pray for a clear sign – for light to disappear, so I can hide in the shadows, and they can light a little candle for me. “Help me, hear me, Apollon, bring darkness over this house, so I can see your light once again.” Yet I’ve never seen it before, but I do not stop my praying. I am desperate, truly desperate. Thoughts about the misplaced empathy towards the burdened slightly disturbing me, so I pray them to take it away. I hope.

And after a while, it darkens. My eyes are closed, and no light seems to shine through my eyelid. A spark ignites inside my heart, turning to a flame. I pray a little more intensely. I feel a presence other than the pithekon. My chest burns.

“What darkness do you seek?” It’s spoken in my mother tongue but broken. It’s a stern voice as I would imagine but so furious.

I quiver. “Darkness over Rome.”

There is a dark and deep laughter. I feel my hands being grabbed and my body thrown towards the floor. My hip slammed towards the cold and hard floor beneath. I hear the pithekos shriek. The jewelry as well. I catch my head before it hits the floor. My fire distinguished. I open my eyes, full of fright, and look up to see the other, Geta. His eyes filled with hatred and dusk. His jaw sharp, but not as sharp as the blade he looks to be pulling from his belt.

“NO!” The burdened Caracalla yells. He jumps to my defense and pushes Geta. He saves me.

It visibly shakes Geta to his core. Something, he hadn’t expected. At the sight of his brother, he removes the blade out of sight, showing that there’s still a part of him that cares. A part of him that is human.

It is there I shall strike, when I get the chance.

“She’s practicing idolatry, brother.” He speaks Latin once more and steps up to his brother, clearly the one with the overhand. They bicker and spit.

First, I wonder how he knows of my mother tongue, then of how dare he, the filthy, use it against me and the gods. And then I fright of the chance of the assembly’s judgement, and what this judgement would lead to. Torture? Death? Or worse.

“You lie, you said, she was mute.” Caracalla corrects Geta. Does he not remember the night? “You are attacking MY pet, MY property – for NO reason!”

“Caracalla-“ Geta furrows his brows so that the line in between becomes darker. “I only said that-“

“You lie! Now leave her alone! Flos has done nothing wrong. She cannot talk.” Caracalla seems to believe his own words so much that he also seems to forget that they weren’t his. He seems so possessive of me. What horrid thing is happening in his head?

Geta seems on the other hand to give up on his brother but not on his anger. He looks at me with such burning fire. It’s like he heard my prayer, like he was tormented by my words. He whispers something to Caracalla that I cannot hear. An order of sorts. And Caracalla looks as if he understands. As if he agrees. I fear.

He turns to me and nods a servant over, who helps me up on my feet against my will. “You are to be escorted back to my room. My brother says you are distracting us.” I hate what that might indicate. What that must mean. My clothes, my body, now infiltrated by filth.

“Apologies, senators.” I hear Geta say. I see him whisper something to a guard.

One of the guards dressed in purple come over and grabs my arm, harshly. “Careful.” Caracalla corrects him. And the guard just nods, his grip not changing any bit.

He escorts me out, but not towards the room from which we come from before. He leads me towards a dark part of the palace. A part which not yet has seen the light of day, where all the dirt is kicked under.

Marble slowly turns to stone. The air thickens. I am led to a room filled with other slaves, but not one dressed like me. I am now the one sticking out like a sore thumb.

The guard leaves me without a word. Confusion strikes as well as discomfort. The others look at me like I am one of them, the romans, and I can not defend myself. My throat is dry like the desert that I seem to be surrounded by. No hope.

But beneath the sand, I hear a familiar voice.

“Thank the Gods, they let you live.”

Mother tongue. It’s the old woman. The woman, which I now believe was sent by Hera. My heart flutters. The world flashes with stars. I cry. And she grabs me. And holds me. It’s like I hear the Gods’ song. The lyre plays with joy. Internal victory.

“I am here now. I have you, paidion.” Her touch is like a mother. I let myself melt into her touch and sob into her shoulder. And I stay like this for a while. For however long she lets me stay there. “There… there…” She pets and undo my hair. Freeing the weight from off my shoulder.

I pull back to look at her face and see how she slightly has livened up. Her cheeks now rosy as her eyes, which are fighting every urge to cry. The dark hides any other imperfection the light before bestowed her. In here she is perfect in every way. She is a mother. A mother of the land, Hellas. I’ve longed for this comfort. I’m home in the shadows.

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[bbrainr0t]

all pain aside, this is truly how I see the emperors from the movie. They would 100% love Doja Cat AND CharlieXCX.

rest in peace, Geta and Caracalla, you would've loved Doja Cat

[bbrainr0t]

I loved the new chapter! Any special reason why you write in the first person (I) and not the second person (you)?

Ahhhh! I am so glad that you did!! ^^ Hm... I don't know actually. I think it comes more naturally to me as I write a lot of poems. It gives me a sense of control over the feelings I present in my texts The way I see it, I cannot convince another to feel a certain way without feeling it as well. I can let a person into my shoes and let them experience the same, but I cannot tell you how you should feel. I feel as if I would be alienating myself in the process.

Because the truth is that I adore writing, because I've always had a vivid imagination. Most of the time, the things that I write has been a real scene in my head at some point. It all feels so real to me when I write. And its like a relief almost - because once I start, it's the only thing I think about, and here it just makes even more sense, because the roman empire and the ancient greek are my everyday and everything right now. I love and adore the story that is Rome and Hellas for its every fault and horrid aspect it may have. Or as my favorite roman poet says: "Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior." Which roughly translates into: "I hate and I love, you might ask why I do. I do not know, but I feel it happen, and I am tortured." Catullus 85 by Catullus (the loml <3) I hope this answers your question! I am actually writing right now and I am so close to crying... I may or may not be attached to this story already.

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower II

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: She wakes in another unknown place. Healed and alone, she ponders and dares to explore - but the peace is only sweet for a short while. Suddenly, images flashes before her eyes, and while she feels all hope is lost once more, a man holds her. A man unknown or is he?

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the love and support on the first chapter. It's gotten me all riled up and so inspired that you guys got me writing every night :,))) It really means a lot to me. Happy valentines! I hope whatever plans you have turn out to be enjoyable. I am sitting alone with wine, pizza, and Catullus (a roman poet) that I have to translate :pppp My ideal night honestly. (i'll probably also write... tihi)

Dictionary for this chapter:

Chiton = a form of tunic worn by men and women of ancient greek Agora = the central place of a city state, where people would tend their businesses and politics. Everything important happened here. Hellas = The ancient greek name for greece

It was not long after my arrival at the marble house that I was in the hands of a medic. A flute was playing off in the far distance and chatter were daring to make its way past the curtains, which kept me safe.  

I had felt exposed when I woke up. I was dressed in a finer material, but I did not feel like any hands had touched me. I felt clean. The medic had tended to me and poured a liquid down my throat that no longer scratches. My head feels clearer.

I woke up in a bed of straws covered in silk – a material I didn’t think I ever would get to feel again. The smoothest of all and the softest to touch. Although it made me feel at ease at first, an eerie feeling now replaces it and creeps through the cracks of the walls. Stone walls filled with words and greetings. Words, I cannot read, but still, I understand.

This room does not look to resemble the marble room in which I fainted. Here I feel a peace, a quiet before the storm, but it doesn’t cover its intentions – they are spelt out all over. It’s me, my bed, a side table and a little window at the top. By the looks of it, there is no light outside, so it must be night.

With a deep inhale I dare myself to feel the engravings. My fingers stumbling over each dent, each scratch filled with history. A kind feeling of doom invites itself inside my heart. I’m not the first to be here. A smile hitches and pushes my cheeks aside. I do not know why this agony from past slaves is giving me such cheer. It feels a waste to mourn the dead.

Whatever they’ve given me, I think to myself, I would like an ocean of that.

There is no chaos other than outside the curtains, and even there it has seemed to calm down. The only other life nearby seems to be the flame dancing in the dark beside the bed. I let my fingers wander down my drapes as I pull myself up to sit. It’s a chiton in a pale white with subtle embroidery of gold. It echoes the few moments in the marble room, almost like a reflection of the endearing pillars.

Our pillars.

My jaw tenses. No slave bears these drapes that I am sure of. But I am not sure if I want to admit to it. Had my destiny shifted once more? There is no blur now to confuse, so it must be true. What are these drapes supposed tell me about their intentions with me?

The silk beneath me suddenly gets a whole new meaning, it’s almost like an apology. But who is it from? The effect of the mystery liquid is wearing out. The ache is coming back but it’s starting to feel wrong. Am I to feel gratitude?

The emperors had not touched me, not that I would’ve felt it, but no matter how hard I search I see no filth.

I had only gotten a glimpse of them. An idea of who they really were. In Hellas they were known as the worst of mankind, especially after the attack, but that voice of … Caracalla were no man. It was a tormented soul. And, I suppose, Geta were no tyrant. He sounded as common as a sparrow. It was the riches that alienates them in my head. The blood of my people around their necks. My brothers and sisters’ nooses twinkling on their chest - as I only can imagine. I never got a real look at them. I do not know how they look.

Are they nearby? How was I to know.

I push my feet over the bedside and let my bare feet meet the cold floor. The chiton following swiftly and rhythmically. Slowly, I make my way towards the curtain and try to ease my curiosity by softly pulling it aside. I only dare to do so because the only noise that can be heard is one merely echoing like a word under water.   I find myself looking at another wall which stretches to both the right and the left. It’s small and narrow like a tunnel. I must be underground. I wait a second before stepping outside, carefully tiptoeing to make no sound. There is no one, and if there truly is no one, I have a chance at escape. My first in months.

There is a light to my right, which seemingly is leading upstairs. It’s a chance to be taken.

Horrors return to my head. Images. Blood. Screams. Voices.

I grab a hold of my head, squint my eyes close. I must make it stop. But the images never stop. They feel so real. I see them so clearly.

Wasted bodies on the shore, by the agora. No politics, only war flooded the streets.

“Quiet!” Is the clearest thing I hear.

The images keep changing. I see my brother on the beach. His head is underwater. His body on shore. His clothes unraveled. There’s laughter and humiliation. The soldiers, they grab the body.

I lean to my right up against the engravements, hoping that history will hold me one last time.

“Shh! Quiet!” It’s an intruder to my nightmare.

Suddenly I feel myself wheezing, struggling to pull air in my lungs. I become strangely aware of my body beneath the fabric. It feels as if a hand grabs at my waist. Tears start to stream, unfortunately they have returned, but somehow, they make the wall seem less coarse. A hand between me and the wall.

The weight of my body disappears as my feet fall beneath me, but I do not hit the floor.

“Stop… stop… I do not know how to make this stop.” The voice becomes clearer. It feels too real and too foreign to be in my head. I continue to puff. My lungs crumbling beneath my rib cage.

There’s a pain placed not in my heart but on my cheek. It stings. Senses rush back and I hear sobbing, not only of my own but also of somebody else. A mutual in this pain. I force my eyes open, slowly not to blind myself.

It’s a man. Snot running down over his rosa lips and unshaved chin. His cheekbones spotted with small faults and scratches. His hair messy and slightly curled, the color a shade of pure but dirty gold, almost a shade of orange. His eyes red and irritated, filled with tears, showing pure distress. They are glassy, reflecting every feeling within me. “Please stop.” His voice, so coarse like he has been screaming.

There is a sound of boots beating the ground, armor clashing against itself. The man is quick pull me back behind my protective curtain, where I probably should’ve stayed. I trip and so does he, but he is quick to try and save me from hitting the floor rather than himself. I gasp, feeling his hand on my back – the other covering my mouth. He sits us down on the ground. My knees and his slightly scratched by this movement. Fear is raging in the depths of his eyes. He clenches his hand against my mouth, lightly scratching my skin. I quiver without sound.

The boots pass by, and the man lets go, but only for a second. His thumbs remove my tears eagerly and then cupping my jaw. Usually I would be afraid, because no man holds a woman in such way without it being with dirty intention – but this is different. He’s holding me like he had lost me. A touch so rough and selfish yet so caring. I am frozen in his touch.

There is a calm.

He does not dare to break the silence. He’s busy removing every sign of ache that might’ve trailed my face. I just remain still and watch his every move.

He’s wearing a white toga, which barely covers up his body as intended, revealing a hairy chest. His arm is slightly toned but as his cheeks, there is a layer of fat bulging more than muscle. This is a man of status but not far up. Perhaps only a slave, on the run. Perhaps he is just like me.

“Who are you…?” I whisper in Latin, cautiously, examining his face, waiting for a reaction.  I dare not to think that this is another one of my hallucinations. This feels too real. Too raw.

He seems slightly surprised by my question at the same time as his eyes somewhat clears up. He sniffs. “Who am I?” His jaw moves astray like he is holding back. Like I should know.

I nod hesitantly. By the looks of it, he is not in his right mind. But neither am I, so I dare not trust every thought popping in my head. I hold tight onto the feeling of gratitude towards this stranger as it keeps me at bay. He’s still shaking, and so am I.

“That… that doesn’t matter.” He sniffs. His voice seems so fragile that I could imagine it would break if the tiniest of winds would try to puff it off balance.

“…Okay.” I softly respond and look into his eyes. His blue, naked eyes.

He is looking from one eye to the other. No other words are needed. The contact is all we both need to calm. I notice he too has stopped crying. I can only wonder what has caused him pain. I reach out tentatively to dry his tears in the same manner, but before I reach his face, he grabs my wrists. He’s still on guard.

“It’s… it’s okay.” Is my only try at reassuring him.

His only response is a single nod as he slowly lets go, dropping his hands to his lap. And so, I tend to his distress as a return of his kindness. His face softening for every tear I remove. I grab the silk off the bed to dry his nose, patting it carefully to not disturb the calm breathing.

“I will keep you safe.” He proclaims and sounds if he is promising it more to himself than me. “I will remember you tomorrow and claim you as mine.”

The words rush through my bloodstream like burning iron, daring to turn cold and keep my body in shape, frozen in movement. The words “claim you as mine” echo.

His eyes seem quick to worry, grabbing a hold of my wrists once more, but this time to pull me in to hold me at his chest. His arms are clamming my body close. An act so compassionate, a feeling so claustrophobic. Merely four words and all hope are lost. Reality hitting, the imbalance revealing itself. His voice returning in my head, not as how he just spoke but as a reminiscence from earlier. The burdened.

It's the emperor.

Questions arise. What is he doing here? Why is he being chased? What has he done? Why is he holding me so close, so dear? I am not his friend; I am his enemy. Does he not know?

“I know how you feel.” The burdened sniffs. “I know how you feel right now. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You and I are the same.” His hand goes to grasp my head once more, squeezing me closer, choking me lightly. Or maybe I’m just holding my breath.

He knows not of my pain.

“That man was so cruel. He knows nothing of health. Nothing!” His fingers turn to pierce my scalp, but inventively as he is quick to stop again. “Oh- I’m so sorry – so sorry, meus flos.”

He speaks of words I do not know. I try to suppress the panic, not to alarm him. I am afraid of a reaction. I place my hand against his toga, pushing myself slightly away, and he softens his touch, letting me go. Scared, I let my eyes land on him again. I try to take every bit of him in. One of the men responsible of my lands abuse.

I should’ve known it was him. I should’ve stood on guard. He is nothing like me. Not at all. He is of wealth, obtained from plunder of the poor, of me.  

But why is he showing me mercy? Is this a cruel joke played by the Gods? Oh, how they mock me.

“I do not wish to hurt you.” He shakes his head childlike. The personality from earlier taking shape right before me.

He reaches his hand to hold my jaw once more, but I move away instinctively. And oh, how it seems to hurt him, but only for a short while.

“You’re right. We need rest.” I am unsure wherever he is imagining that I told him off. “GUARDS!”

The sudden yell startles me, and fear grabs me once more. What is he going to do??

As quick as a water droplet hits the surface, guards dressed in armor, wearing purple come maraging in. I have no time to react.

“My emperor-“

“Enough! Escort me and meus flos to my bedroom. And bring her a separate bed.”  

The guards look shocked, speechless even.

“QUICKLY!”

Apollon, what are you doing to me?

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy

[bbrainr0t]

Hiii I just wanted to let you know that Hellenes means the people that live in ancient greece (ὁ Ἕλλην, Ἕλληνες in plural) the name for the country is Ἑλλάς (genitive Ἑλλάδος). I loved the first chapter btw and I can’t wait for more!!

Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention! I will correct it immediately. You learn every day, huh? I actually think this fan-fiction might contribute to my knowledge for school. That's kind of funny. And somewhat ironic. Please do continue to correct me, if there is more. I am more than willing to learn!!! Best of regards <33

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, angst, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, misogyni, etc.), toxic/abusive, choking/death threats, alcoholism, sexual/sensual content, mentions of violence, suicide, rape, blood, death, and slavery (sometimes only implied)

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), dark romance (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative, hurt/comfort probably more to be added... vile is the language of the romans. Summary: Stolen from her country, the oracle-to-be struggles to survive in the hands of the Romans; a holy way is brewing inside, what is she to believe anymore?

Current word count: 16.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Coming out some time soon... more to come... ;)))

Extra info:

There will be use of ancient greek and latin words as I study the language and I think it would be a nice detail. (Every chapter has a dictionary, if I think it would be necessary, though words unknown to the character will also be unknown to you ;)))

Despite the belief that Caracalla's sickness is syphiles, I will try to stay loyal to history and leaving it undefined. But it'll definitely lean more towards a personality disorder.

There will be a heavy focus on sickness as it is the middle ground for the reader and Caracalla, so if you aren't fond of such, I wouldn't recommend reading this fic :))

There will also be a heavy focus on the vile part of the story. I love a little gross fiction (but don't worry, there will be spice). This also means there will be a lot of implying of themes such as death, suicide, rape, misogyni etc. Again, I would not recommend reading if you are sensitive to such themes.

This story was kickstarted and inspired by @cherrysweets-world and her story "Eyes of the Gods" - so I would strongly encourage to go read her story as well!!!! (it's so good omfg)

Support gives me a major motivation kick, so it's deeply appreciated!

Ask me stuff, I'll be happy to answer!!! (anything, really)

pictures are from the internet...

I do not wish to see my fiction other places than my own page, so please respect this :)

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower I

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery, hints of PTSD/bad mental health - there will be an imbalance between the owned and the owner (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic relationship at some point

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest, I swear), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters basically (for now), no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: A greek woman has been stolen from her lands, Hellas, and in the midst of questioning her faith and destiny, she ends up before the feet of the emperors.

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: In this story there will appear a few words that's either ancient greek or latin (I study the languages, I know, super cool :ppp) - so I will make sure to add a little note once in a while when a new word pops up that I feel like is important for you to know. Though bare with me as I will not include some of the words... because not even the main character knows the meaning of the words sometimes.

In the worst cases: trust your gut. Believe me, when I say english isn't that far from latin.

This is the first story on my page, so please, if you like this chapter, show support by liking, reblogging and commenting. It'll really motivate me!! Thank you in advance <333 And now, I present chapter 1 of the story "For when you flower."

Dictionary for this chapter:

Hellas = the actual name of ancient greece Hellenes = the people of ancient greece (shoutout to that one ask for calling me out <333) Aphrike = the ancient greek name for Afrika Nemesis = both a god of justice, but mostly a term for revenge when greek had committed hybris - broken the rules given by the gods, which were made to keep the world in order

I was taken from my home.

Not too long ago I was in Hellas, the land of the gods. I was surrounded by my people, by our culture. A people who remained in pain of the filth stowed upon them day after day. A culture robbed of its riches. We were oppressed in our own home – but it was still ours. Ours to appreciate in the shadows, hidden from those not worthy of the glory. It was like one people of the other claimed our land as theirs. There was no peace other than in the dark hidden from the Persians and from the Romans.

It was in the shadows we allowed ourselves to continue our faith, to pray for mercy from the almighty gods. There was no justice outside in the light. Oh, how they dragged our names in the dirt.

It was in the shadows where the statues of the great remained, statues of the house gods to whom I owed my life. There was so much they could deprive us from but not hope. Not then in our land, Hellas.

I remember the day I received my prophecy. It did not speak of the agony I now find myself drowning in, no, it spoke of a resurrection of the people, of the belief.

I was to be an oracle. A hope. It had said: “A holy war in sight, only you can conquer with might. What’s been small and fragile in the past, will then flower from your hands.”

I was never the person to question the Gods intention – on the contrary I was honored to be given such kind words from those who we were taught to fear. I was looking forward to the day the prophecy would be fulfilled, the day were I was to serve the God of all good, sun and light, truth and prophecy, Apollon.

His name has lost all worth for I was brought out of the dark – not by will. And I cried. I cried a river but none of my prayers were heard.

It all changed the day the Romans came back.

I knew of the cruel nature of the Romans – of how they kidnapped and abused our land, but I was yet still too naive to think that they never would dare to touch the sacred, the ever so respected priests and priestess of the divine. They crushed the blest spirit, the day where light was shone on the serene shadows.

In truth I was only starting to understand the practices that were expected of me to perform. Rituals. I was yet to be the oracle, humble servant of Apollon. However, I still had a title to which previous Roman soldiers had respected and truly endeared.

I still remember the roman soldier that had asked for my guidance. Oh, how his eyes lit up as truth and prosperity embraced his whole. I showed him the way into the arms of Hera, Mother of Gods. Maybe he was lying – another mockery.

Hera, Apollon, where are you?

The event of my abduction is merely a night terror in my head by now, consuming my every thought; Every nerve jolting at the irreversible pain that had been caused by the filthy, the Romans. Every second has been a battle to actively try to suppress the memory of that day, that night, that month, that year. The only memory left by now was the change of weather from Hellas to Aphrike to Rome. The grief, the wicked and the filth. And that one man.

Hellenes is now barely a wrinkle in the dent of my cheek. An echo in the weariest of nights where sleep caresses me at last with promises of new hope, a new life. Something no God seemed to care to give to us anymore.

The Gods barely matter. That’s the truth. Today, as I sit with my hands tied, I believe that they were erased together with the rest of torment. Burnt, broken and beaten. I still pray, yes, but no longer with fear as they intended, no, it was disbelief and grief – and that was no righteous way of praying to the Gods I once knew, but it doesn’t matter. What horrid thing had I done that the Gods placed me in the hands of predators to obey? A feel of surrender not only towards Nemesis but also those I now call my masters, domini.

What a horrid word.

Today I sit behind bars with hardly anything to cover up the shame of my position. I have spent maybe a hundred days in this forsaken land, learning their dirty tongue in hopes of finding my eventual master. One, who I hope would have mercy. And perhaps today was the day the Gods finally hear my prayer, or maybe I’m still naive to hope.

I’m being transferred to a place, I have yet to understand the meaning of: Palatium. The name itself placed a heavy weight on my heart like a blanket of steel. I will not give up.

The slave trader waved our carriage away. By my side are other women as well as men, men of honor. All sit mute as If our tongues had been cut off, deaf as if our ears were burnt. In silence we agree that everything has seemed a blur since that day the free became the forced.

Around us men and women dressed in silk and tunics of pride bore at the sight of us. Those who would show interest were collectors which could be seen clear as day by their make-believe costumes of the people of Hellas, Hellenes. Us. They want us, not because of our personal value, the virtue which was supposedly given to us by the supposedly righteously gods, but because of our skin, our blood. They had that in common with the men, scouting gladiators in between our honest men, the heroes of Hellas.

The injustice floods my already burning chest. My heart is beating but for what? Beating against the steel and iron like the drums of war. I bite my cheek as I feel the phantom sensation of tears flocking my arid eyes. Damn you, Gods. Despite the growing distrust I urge myself to mummer a prayer in our mother tongue with eyes squinted close: “I ask for your justice, righteous Dike, for your mercy on my soul and for whatever deed lead me here, Nemesis. Ares, I summon your war to these wasteful souls that do not honor your name. Oh, Zeus-“

“Quiet down.” The woman to the right mummer. “The Gods intended this. We will meet the ends of our suffering soon enough.” I could feel how I was quick to anger over how she sounded so reassuring – but mostly also how she was right. Peeking a look at her I meet not a woman, but the ghost of life displayed and laying across her pale face. She’s an old woman, probably not intended to see the light of day. Other than her wrinkles, there is no identity to be seen or studied. Her appearance no longer mirrors whatever woman she had been as her clothes are merely a used bag, her hair thin and shed, dead on her shoulder. She will likely be bought for nothing but labor. A prime example of a worthless slave in the eyes of the filthy.

My anger now replaced by pity. Sadness.

“Apologies.”  I slightly nod and purse my lips. I feel my eye twitch. I ponder of her name, but I choke on the words. Embarrassed, I lower my head.

The next thing I hear is a rustle. Perhaps she had read my thoughts, maybe not. A short moment of quiet follows as her hand caresses mine. Comforting. Motherly.

Maybe Hera is here after all.

Suddenly the world begins the spin as the carriage suddenly stops and puncturing whatever hope, the woman had planted and sown. Dizziness takes a hold of my consciousness. The world seems to blur once more. I feel my body become weak and heavy. Her hand on my cheek. Her shoulder next. She saves me from the floor. She holds up me upright.

Our movements become flashes. The world so dark. The next thing I know, I’m on marble floor.

The air here seems heavy and loaded with scents of war. It strikes and pokes my insides like spikes. Carefully I tip my head up to look around at the surroundings – only to meet the toes and the feet of a man, sandals of a noble.

“You brought a weakling into the house of gods?” The sandals huffed. “Surely, you must be pulling some kind of cruel joke.”

It’s like his voice barely made it through his gritted teeth but I cannot see. The muscles in my neck ache. But I feel her hand. The woman is still holding me. It calms my nerves, and I seem to forget the pain.

“And an old woman.” I watch the right foot tap and as it jingles with all its riches. “I cannot believe this… this… insult! This is an insult – towards the gods, let alone the emperors! What will they think?”

“I reassure you; she was fine a moment ago! One of our finest samples!” I recognize this voice to be the dealer, the man who bought me off the coast of Aphrike.

“How am I supposed to make any of these women presentable?” The sandals raised his voice slightly but were quickly to draw a breath. “Out.”

It sounds as if the words were venom, shooting from the teeth of a python. No doubt that this man has power.

“But-“

“No! I said out. Before the emperors see these-“

“See what?”

The atmosphere changes.

A new pair of sandals makes their way across the floor, scraping whatever dirt there is up. A pair of feet who seem too weak to bear the heavy burden of its body or its mind, erratic in its every move. And yet so weary and tired.

And then there were quiet.

It feels as if a minute passes by before any other word is being spilt. The burdened speaks again, marginally more distressed: “Speak up for I wish not to be left out.” The voice takes on a child-like attitude, one which knows no laughter, only squabble and snappiness of the upmost impatient kind. A part of me wishes to look and console this unfortunate soul.

The fancy sandals jerk. “Sorry, my emperor, I was just telling this joke of a seller off because of this abomination of a delivery. I assure you; I am picking only the upmost desirable for you. Ones in the best of health.”

A wish now broken.

“And what do you know about health?!” The voice snaps as if the sandals words truly had offended its entire bloodline – its apparent noble bloodline. Filth.

“That was not-“

“OUT!” It screeched. The sound of a blade rings in the room, making me lower my head by instinct. Blinking, I feel a pain ache in my heart flashing, not of physical pain but of pure agony within my soul. Memories, nightmares flash before me. The thick scent becomes recognizable. My dearest friend as of the last year. The smell of iron. Of blood. The only proof of life and of worth.

Once more it blurs. My soul cannot take this torture any further.

“Caracalla! Calm down!” Is the second to last thing I hear.

“Geta! He is-“ Is the last thing I hear.

I remember them faintly. Their names. The fear that infiltrated my home, my people.

The twin emperors; Geta and Caracalla.

Oh, how I resent them

Next chapter

[bbrainr0t]

Eyes of the Gods X

series masterlist - part nine

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You start to let yourself settle in with the emperors - but don’t get too comfy

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, dirty talk, breeding kink, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, mentions of slaves/slavery, threesome, male masturbation, fingering, attempted murder (again), induced vomiting

Word Count: 3.5k

Sticky, bruised. Satiated. You dragged your strigil along your oily skin, cleaning off evidence of your time with Geta. Steam rose and brushed against your cheeks, forcing your mind back to the feeling of Geta's fingers on you, in you.

Distracted, you placed the strigil back down and began to lazily trail your fingers through the oil water. Your hand went lower, deeper under the water, dipping into your folds. You could still feel the texture of Geta's seed lingering inside you.

What would Alba think? Geta had dismissed her, potentially destroying her life, and you had gone and fucked him as though it were nothing. Some naive part of you had thought that you could change the emperors, inspire kindness in them. It seemed they were changing you instead.

Even now you felt desire smouldering in your chest. You tilted your head back, sighed.

You knew that the things they had done were not right, that their impulsiveness and insecurity had threatened the very foundations of Rome in the past. And yet. . .

You heaved yourself from the bath, sending droplets of water scattering across the stone. Hastily you dried yourself off, slipping on a fresh tunic before heading to the door.

The material was soft against your skin. You could see tiny embroideries on the edges, golden thread that brushed against the tops of your feet with every step. The texture made you shiver. The emperors were not subtle. They intended to pry every remnant of your old life from your hands and stuff them full with - well, them.

And you had held open your hands and welcomed them.

Wincing, you thought again of Alba. That could have easily been you. A dark part of your mind whispered, but it wasn't. And that meant something.

Praetorians escorted you back to Geta's rooms. On the way, you passed several slaves. They eyed you with the usual intrigue - and perhaps something like thankfulness. It was not entirely lost on you; keeping the emperors occupied meant that others did not suffer under their forceful gaze.

It was not like it was some awful task, though. You were kept clothed, fed, entertained. Fucked. Your life had benefited under the attention of the emperors whilst others would have suffered. In return, all you had had to give up was your freedom.

And is that truly so bad, that voice whispered.

The Praetorians held the door open for you. You ducked under their arms with a quiet thank you. You could hear talking from within the next room and you padded in, clearing your throat to alert the emperors to your presence.

Caracalla was standing almost chest-to-chest with his brother, sneering up at him. Once he saw you he shouldered past Geta, coming to wind himself around your body like a familiar piece of clothing. He dragged you down to the carpet, nuzzling at your neck from behind.

"You were supposed to be for me," he huffed. "Geta is a thief."

"We discussed this," Geta dismissed, pouring himself a healthy cup of wine. "Ours. She is ours."

Caracalla ignored him, hands coming to cup your tender breasts. "Tell me," he urged, "who felt best - "  

"Brother," Geta interrupted, firm. "Enough."

"Caracalla," you said softly, hand reaching up to encircle his wrist. "Where is Dondus? I have missed her."

Eyes bright, Caracalla was quick to jump up and go to the door. You heard him bark out an order, the sound ringing throughout Geta's rooms. Geta set his wine down and offered you a hand up from the floor.

You took it and let yourself be pulled up and against his chest. He hummed a soft sound, nosing along your jawline.

"I preferred you dirty," he nipped at the lobe of your ear.

A smile flirted along the edges of your lips. Geta's eyes fixed on the small movement of your mouth, his own beginning to mimic it.

"Enchantress," he whispered.

You squealed as Dondus came scampering up your tunic, small hands pinching and tickling. She settled herself upon your shoulder, burying her hands in your still-damp hair.

"Sweet girl," you laughed, rubbing your fingers beneath her fuzzy chin.

Geta stepped back, returning to his wine. Caracalla took his place, cooing at Dondus whilst occasionally stopping to stare at your face.

"She seems to have fallen in love with you," he rasped, blinking heavily.

"And I, her," you smiled.

Caracalla continued feeding her bits and pieces of food. When he leaned in to press a kiss against your lips, it felt natural. He bit you a little, pulling back to reveal the tiniest smear of red on his grinning lips. Without thinking, you smiled back.

"There has been no updates on the man who tried to kill you," Geta suddenly said, serious.

Your stomach turned the memory. The dead men on the floor, the blood, the awful fight for your life. Moving past it seemed impossible, no matter how much you tried.

The man had to have been sent by someone inside the palace. The thought flashed across your mind, strong and urgent. How else would they have known the emperors were preoccupied, leaving you alone? You thought about the Praetorian escort and how he had allowed you to go the long way round. Had he been a part of it too?

You let Dondus climb from your shoulder before approaching Geta. You hesitated before reaching out, resting your hand on his elbow. His skin was cool despite the heat of the evening. The need to comfort him was irritating, itching the back of your mind.

"They will reveal themselves," you insisted. "They have tried twice now, to no affect. They will be back."

Geta ran his tongue over his lips. "You will remain here until they do."

"Here?" your hand fell from his elbow. "In your rooms?"

"Until they are caught," he stressed the words, reaching down to grab your dropped hand. He squeezed your hand between his. "You have become important. To him. He is better around you, healthier. I cannot risk throwing that all away."

"Important to him?" you echoed, lashes fluttering.

Geta's fingers twitched around yours. "To us."

Caracalla had been quietly creeping up behind you and now he used his body to press against your back, sandwiching you between them. Caracalla's hand slid around your front, coming to rest on your breast, above your thumping heart.

"If this was to stop," he breathed in your ear, "those responsible would wish that they had never been born."

"And of course," Geta added, his own hand coming to rest upon your stomach. "There is the matter of a potential heir."

"Heir?" you choked out, "What rights would any child of mine have?"

Caracalla snickered, pulling away. "Do not concern yourself with such things."

You wanted to ask more questions but both brothers turned from you, busying themselves with other things. Your hands twitched at your side, wanting to come to rest on your stomach. You shook your head. There was no telling whether you were already with child and the idea would only bring you more stress.

You spent the rest of the evening entwined on the bed with Caracalla, lazily twirling a curl of his hair around one of your fingers. He had practically melted into your touch, blinking up at you with hazy blue eyes whilst gently patting at your skin, drunk of the scent of you.

Geta left and came back several times. You could see him becoming increasingly frustrated, face becoming whiter as his lips got thinner, angrier.

"Fucking useless," he swore, sweeping a stack of paper to the ground.

"The Praetorians?" you asked, hand still buried in Caracalla's hair.

Geta turned to face you and seemed to relax a little at the sight of you wrapped up with his brother. He nodded, wordlessly coming to sit down beside you. He scent was one of sweat, of panic.

You reached up to cup his cheek. Beneath your fingers you could feel the barest hint of stubble and you let your fingers wander, exploring his face. Geta stared down at you like you were something miraculous. A pang of sympathy had you furrowing your brows.

Caracalla shifted beside you, dragging your eyes back to him. His cheeks were pink, lips parted as he let out little puffs of air. You could smell the sweetness of wine on his breath as his eyes scanned your face. He tilted his hips, the tiniest of movements, and you became excruciatingly aware of his length pressing into your thigh.

"Oh," you gasped, eyes darting back to Geta.

Geta cupped your hand in his, stroking his fingers down your arm, dark eyes searing into you and pinning you in place. Through out it all, your left hand continued swirling in Caracalla's hair.

"It is okay," Geta said, "he only wants relief."

"It is okay," you nodded, dazed. You were not entirely sure that it was normal to feel such levels of arousal. Your own desire suffocated you, made you weak willed and pliable. It was easy to surrender yourself to it.

Your hand fell from Caracalla's hair as he got to his knees and began to shed his clothes until he was only wearing nothing. Unbidden, your hand rose once more to tangle in the reddish brown hairs of his chest. You tugged a little, going dizzy at the frantic way Caracalla looked down at you.

Geta began to adjust your clothes, raising your tunic until it rested at your neck, baring your body. He reached down and tweaked your nipple, craning his neck down to soothe the pain with his tongue. Embarrassment was mercifully absent, allowing you to arch into his mouth.

"So good for us," Caracalla purred.

You almost passed out when Caracalla's hand fisted around his own cock and began to stroke. His knees trembled next to you on the bed as he reached down to palm at your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipple against his skin.

Your hips began to undulate against the bed. Without thinking, you let your knees fall apart. Already you could feel the stickiness of yourself on your inner thighs. Geta sat up to admire you, hands pulling your legs further apart.

"I want to see how much you need us," he murmured.

Caracalla let out a strangled moan, hands working furiously on his flushed cock. It almost looked painful. Your mouth watered, tongue swiping at your lips, eager to soothe him. You were vaguely confused - that was one thing you had never done before. So how was it possible for you to want it so desperately?

Geta did not let you sit up. You could feel his hand on your inner thigh, keeping you spread, and there was no words for how badly you wanted that hand to touch your cunt.

"Why aren't you touching me?" you whined, twisting your hips, searching for some level of gratification.

"Sometimes the waiting makes it all the more sweet," Geta admitted. "Though Caracalla is not one for patience."

Caracalla finally took a measure of pity on you, swiping his hand through the slick mess of your cunt before securing it back on his own cock. Your clit throbbed at the brief touch.

"He proves my point," Geta quietly laughed, sliding his hand further in until finally his fingers were pressing against your swollen clit.

You almost shouted from the ripple of pleasure it sent up your spine. Geta did not stop. He began to rub tight, hot circles against your wet flesh until you were writhing, begging incoherently. Geta could not tear his eyes from your cunt and he inhaled deeply, relishing the heady scent of your skin.

"Geta, please," you moaned, rocking against his hand.

White, hot spurts of seed splashed across your stomach as Caracalla reached his end. Envious, you tried to clench your thighs around Geta's hand. Caracalla sagged into you, resting his face against your breast. The friction of your nipple against his cheek was enough to send your body splintering into pleasure.

It felt like insanity. They had wrung you dry, coaxing pleasure from you in ways that were unfamiliar to you. Climax sent any rational thoughts scattering from your brain until all you could think about was red hair and skilled fingers.

Just when you thought it was over, Geta tapped at your clit with his middle finger. Your thighs jerked at the contact and he laughed, biting playfully at the skin on your outer thigh. That felt good, too. Everything felt good with them.

"The stress does not feel so overwhelming now, I must admit," he said smugly, getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes.

The tent in his robes did not escape your attention. "What about you?" you asked.

Geta adjusted himself. "As I said, the waiting makes it sweeter."

You swallowed dryly, watching as he exited the room.

There was always a quiet buzz about the palace. A pleasant white noise that allowed you to sink into the lectus, fingers trailing the carved designs as you let your mind wander. As it got later you could hear it beginning to die down, the sound of people trailing off to bed and prepping for the next day slowly getting lower and lower until there was nothing.

Caracalla was surprisingly perky. He was flicking his way through several papers, expression floating somewhere between boredom and mild interest. Every now and then he would look up, as though to make sure you were observing him carrying out his duties, and then look back down. It was rather endearing, much to your chagrin.

Boredom was also beginning to take its toll on you. After careful deliberation, you went to make a request for wine. You made sure to say please and thank you; these people had once been your peers, after all. Every time you could not help but think that they might refuse you. They never did.

A young woman brought it to you, nervous and twitchy. You dismissed her with what you hoped was a warm smile, glancing down into the jug as you carried it to the table. You could smell the thick aroma of fermented grapes and inhaled, thirsty.

"Wine, Caracalla?"

"Mmm," he looked up, finally giving up all pretense of work and dropping his pen.

His face was open, earnest. You paused for a moment, offering him a tentative smile which he returned. Something warm flooded your chest as you bit your lip and turned to pour yourself and Caracalla a cup.

You set it on the desk, taking care not to spill any. Caracalla picked up the cup, swishing the wine around for a moment as he watched you. Under his gaze you felt warm, but it was not an unpleasant feeling.

You raised the glass to your lips, swallowing several mouthfuls without thinking. For a moment it tasted pleasant, similar to the wine you had enjoyed previously. Then it hit your esophagus your eyes bulged, hands flying out the slap Caracalla's cup away from his lips.

"Something isn't right," you choked, scratching at your throat, "something isn't right!"

Your knees buckled, forehead inches from the edge of the desk as you collapsed. There was a faint tingling in your tongue as you gagged hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Red-tinged bile spilt from your lips as you coughed and hacked. Your throat burned from the path the tainted wine had taken.

The noise of the palace was increasing once more.

Caracalla was suddenly kneeling in front of you, deathly pale and screaming. He gripped your jaw with one hand and forced his fingers down your throat, hard. It did the trick. You threw up, a disgusting mixture of food and wine. It burned just as much coming up as it did going down, agitating the tender patch caused by Caracalla's fingers.

You wanted to reach inside your own throat and pull it out, shake the poison from your body before it reached your stomach. You knew nothing about poison but your mind still raced, searching for any tidbit of information that might save your life. It was coming up disturbingly blank.

"How much did she drink?" Geta somewhere behind you, pulling back your hair. "Charcoal. Now!"

You heard the metallic slam of metal as the cup was launched across the room, glass shattering in it's wake. Panic consumed you, shoved you back into the light of reality with a harshness you had not been prepared for.

Even as Caracalla was shoving activated charcoal into your mouth, a distant part of your brain told you this should not have been possible. There were protocols, precautions.

"Poison tester?" you enquired, voice hoarse.

"Do not speak," Caracalla said, "where is the poison tester?"

It took an hour for you to stop throwing up. Even when all that was left was stringy bile, the charcoal was determined to make sure your stomach was entirely emptied. You could not be sure whether your shakiness, burning throat and pounding headache were a result of the induced vomiting or the poison.

Poison. Someone had tried to poison the emperors - poison you. It was you who had made the request for wine. It seemed the villain had struck again, boldly, desperately.

At some point, someone had kindly slid a bucket in front of you and a pillow underneath your knees. You looked up from the bucket, meeting Geta's anxious eyes. He was kneeling in front of you, pale and trembling. Caracalla was almost glued to your back, his legs on either side of you. You could see his hands, smeared with the black mark of charcoal. Your mouth automatically began to water and you gagged again.

"What happened?" you croaked.

"The poison tester has been beaten," he said, "badly, almost to the point of death. Someone must have put something into the wine after they were to have tasted it and had it sent up."

"Who?"

Geta's bottom lip shook. "The tester believes it was Macrinus. I do not believe he intended for him to live, but the gods are on our side."

Macrinus. A memory arose of that night in the entertainment hall, the way he had slithered up to you and asked you those questions. The way it seemed like he had already known the answers. He had made you afraid then, only at the time you could not comprehend why.

The master of gladiators. A man who had access to the emperors - who had been in a meeting with them, that day when you were attacked. It made your head swim. It made you doubt all others. Caracalla's paranoia began to make sense as you thought about the countless people surrounding the emperors, how easy it might have been for any one of them to do the same thing as Macrinus.

"Is he dead?"

His was a death you would be grateful for. A death you would feel no guilt over.

"The tester? No. Macrinus? He will be."

Geta reached out, laying a hand against your forehead. Until you felt the coolness of his rings you had not been able to tell how badly you were burning up.

"They do not yet know what poison was used," his admitted, "but they said that vomiting is a good sign."

"Where is Macrinus now?" you asked, shifting to ease the pressure on your knees. Uneasy, your eyes scanned the room as though you expected him to come leaping from the shadows, brandishing a dagger.

"He has likely been taken into custody. It is as you said; he could not resist another attempt. He became careless and decided to carry out the act himself," Geta nodded as he spoke, mostly to himself.

"Go," you insisted, squeezing his fingers. "Perhaps you can find out what he used."

It scared you to send Geta out into the palace in a way you had not expected. The only thing that eased your fear was that Macrinus had been caught . It had been him this whole time, you were sure of it.

Geta's nostrils flared as he debated, eyes darting from Caracalla to you. Caracalla shifted closer and said something over your shoulder that you did not catch. Whatever it was seemed to reassure Geta and he got to his feet, resolute.

The scene was grim. There was vomit splashed across the floor and carpet. You could see the wine you had knocked from Caracalla's hands too, tiny specks of it all over his clothing. Was it possible that the gods had taken mercy on you once more?

Lightheaded, you brought your hand down to rest on your stomach. What if you had been with child? Would this have destroyed the babe? Killed it in your womb before it could even take it's first breath? Perhaps, in saving you, the gods were trying to tell you something.

This was no place for a child.

Authors Note - the villain is finally revealed. An Anon sent me an ask suspecting it was Macrinus but I didn’t post just in case there was anyone who wasn’t sure! Not that it was super subtle

These murder attempts are beginning to take a toll on poor Reader. I wonder what she will do in response🤔 hopefully not anything super reckless and crazy!

Please make sure to like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed! Interaction is everything!

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370

@merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy @akamitrani @bocreep @justasmallbean @moompie @duckyhowls @justlibra @mama-frog @fionaapplelover2010

@verypoetrytraveler @darleniweenie

@feral-postings @honey-eyed-munson @an34l @happysparklingshadows @hiroshiro @slaytheusurper @1950schick @quaintquinn @queenofviolenceandnerds @001mon @fandom-princess-forevermore @lostsoldieronahill @boywivlove

[bbrainr0t]

POLICEMAN INSTINCT

pairing: hwang inho x fem reader

summary: after moving into a new apartment, you realize you're being stalked. thankfully, the older neighbour you've developed a tiny crush on just so happened to be a retired police officer who is determined to protect you.

warnings: age gap (reader is early twenties, he's late forties) slow burn, strangers to lovers, dry humping, masturbation, attempted sa (not by him) really mid smut, face slapping, scent kink, oral fixation, him being fatherly, reader is a bit of a perv, stalking, yander-ish vibes, touch starved reader, masochism, fluff, angst

word count: 13.4k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

it was the cheapest apartment you could find online. while it looked a little shady on the outside, the inside looked comparatively pleasant and clean. the hallway was narrow, and the shoes were placed outside the respective rooms. you just hoped you would have your privacy, and the walls aren't too thin. you've watched enough thrillers to know nothing good comes out of thin walls.

"is this all the luggage you got?" the landlady asks you, eyeing your bag and a suitcase. you hadn't packed much— you'd figured you'd just buy things from stores instead of bringing them from home. you nod, and she hums before offering you the keys.

"pay rent on time, and don't make too much noise." she tells you kindly, and you give her a polite smile. honestly speaking, she was loud enough herself.

as you fumble with the lock, she turns to leave. faint footsteps can be heard before a man appears, and the landlady steps to the side to allow him room to move.

"oh, inho!" she announces albeit too cheerily— making you almost jump. you turn around to peek over her shoulder as she continues. "you haven't paid your rent yet, just wanted to remind you."

you spot him then— the handsome older man with soft, fluffy looking hair who happened to be carrying a plastic bag with two goldfish in it. the sight makes you smile, and he clenches his jaw as he ensures the landlady that he'll pay the rent soon enough.

she nods before gesturing towards you, "and this is your new neighbour! she came here to study, isn't that nice? don't be grumpy with her like you were with your last neighbours!"

ah. a beautiful older man as your neighbour. perhaps, life is worth living.

he looks up at you, and you freeze slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious that she put you on the spot. you give him a light wave, and he nods in acknowledgement before turning back to her. the lady pats his shoulder and leaves, and you go back to fumbling with the lock. he walks slowly to his own door, before turning to you— his expression slightly blank as he says something.

his voice is so quiet that you don't hear it at first. your eyebrows rise in question and you look at him, blinking.

"push the key in a little and then twist." he repeats, showing you the gesture with his own key. you look at him, a little confused before letting out an 'oh!' and following his steps— and as expected, the door opens. you turn to him and give him a sheepish smile, "thank you."

he doesn't return the smile but nods nonetheless. he opens his own door and steps inside, and then slams the door behind him, leaving you a little baffled.

you shrug the behaviour off and carry your bag to the bed. the room is clean, but you know exactly how you're going to personalize it so it looks more like you. you got your favourite bedsheets with you and everything, and the idea of decorating gives you a light sense of excitement.

it's when you decide to go to the bathroom that you realize you haven't gotten one of the most important things needed— hand soap. you wince to yourself as you look through your luggage, finding nothing. hesitantly, you look to the door, wondering if you should go out and buy some, or borrow some from your new neighbour, who although being incredibly handsome, also intimidates you slightly. you don't want to disturb him, but it's already late enough— you are too tired to go out.

you knock on his door, biting your lower lip in anticipation. you hope he's not asleep, you'd hate to be the one who wakes him up. he opens the door soon enough, looking you up and down, "can i help you?"

"i'm sorry, i hope you weren't asleep," you give him a polite smile, "i was wondering if i could borrow some handsoap? i forgot to buy some."

he frowns before nodding, closing the door. you fidget with your fingers while you wait, and he opens the door again before handing you a bottle.

you thank him, and he closes the door before you get to say goodnight. you don't allow yourself to think he's rude— you were the one disturbing him, afterall.

the next morning, you're up early. it's a new day of your independence and you want to explore the library before attending classes. you recheck if you have everything before exiting the room— only to be met with your neighbour.

"good morning!" you greet him cheerily, and he nods and replies with a quiet 'morning, kid.'

you figure he's just woken up, judging by the light rasp in his voice. it makes you feel flustered.

"wait— sir, hold on." you say quickly, and rush back inside your apartment. you deliver his handsoap back to him, and he rubs his eyes.

"thank you for this."

"going to college?" he asks, blinking a few times, and you nod. "is it far?"

"half an hour ride from the bus stop," you shift your weight on your feet. "not that far."

"that's good," he frowns, scratching his chin, "study well, kid."

you grin at him, perking up. you introduce yourself to him, and give a light bow. the corner of his mouth curls up slightly.

"i'm inho," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, "get going now, you don't wanna be late."

"oh yes, inho sir." you bow again and quickly rush down the stairs. you're pretty sure you hear him call out something like, 'drop the sir!' but you ignore it with a smile— your day already feeling brighter with the positive interaction, even if it was just polite small talk.

no matter how exhausting classes were, you were insistent on having a pleasant day. you knew the best way to survive any place was by making friends— and for now you didn't have many options other than your older neighbour.

at the bakery, as you eyed all the delicacies— you didn't know what to choose. you didn't know his preferences. does he like sweets? but what if he has diabetes? you immediately push the thought away, and simply stick to some nice bread that you could have with tea. and then while walking back to the bus stop, you buy some fishfood. a google search also lets you know that goldfish quite like frozen peas— so you buy a little of that too.

back in the apartment, you feel a little nervous as you knock on his door. there is no response, and you almost turn around and leave before a voice coming from behind you makes you jump.

"oh my god!" you shriek, twisting around, holding a hand to your chest. inho is standing behind you, looking tired as he gestures you to lower your voice. you immediately clasp a hand over your mouth and bow in apology before straightening up.

"you scared me!"

"forgive me," he blinks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "did you need something?"

a little distracted by his face, you almost forget what you had to say. but before you could embarrass yourself further, your mind brings you back to earth, "oh! yes— sorry."

"i wasn't sure if you liked sweets so i just got you bread. you know, as a thank you for helping me last night," you awkwardly push the bag towards him, "and uh— i saw you had goldfish so i got some fishfood for them. i also read they liked peas, so."

he looks down at the bag, then at you. you swallow hard, "i didn't poison it, i swear."

that elicits a chuckle out of him, and he gently takes the bag. your fingers brush together, and you try not to chase the warmth of his hand. perhaps, you're a little touch starved.

"there was no need for this," he says kindly. you step to the side to allow him to access his door. "but thank you."

"do you wanna eat together?" you blurt without thinking. "i mean, if you're not busy. no pressure, i'm sure you have things to do but—"

"relax," he gives you a light smile— it makes the cute little crinkles by his eyes more prominent. it's contagious and you smile back. he clears his throat, "there's a park not far from here. would you like to walk with me?"

"yes!" you say a little too excitedly before lowering your voice. "yes— absolutely. hold on."

you recklessly open your door and toss your bag inside. with a glance over your shoulder to ensure he's not looking, you quickly reapply your lipgloss before turning to him and locking the door behind you.

"ready?" he asks, a hint of a smile on his face. his voice is teasing, and you can't help but grin in return.

as the sun set, pink and orange hues danced across your skin like glitter. you could see people walking, chatting; couples holding hands and feeding each other cotton candy. it made your heart pang a little, so you redirected your attention to the sky, where birds seemed to be flocking back to their homes. you would've taken a picture, but you decided against it.

"have you been here long?" inho asks, and you turn to see his eyes looking at you intently. "liking it so far?"

"just a few months," you answer politely, walking with a skip in your step. he doesn't realize how grateful you are that he's talking to you— you've felt rather lonely these past few weeks. "i got a scholarship and the opportunity was too good to miss. it's really nice, much better than my hometown, i'd say. i'm relieved to be here, even though it's taking some time to adjust."

"you can come to me if you need anything," he says softly, and you give him a grateful nod, gaze full of barely disguised admiration.

"thank you, i appreciate it."

"and your family?" he asks again, his hands clasped behind his back. he looks so authoritative this way, you think, he's actually adorable. and kind.

"they're back home," you twist around and walk backwards, facing him as you mimic his stance. hands behind your back. he smiles at your antics and it makes your heart skip a beat. "i talk to them regularly."

"that's good." he hums, nodding, a glint in his eyes. "kids don't realize how much parents worry. make sure you don't mix with the wrong crowd."

"noted, sir." you tease, and he snorts.

"drop the 'sir,' will ya?"

"only if you drop the 'kid,' sir."

that makes him laugh, and you feel a strange sense of pride at your little achievement. the park is pleasant, and you're more amazed by how well maintained it is. he mindlessly guides you to a bench with a light touch on your waist, and your stomach feels tingly at the action.

he brings out the bag, tears the bread in half and gives you the bigger one, despite your protests.

"those flowers are so pretty," you point towards a flower bed, and he hums nonchalantly.

"never met a girl who doesn't like flowers."

"what's not to like?" you shift to face him properly, "they maintain this park really well. it's very clean."

"i suppose we do value cleanliness a lot," he looks around, his cheeks puffing up like a squirrel as he eats. it looks so utterly cute, you would have cooed if you had no social cues. "i remember seeing them plant those last year. some kids accidentally skated over the left side and had to pay a fine."

"ouch," you wince, eyebrows furrowing. "say, sir, what do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

he stiffens slightly and stops chewing. you contemplate killing yourself right there out of sheer dramatics— you don't want to make him uncomfortable because this is your only chance at developing a relationship with someone that is not your pillow or your phone.

"i was a police officer," he answers, swallowing his food. he claps the dust off, wipes his hand on his pants after, "retired."

"retired?!" you gasp unintentionally, "you don't look that old."

he throws his head back and laughs— his eyes crinkling. you're mesmerized, the mere sound of it making your heart feel warm. which, you think, is not normal. not after interacting with someone who is still a stranger.

"how old do you think i am?" he asks between chuckles.

you give him a sheepish smile, delaying your response by choosing to finish the bread first. "i'd say.. late thirties or early forties."

he winces with a groan, dramatically clutching his heart, "try late forties. almost fifty."

it makes you fucking giggle— like some lovesick fool. a schoolgirl with a crush. it's so embarrassing, but you decide to let yourself have this one thing— to enjoy a conversation without thinking about how stupid or obvious you might look to the outsider.

"you don't look that old!" you protest, "seriously! plus, you're pretty fit for your age!"

the last comment was not something you had decided to say, but you're bad at thinking before speaking. you prefer to be just as shocked at your responses as the other person.

"you think i'm fit?" he asks a little teasingly— there's a smug smile on his face, and you feel idiotic. of course, a man like him would know he's fit. he's handsome, he must hear it everyday. he must be so amused that you decided to state the obvious. and you clear your throat, your cheeks suddenly feeling hot. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing— and you swallow the embarrassment.

"you know you're fit." you huff softly, and he shakes his head. his smile only grows bigger as he looks away, instead choosing to watch the sky darken.

you're glad he doesn't say much after, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. you hope it is comfortable for him, atleast, because there's a storm brewing in your head— berating you for being so obvious. perhaps, you need to find a boyfriend soon, or your little impulsive comments would get you in trouble. you don't even know if the man is single, for god's sake. your eyes drift down to his hands— no ring.

"you live alone?" you blurt out again, despite your better judgement. it's such a stupid question— the apartment rooms are tiny, of course he lives alone. are you stupid?!

he turns to look at you, eyebrow quirked. the air feels heavy now, because he looks tense again, almost thoughtful.

"yes," he nods, frowning slightly. his lips quirk down, and he swallows hard. "my wife passed away a few years back."

"oh." shit, you think to yourself. way to go, idiot. "i'm so sorry."

"it's fine," he gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

you straighten up, "if there's anything i can do—"

he stands up abruptly, adjusts his pants. your eyes drift down a little before you physically force them to look up at him again.

"we should get going." he says, rolling his shoulders back. he gives you a hand, "it's getting late. you must have class tomorrow."

'it's sunday,' you almost mumble, but thankfully your mouth keeps shut this time. you shyly take his palm and stand up, and he pulls his hand back to run it through his hair almost awkwardly. you try not to miss the way it felt— which is insane. you shouldn't be thinking this way.

the walk back is relatively silent, and you internally beat yourself up about ruining the mood. you might be overthinking this, but this man genuinely seems nice, and you don't really have anyone else to rely on outside of university.

'if there's anything i can do,' you were saying. what could you have done, you idiot? what were you offering to a widowed man twice your age? fucking dummy.

lost in thoughts as you walk up the stairs, your foot misses a step and you trip. before you can fall, inho is stabilizing you with a swift grab, and you yelp as you crash into him, squeezing your eyes shut. instinctively, you grab his arms as tightly as you can.

"oh god," you take a sharp breath, your head falling forward onto his chest more out of shame than relief. "am i dead?"

"clumsy girl." he chuckles, and you open your eyes, hoping that once you do you'll wake up to your room; concluding this mess as a nightmare.

but no, your vision adjusts and is met with his beautiful face. and he looks amused. you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist— very respectfully even though you wouldn't mind it the opposite way. you feel warm all over and the way you've been acting since you met this man is driving you crazy. perhaps you might have to sleep the bad luck off. he gently lets go of you, and you pull away quickly, cheeks flushed. you lean against the wall, groaning.

"still alive," he remarks playfully. you tiredly run a hand down your face.

"i'll just take a nap." you mumble defeatedly, and he nods. you gesture towards the stairs. "thanks for that."

he steps aside and puts his hands in his pockets, and you fumble with your lock and go into your room as fast as possible— ready to bury your head in pillows and avoid this man as much as possible.

ᥫ᭡.

the first weird instance happened during work. you'd signed up for an internship after college hours— it was more of volunteer work. no actual pay other than some incentives based upon performance, which you were okay with. you just needed some experience for your portfolio. most of it included you getting your seniors coffee, designing posters and promoting new events for college.

you were giving some finishing touch ups for the newest poster for a debate competition when a package was placed before you. you looked up at your classmate, confused.

"these are for you." she said.

you frowned, looking at the package — a bouquet, to be specific. it was nothing too extravagant— but flowers all the same. white jasmines paired with some baby breaths, finished with a little bow.

"who sent these?" you asked, visibly baffled. she shrugged, took one look at your work before walking off. you sat straighter, checking the bouquet for any card— there was nothing.

you were confused as you walked back to the apartment. the flowers were a nice surprise— but they also had you worried. you couldn't help but wonder if it was some guy from work, but you don't remember getting close with anyone, atleast not enough for gifts. your confusion was evident on your face as you reached your door. holding the bouquet in one hand, you fumbled with the lock.

"those are nice," you heard a voice behind you. you turned, a smile appearing on your face at the sight of inho.

"hello!" you greeted, facing him. he glanced at the flowers, gaze unreadable, before turning to you.

"you came later than usual." he remarked casually.

"yeah, i've taken up this internship thing for college." you replied politely, leaning against your door. he nodded in understanding, tilting his head towards the bouquet.

"it's going well, i see."

you chuckled awkwardly, "i don't know where they came from." you glanced at the flowers, leaning in to inhale the scent. "my classmate said these were for me but there was no card. it's weird."

"perhaps it's a secret admirer," he joked dryly, unlocking his own door, "stay safe, kid."

you frowned at his words, nodding, before entering your own room.

the flowers didn't stop after. almost every two days, a new bouquet would appear. it was ridiculous. one day it would be just pretty tulips, the other it would be white clovers. it was driving you absolutely insane. and the worst part was, you had no idea who it was from.

you'd go to class, do your work, take the flowers, and go home. inho would make a joke about you being popular, and you would shrug it off and offer him some tea, and you'd pretend you didn't secretly hope he was the one sending them to you.

"maybe a guy has a crush on you," he'd said once. you were sitting at the stairs, analyzing the flowers as if your stare would prompt them to magically start speaking— these were camellias, as the google search suggested. pink. you'd glared at him tiredly, eyes begging for some answers. from anyone.

he'd raised his hands in defence, chuckling a little. he had taken a seat on the stairs beside you, looking at the flowers himself, eyebrows furrowed in focus and lips drawn into a thoughtful pout.

"did you know camellias express longing?" he stated casually.

you'd looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, "how'd you know that?"

he gave the flowers a somber smile, a dejected look in his eyes. "you learn certain things when you get married."

your curiosity had faded into sadness then. immense melancholy for the kind man sitting beside you.

and because of course, he was thinking of his wife. he'd probably given his wife flowers, adored her with everything he had. kissed her and made love to her, and then life took her from him.

you don't stand a chance. not even in your fantasies.

ᥫ᭡.

you were being watched.

you realized this not long after receiving your first bouquet. few days later, you'd seen a man wearing the same jacket everywhere you went. it was making you feel uneasy. you could never see his face— he would disappear almost instantly after you turned around.

first, you recognised the feeling while shopping for groceries. it made you feel so terrified, you ditched the milk and went straight home.

you'd had to borrow some milk from inho that day, and thankfully he had extra which he generously gave to you. even offered to make you some tea. you didn't know if he noticed your distress, but if he did, you were thankful he didn't ask you about it.

the next, it was during daytime. you were waiting for your bus when you saw the glimpse of that jacket— and once again, it disappeared almost as soon as you recognised it.

it was after the fourth day that you had decided that you'd had enough. you were violently knocking on inho's door— teary eyed and scared out of your mind.

he opened the door, his agitation blending into worry at the sight of your face. he utters your name so softly, and you hold back the urge to scream. "what's wrong?"

"you were a police officer, right?" you look at him, panic stricken. "i think i'm being watched. i don't think— i know i'm being watched. i swear, someone is stalking me, first the flowers—"

"hold on, take deep breaths," he puts his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to breathe along with him. you follow, and feel your heart rate calm down. he looks out into the hallway before stepping aside. "come inside."

reluctantly, you walk into his room. you realize then that it's the first time you've been in his apartment— and the idea, even in your moment of suffering, makes you feel warm. excited, even. there's a few books on his bed, and he puts them aside on his table and makes room for you to sit. you can see the goldfish in the tank, and the packet of fish food you bought for them sits by it.

"i like van gogh too." you mumble shakily, pointing at the book on his desk. he hums, guiding you to sit.

you take a seat on his bed, gaze lowered as you fidget with your hands. he grabs a chair and sits on it, facing you. he spreads his legs, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on the actual problem at hand.

"tell me everything," he says softly, crossing his arms over his chest. his shirt is folded up to his elbows, and you physically force yourself not to stare at the veins mapped across his arms.

"the flowers," you start, "they've gotten more frequent. i don't know who's sending them to me. i've asked everyone at work. i don't even talk to guys that much for any of them to be doing all that. and i've been seeing this guy follow me everywhere—"

"you've seen his face?" he asks, expression serious and focused. he looks even more handsome like this.

you pause, before shaking your head no.

"it's stupid, i know." you protest, leaning forward for emphasis, "it's like— a shadow. i haven't seen his face but i know he's following me. i think he might be behind the flowers too. but i'm just scared— i know i'm being stalked, you have to believe me."

"i do believe you," he shakes his head, leaning forward. his hand reaches out and grabs your own, "but you haven't seen his face, so it'll be hard to catch him. but trust me, i will not let anyone hurt you. do you understand?"

"i'm scared." you admit, voice small. you're a woman and you live alone— you don't have many friends and absolutely no family right now. you don't want to talk to your mother and worry her. you're terrified.

"hey, no tears," he whispers, thumb brushing across your cheek. you almost feel hypnotized at the action— you try not to lean into the comfort of his touch. "you'll be okay, i promise. you're safe with me."

you sniffle as you look at him, your hand limp in his hold. you tear your gaze away and nod, his words making you feel oddly at ease. you fidget with his hand before mindlessly holding his finger, and he smiles softly at that. with his free hand, he pats your head, "i have an idea."

you perk up slightly as you blink at him.

"why don't i pick you up from college?" he says softly, "it's not that far. it's hard to do anything during daytime, but in the evening i can come pick you up if you're scared. he'll see a man with you and back off himself."

you freeze, eyes widening. you can't ask him to do that. you chuckle awkwardly, face flushing as you look at your lap.

"i can't ask you to do that, it's fine."

"are you sure?" he asks, leaning down to make eye contact with you. it makes your heart flutter. "it's no issue for me. i think a walk everyday will keep me even more fit."

you can't help but giggle at that— and he smiles too. he grabs your chin and lifts your head up; and your breath hitches.

"come on, give me a real smile." he urges softly. it's so silly coming from him, that you can't help but grin— your fears temporarily forgotten. he pinches your cheek at that and nods in approval, "there she is."

"stop," you huff half heartedly, playfully slapping his hand away. you wish you could hide in your pillows— or dig a hole for yourself because of how flustered you feel. you can't believe how he could do this to you— it's strange how happy he can make you with just a few words. he tucks your hair behind your ear.

"why don't you have dinner and get some sleep? you must be tired."

you nod, blinking tiredly as you stand up. reluctantly, you let go of his finger, and he stands up as well as he guides you to the door. you look back at him, and he meets your gaze.

"thank you," you whisper softly, "you really made me feel so much better, you have no idea."

"i'm glad." he whispers back, and you just stare at him— at his sweet face and his kind eyes. you swallow hard, and you wonder if you hallucinated his eyes dart to your lips. either way, you push your thoughts aside.

he clears his throat and looks away, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "off you go."

"goodnight," you call back, and he nods with a smile before closing the door.

the next day after college— a miracle happened. a rather good looking classmate of yours approached you and praised you on your work. je-hyun, he introduced himself. he shared a few classes with you, and you remember him asking you for a pencil once. you two ended up bonding over liking the same shows, and he'd asked you if you were single. you two shared numbers, and you gave yourself an imaginary pat on the back.

apparently, the flowers had become a bit of a man repellent. he'd been wary of approaching you because he assumed you had a boyfriend, but you cleared the misunderstanding with a convincing explanation. you didn't want to take any chances.

this time, there were no flowers.

after work, the two of you walk out of the building. he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you turn to him. he opens his mouth to speak before his gaze falls on something over your shoulder, and he freezes.

you frown, looking over your shoulder in return.

inho greets you, getting off the wall he was leaning against with a cheery smile. you look at him, baffled.

"hey! uh—" you look at your— date? coworker? before turning to inho, "inho sir! what are you doing here?"

inho glances at je-hyun as well, eyes darting up and down indifferently before he turns to you. he smiles, patting your shoulder. "i had some work nearby so i thought i'd pick you up. especially seeing how scared you were last night. is that okay?"

he was so considerate— it immediately made your heart melt. you almost forgot about your date by your side, and you turned to him apologetically. you could always meet with je-hyun, but you cannot ask inho to go home after he took some time out for you. your decision is immediate. "i'm sorry, i should get going. see you tomorrow?"

je-hyun gave you a tight lipped smile, nodding. "see you, goodnight." he looked at inho warily, giving him a slight bow out of respect. you didn't get to see inho's response before he was wrapping an arm around your shoulder and dragging you away.

"i'm assuming that's the flower kid," he remarked casually, a small grin on his face as he walked straight ahead. you stumbled a little with his pace, but shook your head.

"no, i don't think that's him. he assumed i had a boyfriend because of the flowers," you smile slightly, thinking back to the conversation.

"you can't be sure with boys like him," he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. you immediately started missing the feeling of his arm wrapped around you. you feel insane for even thinking this way. especially considering you have a potential? love interest— someone your age.

"i can't believe you really came to pick me up," you change the topic, looking up at him. he doesn't know if the stars in your eyes are a reflection of the lights or your admiration. "you didn't have to."

"i know i didn't have to," he smirked slightly, looking around. "but like i said, i was in the area. and i didn't feel right leaving you by yourself. who knows what could happen to a little girl like you?"

the last line was teasing, and you gave him a little push for that. of course, he was unphased. but for the sheer dramatics, he pretended to be hurt— clutching his side and groaning like he had been shot. it makes you giggle, and you hide your mouth behind your hand, internally berating yourself for acting like a fool again. he chuckles before stopping you and dragging you back, "let's have dinner before we get back. you must be hungry."

you blink, your heartbeat suddenly rising. like a date? you wanted to ask, but decided against it. of course it's not a date. he could be your father, for god's sake. he's old enough. and his heart belongs to someone else. you doubt he'd ever think about dating someone like you. it sounds like a far fetched dream.

you nodded, shaking your thoughts off. "yeah, that sounds good."

and that entire night, you didn't feel the eyes of the stalker, nor the fear, even once.

ᥫ᭡.

you got the flowers again. yellow hyacinths paired with deep red roses— the colors creating a striking contrast against each other. so bright, it almost blinded your eyes. salient as the emotions the flowers represent— you feel like whoever is sending you these, is not happy with you.

"who keeps sending these?" the voice makes you jump, and you turn to see je-hyun standing over you. he narrows his eyes playfully. "is there an obsessed ex i should be worried about?"

you wave his concerns off, chuckling awkwardly, "none." you bite your lower lip, looking at the object of your torment placed on the table. you bite down on the end of your pen, thinking. "i'm actually worried. i haven't even met anyone who would do this."

"what about that strange man who came to pick you up?" he remarks offhandedly— and you almost take offense to his words.

"that's inho-sir. and he's not strange," you say a little too sharply, surprising even yourself, "he's my neighbour and he used to be a police officer. he came to pick me up because i was scared. he's very kind and would never do something like this."

"got it." je-hyun could sense your sudden hostility, and he tries to lighten up. "so he's like your dad?" he jokes, and you chuckle at that, giving him a shove with a huffed 'shut up.'

he asks you out to a party after, and you tell him to pick you up at nine.

the journey back home was tantalizing once again— there was a seed of dread brewing inside you. you felt increasingly scared as you travelled, so you picked crowds in hopes of blending in. you wished you had inho with you right now.

you took a nap after work and immediately got ready. you didn't have a lot of party wear with you, you don't like the overwhelming crowds or noises. you're easy to overstimulate, so you tend to stay away from parties. they're always much more bearable with people you know better, anyway. but you make do with what you have, and your lip gloss saves the day as always. there's a knock on your door and you open it to je-hyun looking cute as ever— with his boyish, dimpled smile.

"i wanted to bring you flowers," he says innocently, holding out a box, "but i feel like you're traumatized by them so i got chocolate inst—"

he doesn't get to finish his sentence before you're letting out the most ridiculous laugh ever. he's adorable, and this alone has made you like him so much. you compose yourself, stand straighter and place a kiss upon his cheek— leaving an imprint of your lipgloss on his skin. he blushes, and you grin. "thank you—"

"date night?"

you both turn around to the voice— inho has stepped out of his room, looking cozy and fresh. wearing a sweater vest over a crisp white shirt, finishing with a large black coat. he looks so... soft and gentle. it almost distracts you.

you bite your lower lip, suddenly feeling flustered. his gaze is unreadable as it drags down your body— and out of respect, you adjust your dress a little.

"i'm je-hyun," your date takes the initiative to introduce himself, bowing deeply. there's slight humour in his voice, "you must be her father—"

you elbow him in the ribs, and he doubles over. inho lets out a snort, looking down. you notice he doesn't introduce himself in return. he clenches his jaw, tongues his cheek before looking at you with a glint in his eyes. you wonder if he looks angry, but you can't really tell. it wouldn't make sense anyway.

"going somewhere?" you ask, voice a little high pitched out of sheer nervousness. you don't know why, but you feel rather awkward. you don't understand why you feel like you're betraying him, in a way. perhaps it's because inho has quite literally been the only man you've been regularly interacting and engaging with so far. that's why standing with another guy in front of him feels so... strange. no other reason.

he clears his throat and nods, "out for drinks with an old colleague." he frowns after, cocks his head towards your legs. your dress is not really short, it comes to your knees. but you still feel exposed in front of him.

"don't you feel cold?"

"i'll wear a coat," you tell him, snatching your coat off from where it was hanging behind your door. "well— um. see you."

inho is the first to leave— after giving your date an up and down look of what you can only consider disgust or disapproval. je-hyun pouts a little as he straightens up, before grabbing your hand and dragging you down the stairs.

the party fucking sucks. the noises are too loud, the lights are too flashy, and everyone is drunk. you don't understand their drunken rambles, and you almost tripped twice. you've stumbled into atleast three couples making out, and you don't know how to dance without looking stupid.

je-hyun had kissed your cheek before going off to get drinks. a sprite for you, as you'd demanded. except he never returned. you know life isn't a movie, but at this moment, you'd rate yours a solid 1.5 stars.

a girl accidentally steps on your foot and you wince, hopping on one leg as you go out the back door. there, you put on your coat tighter around yourself, shaking as you glare at the wall in front of you.

you could really use a cigarette. and you don't even smoke.

you bring out your phone and shoot je-hyun a text. it is left on delivered, and you grunt in irritation before looking to the side.

defeated, angry and hurt at being abandoned, you immediately choose to leave. you hold back the urge to send je-hyun a text calling him an absolute dick, and try not to make eye contact with anyone as you walk down the road. it's late, the sky is dark and you have another fear on your mind right now. you look out for a taxi— but none come to your rescue. your luck has run out.

you mutter all sorts of curses to yourself on the way back— until you hear footsteps. you pause, suddenly feeling that same dread seize you again.

you're being followed.

you start walking quickly, and the prickling sensation of being watched doesn't leave. you turn around abruptly — and there's no one there, except from a few friend groups walking out of the club. you pick up your pace and start jogging back, looking around for taxis. you can see the park near your apartment in the distance — and you let out a breath of relief.

you hear a little 'meow,' and you immediately turn around. you love cats— you've been dying to have one. despite your better judgement, you walk closer to the dark alley the voice came from. a kitten is there, meowing at you. your heart melts into a puddle and you coo, instantly following it. you look around, there's no stores nearby, or you would've bought it some food. you gently pick it up, scratching it's ears.

"its my cat."

there's a shabby man standing in front of you— reeking of alcohol and trash. you freeze, looking at him awkwardly as you let go of the cat. his eyes trail down, settle on the silver of your skin peeking out from under the coat. instinctively, you wrap it tighter around yourself, and he steps forward, grinning.

"i have more! do you want to see?"

you give him an awkward, polite smile. in situations like these, its best to subtly pull yourself away. you take a step back and shake your head, "no, thank you."

"it won't take long," he convinces, a hand reaching out. "you could even take one with you—"

you're turning around to run, but his hand grabs your arm and drags you closer. you scream, but he shushes you, pinning you to the wall. you feel like throwing up. you raise your knee and kick him in the shin, and he lets go of you. you quickly start dashing off, but your heel oh so conveniently breaks and you trip. you fall face first onto the floor and his hand grabs your leg and starts dragging down.

you let out a shriek and kick at his arm, but he's lunging at you, trying to grab your face with his dirty hands. you take that moment to release your frustrations of the day upon him— with all the strength you can muster, you pull your head back before crashing it against his face.

"you bitch!" he screams and so do you— and he falls back, clutching his bleeding nose. he tries to lunge at you again, but you scream as loud as you can, trying to crawl away from him.

someone grabs you and starts pulling you up, and out of reflex you thrash and try to hit the other person. your wrist is clasped firmly in a bigger hand, and the sight of inho's face immediately fills you with relief. he helps you up, and before you can express gratitude, he's pushing you back and moving forward.

you flinch at the sound of the first kick. it happens so fast that you don't even realize it— your eyes widen as inho kicks the man over and over again. the sound of his bones cracking fills your ears, and you almost gag at the sight of the blood mixing with the dirty ground. inho looks unphased for the most part— except he's panting, and his hair is falling across his forehead. sweat runs down the side of his face, and he wordlessly turns around, eyes cold in a way that is foreign to you.

perhaps it's the shock of the sudden turn of events, but you can't speak. all you can think about is the rage that is so prominently etched onto his beautiful face, and how easily he stomped on that man like he was nothing. and how thankful you are that he showed up somehow when you needed him. after your date abandoned you. like magic.

he walks up to you, and you let out a shaky breath before allowing your head to fall onto his chest. he squeezes his eyes shut and pats your back, before cupping your cheeks and lifting your head up. he analyzes your face, gently caresses the new scratches on your chin before his gaze drops to your shoes— a broken heel and multiple scratches on your knees.

"are you okay?" he asks softly, and you hold his palm, ensuring it stays pressed against your cheek. you look at him like he's your only saviour— and you feel that way too. your lips wobble and he looks away.

"tired." you mumble— throat feeling dry. you feel dizzy, and your legs hurt. you're pretty sure you feel like throwing up too.

wordlessly, he bends down slightly, gestures towards his back with a tilt of his head. "come on."

you hesitate, looking at him with shock, before gently allowing your front to splay across his back. you link your arms around his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around your legs. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you lean your weight into him, resting your head along his shoulder. he shifts slightly so you're more comfortable, his hold on you steady and confident. one of your shoes drop, and you don't look back at it. you don't care anyway.

you hear another faint meow before the kitten is out of earshot.

you resist the urge to cry as he carries you up the stairs. you sniffle, burying your head in his back, deeply inhaling the comforting smell of the man you've started associating with home. your legs dangle off his sides and your heart feels heavy. his silence makes you feel so eternally grateful.

you don't know how you got lucky enough to have someone like him by your side.

he doesn't even put you down when you reach your apartment— merely mumbles a soft, "keys?" and you straighten up slightly, shuffling in your coat pocket before leaning forward to open the lock— unable to resist the urge to chuckle just slightly at how endearing this whole situation is, despite everything.

he takes you inside, and your cheeks flush slightly. your clothes are all over the bed— thanks to your indecisiveness while getting ready for the date. he gently places you down on the floor, and you sniffle, quickly covering the clothes with a blanket— eliciting a snort out of him.

"why were you coming home alone?" is the first question he asks. "what happened to the kid you were with?"

"I don't know," you whisper, looking away. you suddenly feel embarrassed— how immature, how careless je-hyun looks in front of a man like inho. you never should've went on that date. "he just.. he disappeared at the party."

he clenches his jaw, his hands resting on his hips as he looks to the side. there's another vein popping in his neck— and if you had the guts, you'd lean up and kiss it.

"that little boy—" he spits with vitriol, the words coming from a deep place of resentment. he takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself, "he never should've left you alone. you should've never decided to walk home alone. why didn't you take a taxi?"

you swallow hard— he certainly doesn't make you miss your father. he's doing his job for him.

"there were no taxis."

"why didn't you just call me?" he asked again, stepping forward, eyebrows raising. "i could've come picked you up."

you pause. you didn't know that was an option. you really didn't think of it.

"I don't know." you replied lamely.

"didn't you say you have a stalker?" he snaps, "how can you be so careless?"

"i really don't want a lecture right now," you reply dejectedly, looking away. your voice lowers to a mumble as you rub your arm. "tonight has been harsh enough."

his face softens and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. he throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, squeezes his eyes shut before looking at you again.

"forgive me." he says earnestly, tilting his head, "i worry about you."

you nod, fidgeting with your coat. he watches you silently before stepping back.

"you should take a warm shower. i'll grab the first aid and take care of that." he gestures towards his chin, and the sting on your own chin starts to settle in.

this time, you don't argue. you toss your coat to the side, grab your toiletries, don't even bother asking him to leave before you go into the bathroom and wipe the memories of this night off you.

inho is waiting on your bed when you return. you hope he didn't hear the sound of you crying— it was rather pathetic. your skin is flushed with how much you scratched it, and worst of all, you ended up gently banging your forehead against the cold wall over how badly your date went. your fault for thinking you could have a positive experience with a man.

you clutch your bathrobe tightly, the water from your hair soaking through the towel. you put it down, and he gets up from the bed and pats down the empty space, telling you to sit down.

you notice your bed looks a little neater than you left it. your clothes are folded nicely by the corner and your bedsheet is straightened properly. it makes you blush, and you give him a sheepish look. he doesn't acknowledge it as he kneels before you.

"you don't have to—" you start, half heartedly.

"let me."

his voice is soft yet so firm, you end up following through. there is nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of by a man like him. you shift slightly, hoping that he takes the flush of your cheeks as an effect of your warm shower.

he settles your leg on his thigh, and shifts your bathrobe just slightly so your knee is exposed. he examines it before applying some ointment on it. the touch of his gentle fingers almost has you whimpering— but you clear your throat and fidget nervously with your fingers. he grabs hold of your ankle, looking thoughtful as his thumb brushes across your skin.

the silence between you two feels heavy and suffocating. the tension could be cut with a knife— and the way he touches you is so intimate, it makes you want to climb into his arms and just cling to him till you fall asleep.

thankfully, he makes the decision for you. he places your feet back down and straightens slightly, wordlessly applies some cream on your chin too. it stings a little but it's bearable. he hums, closes the box and puts it aside.

as you open your mouth to speak, you can hear multiple notifications coming through your phone. his eyes snap up, and so do yours— you reach out and grab it out of your coat pocket, and he glares at it as you check.

"is it the boy?" he asks.

you bite your lip, glancing at the multiple texts of je-hyun apologizing through the notification panel. you're bitter, and you don't want to respond, not right now. inho grabs your hand, takes your phone away and places it by your side.

"you shouldn't go back to him," he advices quietly. there's an intensity in his eyes, an emotion that is hard to read. "after tonight, he's proven he's not worth your time. he abandoned you."

you bite your lower lip. he's right— but then again, a part of you wants to ask. so who should i go to? who is worth my time?

you clear your throat and shift on the bed.

"thank you for tonight," you whisper instead, allowing yourself more time to think about how to deal with je-hyun.

"thank you?" he chuckles, amused, "you'd taken care of that guy pretty well yourself. i just finished the job."

"but still," you protest, feeling a sense of pride at his comment. "he would've grabbed me again if you hadn't come."

he snorts, looking down at his lap. and your words remind you of an important question.

"how'd you know i needed help?"

he tenses, his eyes snapping up to yours again. you can't tell what he's thinking, but he merely chuckles, "i was walking in the park when you screamed. immediately alerted me." he raises a finger to his ear. "policeman instinct."

you laugh at that. his explanation makes sense. of course he has a policeman instinct. you wouldn't expect anything else.

he stands up, groaning as he stretches a little. the action makes his sweater rise up, revealing a silver of his tummy— and your eyes dazedly drop down, glancing at it with barely disguised hunger, until he's relaxing again. you snap yourself out of your trance and cough, looking away.

he looks down at you, all tired eyes and soft hair. in moments like these, you think of how sweet he looks. so gentle, and kind, and caring. sweet mister inho, who has been so generous, protecting you, caring for you, wanting nothing in return. who gave you a piggyback ride home when you felt like you would pass out from terror, who put cream on your wounds with the tenderness of a parent or a lover.

perhaps it's that sentiment, your touch starved nature, or your horrible day that prompted you to do it. or lust from that little glimpse of his skin. either way, you're fucked. you lean forward and wrap your arms around his waist, immediately burying your head in his stomach as you whisper thank yous to him— clinging to him like a lifeline.

he stumbles back in shock, stiffens slightly before relaxing— awkwardly shifting to accommodate you. he laughs slightly, and the rumble sends happy vibrations through your whole body. his hand settles on your head, gently playing with your hair.

"i told ya," he said gently, an amused smile on his face. "i won't let anyone hurt you."

a little embarrassed, you let go of him, pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ear.

"sorry," you mumble sheepishly.

"it's fine," he nods, taking a deep breath. he adjusts his sweater, looks around before giving you another smile. he pats your head. "get some sleep, okay? it's late. i'll check on you tomorrow."

you nod, and he leaves. you bite your lower lip as you replay the hug, and don't find the effort to get up and dress yourself before you're squealing into your pillow— all thoughts of je-hyun forgotten temporarily.

you don't see je-hyun in classes the next day, but he comes to work after college. the first thing he does is approach you, even when you push your head into your tablet while trying to imply how you absolutely do not want to talk to him.

"i can explain," he says with worry, "someone drugged me. i didn't want to leave you alone. i swear, i woke up in the toilet hours after. first thing i did was text you."

you sigh, rolling your eyes as you looked at him boredly, "drugged? that's the excuse you're going with?"

"why would i ditch you on purpose!" he hisses, leaning down. your argument gathers the attention of a few of your coworkers, and your senior warns you to get back to work. you sigh and look away from him.

"whatever it is—" you begin as politely as you can, "I don't think i'm ready to date. so maybe you should just—"

he sighs your name in agitation, and you quirk your eyebrow at him.

"you're really giving up on me after one fuck up?" he asks, frowning, "which wasn't even my fault? i was drugged—"

"i almost got assaulted on the way back," you hiss, standing up abruptly. your noses press together, and you pull back the moment his eyes drift to your lips. you pinch the bridge of your nose, before tilting your chin up and pointing at the bandage. he blinks, gaze filled with guilt. you sigh.

"maybe we could give it a go after some time if you're still interested, but i don't think i have the patience for this right now. last night was really hard on me. can you respect that?"

he looks like a kicked puppy at your words, but he steps back nonetheless. he clenches his jaw as he nods— before leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

the feeling of being watched has numbed you. you try not to care on your way back home— you have too much to do to care about that anyway. your dress from last night and your coat got dirty, so it seems like the perfect time to have a laundry day.

it's only when you're gathering all your clothes that you realize what's wrong.

your clothes are missing.

a pair of panties and your favourite camisole top. it's pink and has a little bow in the middle and you remember bringing it very clearly because you have taken a billion pictures in it. you wore them two days back— and tossed them carelessly in the laundry basket. you check once, and twice.

they're missing.

your first thought immediately goes to the stalker. is there any way he found your home? came into your room? stole your undergarments like a fucking sicko?

your second thought feels a little.. illegal to say the least. but.. inho wouldn't do something like that, would he? no, he's a good guy. a kind, rule following member of society. he used to be a police officer, for fuck's sake. he wouldn't do something like that, would he?

you can't lie, the idea that he could makes something in your stomach flip.

you can't go and straight up ask him, 'hey mister, did you take my panties?' so you do the next best thing. you devise a plan to be alone in his room.

you put on your best panic stricken expression as you knock on his door, and he opens almost immediately. his face falls into one of concern as he looks you up and down, "what's wrong—"

"i need pads," you say sheepishly, biting your lower lip as you step into his room. he doesn't protest as he looks at you. "i got my period and i don't have any and it hurts to go to the store. inho sir, could you please go buy me some? please?"

for added effect you let out a groan, holding your stomach as you fall onto his bed. you lie in a fetus position, and the worry etched onto his face almost makes you laugh.

"do you need anything else?" he asks, grabbing his wallet. you shake your head no, release another groan before he's slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

you wait for a few minutes— until you can hear the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and fading away. you get up quickly then, look around his room with your heart pounding against your chest.

the first place you look is his cupboards— only his clothes to be found. you rip off his blanket and look under the pillows, searching desperately. you almost feel bad— he seems like such a good man, and you're taking advantage of his kindness by doubting him like this. you almost stop and leave, before the sight of his laundry basket has you pausing.

you look at the door before turning back and approaching it. you sit on the floor and shuffle through it, but you can't find a glimpse of your undergarments anywhere. you can find his though— and it makes you blush slightly.

you find his shirt then— white and plain and you remember him wearing it under his sweater last night. with shaky hands, you bring it out. biting your lower lip, against your morals, you clutch it and bring it up to your nose, inhaling the scent of his collar. it smells of him— of sweat and his cologne and it almost makes you moan.

like the fucking sicko you were worried about, you bury your face in it, your legs shaking as you lean further into it. another whimper escapes you. your eyes squeeze shut, and your mind starts flashing images of him, of his arms, of the vein in his neck, of his hair, of his smile—

it's been established already that your luck is horrible. that's why you don't realize it when the door opens and inho stands there, frozen, watching you sniff his clothes like a junkie. he drops the bag, and you freeze, your eyes immediately snapping open.

the way dread settles in your stomach is comical. you don't want to turn around, more so because it would mean acknowledging what you've been doing. he takes your name, and you turn ever so slowly, his shirt still clutched in your hands, pressed against your nose. as reality sets in, you're quickly tossing it back in the laundry basket and standing up like you've been electrocuted.

"i-it's not what it looks like—"

he doesn't say a word as he slams the door shut, very pointedly locking it. it sends a shiver of thrill up your spine, and he closes in on you ever so slowly as you try to explain yourself.

"i was just—" you're stuttering, voice breathless out of shame. you take a step back. "i was looking for something and i thought you had it and—"

he's just nodding patiently as you speak, eyebrows furrowed with mock sympathy. his hand suddenly shoots up to grab your neck, and your breath hitches as he pushes you against the wall.

"i thought you took my panties," you explain quickly, visibly panicking. "i couldn't find them and you were the only one who came into my room—"

"that's why you were sniffing my shirt like a little pervert?" he asks calmly, voice hushed, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. "because you couldn't find your panties?"

"sir—" you gasp, eyes fluttering as his hand squeezes slightly. your legs tremble, and you grab his wrist. "i didn't mean to—"

"dirty girl," he chuckles. before you can speak further, he's grabbing your waist, twirling you around and shoving you onto his bed. you fall upon it with a surprised gasp, and he climbs onto you effortlessly, caging you between his arms. "you think i don't understand the way you look at me with those pretty little eyes? like you're begging me to fuck you into the mattress?"

"oh fuck," you moan, your back arching off the bed. his mere voice has you feeling stupid. your lips wobble as you look at him pleadingly— licking your lips. "please—"

"yeah— like this," he chuckles, giving your cheek a little slap. it barely registers. doesn't hurt at all, feels like a little tap. but the action enough elicits the most desperate moan out of you, and he squeezes your cheeks, leaning down dangerously. "like a little slut."

you whine, biting your lower lip as you try to catch his lips. he merely laughs mockingly, shakes his head as he pouts playfully, "what? you want a kiss?"

you try to nod as best as you can, and he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth teasingly before letting go. you whine again, your hands holding onto his back— clutching the material of his sweatshirt with a desperation you didn't know you could feel.

"i knew you were a little messed up," he grunts, prying your thighs apart with his knees, before settling his hips upon yours. you can feel the bulge in his pants so evidently, and it makes you moan. with a warning glare, he squeezes your cheeks harder, making your lips pucker up. it makes him chuckle, and he gives your head a little shake. "giving your little 'fuck me' eyes to a man my age. do you act like this with everyone? with that fucking boy from college?"

his voice gets louder, harsher with his words and you shake your head desperately. his hips press against yours, and he starts grinding them against your clothed pussy— making you whine.

"j-just you—" you mumble, but he doesn't let you finish. his mouth is crashing onto yours, one hand grabbing your neck again and the other going under your waist, holding you in place.

the kiss leaves you breathless. teeth and tongue slam together, and you moan needily as he grinds against you, the action making a damp patch appear on the front of your pyjamas. your legs wrap around his waist and he grunts, his hips faltering slightly from shock before he continues, cocking his head to the side to access your mouth better.

your hand comes up to his hair, feeling the softness of it. he grabs it, brings your other one up too and holds both of your wrists in a massive palm— before raising them over your head and keeping them in place. he rises over you, his hips thrusting against yours, and you look at him dazedly. strings of your combined saliva separate and drip down your chin, and you blink.

"please inho sir—" you whimper, your hands twisting in his hold. "slap me again, please."

there's a glimpse of shock in his eyes but it goes away just as quickly. you don't even get to expect how fast his hand pulls back and strikes against your face— but you moan at the contact. it's harder than before and it stings, and it leaves the most delicious pain in it's wake. you almost hope it leaves a little print for you to wake up to tomorrow.

"god, you're a mess," he laughs breathlessly, grabbing your hair. you give him an almost drunken smile— your lips puffy and swollen, hips rising up to press needily against his bulge.

"my little mess—" he groans before gently slapping you again, and you whine, chasing his mouth with your own. he leans forward and silences you with the kiss you were so desperately begging for.

he's pulling back suddenly, a hand digging into his pockets. your eyes flutter open and before you know what's happening— he's stuffing your missing panties in your mouth. it baffles you— and he laughs at the way your eyes widen. he doesn't allow you to move as his hand slips inside your pyjama, immediately rubbing your clit.

the sudden stimulation doesn't allow you to dwell on the matter for long. so he did steal your panties— and you cannot question him, because you quite literally did the same thing. how can you call him out, when you were sniffing his worn shirt like a fucking pervert, yourself? he knows that too, judging by the glint in his eyes— as if he's daring you to attack him. you barely get to protest as you writhe under him, and he rubs your clit till you cum all over his hand— your loud moans muffled by your panties.

he pulls his hand out and licks your juices off with the nastiest slurp, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. you tremble in his hold, before he's hovering over your chest, his thighs caging you in. he looks down at you smugly, pulling his leaking cock out of his pants. your mouth immediately waters— it's thick and darker than the rest of him, and the tip is flushed red. he doesn't allow you to sit up, keeps it conveniently out of your reach as he begins stroking it, hand moving up and down with a soft, wet shlick.

your pleading is silenced by your panties. you desperately try to push them out of your mouth, to reach up and touch him, but he's restrained you too efficiently. he throws his head back, lets out a soft, raspy moan. drops of his precum land on your face as he furiously jerks off over you, his movements getting faster. your eyes flutter, and he cums with a throaty groan, his entire body tensing— splatters of his cum falling upon your mess of a face.

there's tears in your eyes as you look up at him, and he chuckles. he lets go of your hands, and you immediately toss your panties out and cough. you glance at his softening cock with devastation etched onto your features— before glaring up at him, lips drawn into a sad pout. he laughs at your misery, holds his wet hand out, "come on."

like a fucking puppy, you grab his hand. you don't even understand where this degeneracy is coming from— you don't wish to. you don't care. all you know is you need this man carnally, and you're not going to say no when he's offering himself on a silver platter. with sheer enthusiasm, you start licking his palm, eyes fluttering closed. you lick between his fingers, take two of them in your mouth, making him moan; before he's physically pulling you off him.

you whine in protest, and he pats your cheek while tucking himself back into his pants. you pant heavily as you come down from your high, allowing yourself a moment to think about everything that just happened. your cheek still stings, and you've just experienced what you can only classify as the horniest, hottest moment of your life.

you're so lost in thought that you don't register the moment he pulls you into his bed with him, placing your limp body atop his chest. you were given twin beds in your tiny apartments, but you realize you fit in here pretty well. like a puzzle. he pats your hair and places a soft kiss to your temple. you have many questions, but you don't know where to start.

"so i'm guessing you weren't on your period," he jokes, and you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you recall your little excuse. "i think that was smart. you'd make a pretty good investigator. as long as you don't go around sniffing their clothes—"

"shut up." you whine, glaring at him. he chuckles heartily, and your body feels warm. his hand goes down, slaps your ass teasingly.

"so you think i smell nice?"

"i said shut up."

"it's a yes or no question." he cooes, pinching your cheek. you whine, rubbing your cheek against his chest like a cat. yes, asshole. you wanted to say. you smell amazing.

in retaliation, you decide to ask your own question.

"were you jealous of je-hyun?"

he stiffens slightly, and you smirk. gotcha.

"that's a brave accusation." he retorts smoothly.

"it's a yes or no question," you shoot back teasingly, and he looks into your eyes.

"yes."

you pause then, a small smile appearing on your face. "yes? is that why you kept calling him a boy?"

he shrugs, looking up at the ceiling as his fingers run through your hair. "he is a boy. he couldn't take care of you like i could. and you already liked me before you started going out with him."

that punches the breath out of you.

"was i that obvious?" you ask dryly. he smiles, eyes darting down to you. he grabs your chin and tilts your head down, places a soft kiss upon your lips.

"policeman instinct."

ᥫ᭡.

it's a few weeks later that your entire world slips off it's axis. everything was fine with inho— he had taken you out multiple times. bought you cotton candy, kissed the remnants of it off your chin, and you two had walked hand in hand down the streets of seoul, much like the couples you envied on your first walk with him. you remember mostly going to eat spicy food with him because he was lactose intolerant and not a big fan of sweets. he'd even won you a plushie at an arcade that you now cuddle whenever you go to sleep without him. you remember not being scared anymore because you no longer felt the eyes of your stalker, and the only flowers you got were the ones inho would buy for you.

inho hadn't come home for two days and thirteen hours.

you know because you've been counting each hour. there's an unbearable itch in your stomach, and every door opening or closing in the hallway has you jumping and leaving to check. you'd met up with the landlady, insisted that she get someone to go look for him, but she'd merely brushed you off.

your days at work became gloomy and your classmates started to notice. je-hyun got a girlfriend too— one of your seniors. you were happy for him, honestly. but still fucking jealous. you missed your boyfriend, and worst of all, you were worried. he just went away without saying anything, and it filled you with a sense of betrayal.

you were in your own state of denial. no way he could do this to you— give you love and then snatch it away out of nowhere, leaving you empty and cold. you didn't want to believe it. absolutely not.

you were trying to sleep when you heard his name again. you sit up, quickly turning on the lights and jumping to the door.

"—he was supposed to pay his rent a week ago," your landlady says. you open the door and peek out, watch as she guides another man to his door. you wonder if he knows your inho. "i've stopped by everyday since then, but he hasn't come in or picked up his phone. by the way... about his rent... otherwise you'd have to move his stuff out right away—"

the younger guy ensures he'd pay the rent, and you watch curiously as she opens the door for him. "take your time!" she says.

so he definitely knows inho, you think.

you watch with bated breath, only his back being visible to you. you're not sure if you should approach him. suddenly, he's moving, turning around and leaving the apartment as if something came up. you open the door and watch him go— your voice stuck in your throat.

you don't see that guy again. you don't hear from inho again. you don't receive flowers, but the feeling of being watched still remains, although it's less frequent.

three days pass. you're gathering your belongings to leave when je-hyun places a bouquet in front of you. you look up at him, frowning.

"someone left this at the door," he says casually, rubbing the back of his neck. "for you. guess it didn't stop."

he leaves and you frown as you look at the flowers. you hadn't received these in a while. you analyse them— pink carnations paired with some white lilies and forget-me-nots. wrapped up in a white ribbon. you know carnations because they're infamous and can be seen in almost every flower shop. you also know carnations are usually used in weddings. they're a symbol of love and devotion. and forget me nots— there is no need for an explanation. the answer lies in its name. you're pulling your phone out to go through that website— the one that speaks the language of flowers.

perhaps it's your own stupidity for not having realized it before. you're quickly pulling the bouquet forward. no card. there are a myriad of emotions going through you— anger, hurt, and most of all— yearning. your heart yearns for him. it longs for him. your hands tremble as you clutch the edge of the table.

you look at the flowers almost bitterly. you grit your teeth, glaring down at your phone, the website open and displaying words that only evoke feelings of distress out of you. of course, it had to be him. there was no other explanation. flowers symbolizing jealousy right after je-hyun asked you out, you had mentioned how much you liked flowers the day you two went on a walk. them suddenly stopping the day you two started openly dating. you just feel stupid you didn't realize it sooner.

that manipulative prick.

you huff bitterly, your eye twitching as you read the damning text over and over again.

pink carnations — 'ill never forget you.'

inho watches your face through the screen with a glass of whiskey in hand; smiling slightly at the way you glare at him. him as in, the bouquet. he's testing a new thing, trying to see if you've figured it out yet. he's very conveniently placed a camera in this one. if you understand it's him who has been sending you flowers, he's a hundred percent sure you'll take it home and keep it. if you decide to throw it out, that's okay too. the teddy bear he won for you was easy to install a camera in. he gets to see you whenever he wants, even when he's away. watching your sleeping face is rather therapeutic amidst the brutal killings of the players in the games. whenever he starts to miss you, your face is a button away from him. he can't really keep an eye on you at work, but that's alright. he's paid someone to keep watch and make sure you don't find someone else.

it was fun to see the fear etched onto your face whenever you mentioned being stalked— he was the one carrying out the stalking himself, until other duties called. he had to take these measures to ensure he was the only source of your comfort, the only one to rely on. scaring you just a little so it would bring you closer to him. how else would you come to him? you needed a little push. and now he's got you wrapped around his finger, much like you've got him wrapped around yours.

the flowers were just fun. he liked messing with you. a little inside joke with himself— different flowers to express how he felt about you. he wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out. the way they worked to keep most men away was simply an added bonus.

you almost actually getting assaulted was not part of the plan. he'd spiked the kid's drink to make sure he could conveniently step in to save the day— to find you and bring you home. except that disgusting freak of nature decided to lay his dirty hands on you. you don't have to know that he went back to finish the job, that the man is six feet under the ground. much like your dear je-hyun would've been if he hadn't respectfully backed off and gotten himself a girlfriend.

he doesn't think he has anger or jealousy issues, no. he simply does not think that he can live without you anymore. anyone who comes between the two of you, has to go. you're a little naive and easy to manipulate, but it worked in his favour. you trusted him too easily, and he's gotten addicted to the way you make him feel like some hero. he gets to protect you and hold you and forget about everything that he's had to go through. it's a win.

he's seen how miserable you've been without him— the plushie he got you has been spending more time in your arms than your phone, which he thinks is a good development.

you miss him, and he misses you too.

he can judge by the clench of your jaw that you've figured out he was the one behind the flowers. the thought makes him snort slightly. he tilts the glass, glancing down at the clear fluid, before looking up at your face.

you've pulled back. you're picking the bouquet up, and carrying it out. you cross the trash can— and you don't throw it out.

you're taking it home.

a pleased smirk curls upon his face and he nods to himself, taking the remote and turning on his music box.

the notes of 'fly me to the moon' wraps around him like a comforting blanket. he's gonna take this as a hint. if you're taking this bouquet home even after realizing he's the one behind the flowers, it must mean you accept him. and he can make do with that.

you're young and impressionable, and you follow what he says. he could share his ideas with you, see how you react.

and perhaps the next time he sees you, he'll bring you to the games with him.

A/N: this was sooo fun to write!! it took me a few days to finish this and i got so unmotivated because i accidentally deleted a draft at first, but now it turned out so much better than before! i truly hope it doesn't feel rushed or bad, and i know the smut is mid at best but i really tried :( as always feedback is always appreciated, and thank you so much for the support on my fics so far! i love you guys!

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing