#at least it's fluffy and not depressing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evilmenenjoyer · 5 months ago

Text

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you.

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you.

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

#salesman x reader #the salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #the salesman x you #my fics

2K notes · View notes

hedgehog-moss · 3 months ago

Text

My chickens have not been lucky this winter—the youngest one, Louise Michel, despite her revolutionary name, was eaten by a fox earlier this year. At least this new year was off to an auspicious start for this fox and her family. It made me think about Fantastic Mr Fox and how this book indoctrinates small children into directing their empathy towards the beleaguered fox family, while the hen characters are complete non-people—they are even called stupid at one point, even though they are just sitting in their coop, doing their chicken job!

Anyway. Dru survived the fox attack unscathed and non-traumatised, which made me respect her even more than I already did. Drusilla is quite old by now, and she has survived everything—the fox attack that killed her first coopmate, Cordélia; several air strikes by birds of prey; Pandolf trying to scare her to serve his own dog interests... Even though she has long stopped laying eggs, she is a precious asset to my chicken coop: I am going to get new baby hens in the spring and I need Dru to teach them her strategies to win the Darwinian struggle for existence. As an elderly hen, her job is no longer to provide eggs, but wisdom.

And then I heard Dru cry out one afternoon, as if she had been attacked by something.

I felt confused as I ran out to rescue her—I'd seen her just five minutes before when I went out to distribute hay, she was near the pasture gate hanging out with the llamas, donkey, and dog. There's no way a fox would attack a chicken surrounded by such a security detail. I quickly found her, sitting just outside the pasture, in her normal brooding position, she didn't seem hurt—but Pandolf ran towards her as well, and she didn't move out of his way. That was very unusual. Pandolf runs at things and people like a fluffy corrida bull, happy to knock you over with the force of his love (there's a reason the French equivalent of "like a bull in a china shop" is "like a dog in a bowling game"), and Dru always makes sure to jump out of his way, boosting herself with her wings if necessary.

I wondered if she had a broken wing, but when I started examining her she made a very eloquent "urghh go away" gesture at me with both of her wings, so she could move them. Her legs didn't seem injured either, but she refused to get up. I ended up carrying her back to her coop so she could sit in peace and process her feelings, but she wasn't feeling better the next morning. She clucked at me amicably when I visited her but she didn't go outside all day, so I had to leave food and water outside her room like a bemused parent trying to accommodate an angsty teenager.

Since I hadn't been able to detect any injuries and she was eating normally, I thought she might be depressed. Maybe it had taken her some time to understand that she had lost her friend and was all alone in her coop, and then the realisation had hit her, and her normal chicken activities suddenly felt meaningless. That didn't really explain the sharp cry I'd heard the day before, though.

(I hadn't noticed until I took a closer look at the above photo that there is a dirty stain on the wall of the laying box! Embarrassing. But to my defence, chickens are not very clean creatures and keeping their coop clean is a Sisyphean task. I guess I always focus on cleaning the parts where the hens sit and walk, and hadn't leaned over to look at the inside wall. I've now cleaned it up with a brush—but I almost regret doing so, because a friend gave the stain a beautiful and mystical interpretation:

I waited a couple of days to see if Dru's agoraphobia got better, but on Day 3 of her refusing to leave her coop, I decided to take her to the vet.

The farmer who was sitting next to Dru and me in the waiting room seemed very puzzled about my decision to bring a chicken past her prime and no longer laying eggs to the vet for a diagnosis. At first he assumed that I hoped to have her diagnosed as Safe To Eat.

I told him about how this hen is very good at surviving, and I want her to pass on her knowledge to future generations.

Dru looked cranky at the vet, maybe because there was a poster on the wall that said "What's for dinner tonight?" and she took it personally.

Fun chicken fact: the rounder a hen is, the angrier. She may look like an adorable cream puff, but she is a ball of rage:

The vet noticed that her leg was a bit swollen, and said it could be an infection, or maybe some heavy animal had stepped on her foot. He gave me antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and then I had fun trying to make my cranky chicken take her meds every day. Do you think getting a cat to take a pill is difficult? Try it with an animal who evolved from raptors.

Here are screenshots from a video (which my wifi refused to load)—Dru wasn't having a good time, but trust me, neither was I. It was a daily struggle. On the other hand, I discovered that she loves cherry tomatoes! I had a cherry tomato plant in my greenhouse that was only here to keep the aquaponic system going in the winter, I wasn't eating the fruit as they were bitter February tomatoes, and for some reason it didn't occur to me to offer them to my chicken until I was walking around the greenhouse looking for some insect to reward her for taking her medicine. The daily tomato treat delighted her a lot more than some boring insect :)

Well, we are reaching the end of this adventure—Dru will get new coopmates soon (and hopefully start teaching them her secrets immediately) and the vet visit was very worth it 😊 She still has trouble going down the ladder of her coop so I go get her every morning and carry her near my house, but she is walking and, more importantly, scratching around for food again! Here's a little video:

Oh, no, wait, we aren't done—I must ask everyone to take part in the Trial of Pirlouit.

The vet did say it looked as if some heavy animal had stepped on Dru's foot... Considering the llamas are very delicate walkers, and Pandolf is a reckless brute but isn't heavy enough to break a chicken's leg, this makes Pirlouit the main suspect.

#crawling along

721 notes · View notes

ihaznoclue · 4 months ago

Text

You're not like other people

The winner of the vote from yesterday was----

You're not like other people (Shadow x Reader) and I would like to thank everyone who participated in the voting system :)

Pairings -> Shadow The Hedgehog x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Shadow seems to like you more than anyone else, you treat him better. He then starts to follow you around and stick to you just in case if something happens to you

Genre -> Fluff

Shadow The Hedgehog

You're not like other people...

You showed Shadow more kindness and gentleness, and he could tell you were a good-hearted person the moment he laid eyes on you.

He liked you more than anyone he had met, with the exception of Maria, because of your tender hands and your kind remarks.

He could see Maria within you since your sillyness showed whenever he was feeling low or depressed, and your smile illuminated the room on the darkest evenings.

Your affectionate gestures were different, you gave him soft pats or scratches behind his ears to help him relax, and your dancing made him cringe in the most flattering way possible to provoke a response from him rather that him being sulky all the time.

He adored everything you did for him, and he loved you in return.

Even if he's not very good at it, he merely thinks of all the things he could do to make you feel better, like protecting you or lifting your spirits when you're felling down. At least he's making an effort, or perhaps he's giving you presents in secret.

Ever since he fell down from saving the earth from explosion that Dr Gerald Robotnik wanted as revenge for his grand-daughter Maria, Shadow was convinced that this was the wrong thing to do as it won't bring Maria back..

His goal was to save the planet, and he succeeded, but at what cost? He could feel himself slipping downward more quickly.

When he collapsed back on Earth, he was unconscious, but where was he? He could smell the earthy dirt that tickled his nostrils, all he could feel beneath him was dirt.

However, he heard and sensed something else. A voice? Where was he and whose voice was that?

"Where did you come from?" The stranger's voice sounded clearer, and he could hear its kindness since it was free of fear, stuttering, or trembling.

Then he felt a kind, cautious hand embrace him in. "Oh you poor thing.. You must be hurt" He heard the voice again, and then he sensed a person moving.

What was he being taken to? He doesn't want to return, but what if they were to take him back?

Their footsteps were silent, and he could hear the rhythm of the person carrying him's heartbeat, whether it was fast or slow. He found that listening to the heartbeat helped him relax.

As they kept going, he could then hear them humming, which is incredibly pleasant and reassured him that nothing was to bother him.

Shadow heard the humming fade into the darkness as he knows couldn't hear anything around him, it had seem that he fully went to knocked out mode.

Now it felt hours on end as he now could hear things around him, his body felt warm and covered. His ear flickered at the slightest sound as he now was waking up, his eyes fluttering open as he groaned at the massive headache he just got.

He heard the humming again.. the sweet sound of humming that sooth his headache to go away..

He began to sit up as the blanket that was covering him slightly shifted off of his upper body, his fur was cleaned and hes air shoes were off, neatly placed on the floor near the bed that he was sitting on

He looked around to see where he was, he was definitely not back in the G.U.N base, but the room was slightly dimmed by the sunlight behind the curtains. The walls were painted in (F/C) and the carpet beneath looked soft and fluffy to stand on.

The humming has come to a stop as he saw the person standing near the door way for the room. It was a young person, a smile stuck on their face as they realised that Shadow was now awake

"Oh! You're awake" Their soft voice spoke, it sounded nice to listen to, but Shadow couldn't know if you could be trusted, his ear flicked again

"Can you talk?" You spoke, Shadow eyes lingered on you, trying to cause any squirmy reaction or at least a shiver, but he nodded

"Good! But I have a heap of questions to ask ya little guy" You spoke in pure excitement as you gave a little clap

Shadow was curious about you all of a sudden, you weren't scared of him

He was a 4-5ft hedgehog that was made in a laboratory how can you not be scared of him?

"Are- Are you not scared of me?" He spoke which made you froze suddenly, you didn't actually think he would speak

Your eyes were widen but softened "Of course not! Why would I be scared of a cute guy like you?"

Shadow huffed at that as his ear flicked at the word 'cute' but he didn't say anything to make you upset, the pure smile laid on your face made his heart soften

He could see Maria in you for some reason, even though he just met you. He knew he could trust you

"You can stay here as long as you want, I found you in a grass field near my house as I hear the commotion outside so I wanted to take a look and saw you, so I picked you up and took you back to my house which you are in right now"

Your kind words made him realise you were the one that picked him up and carried him back here, to your house

He gave a little huff though his nose as he said "Thank you" In a whispered tone but obviously you hear it as you gave a little giggle and stepped out of the room which caused him to follow you

He didn't know why but he just did, his mind was telling him that he can't trust you now but his heart was telling him to follow you and protect you

But you were so kind, so pure..

Like an angel

HEHEHHE THIS ONE MIGHT BE MY BEST ONE YET

-A<3

#sonic 3 movie #sonic 3 #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie universe #sonic the hedgehog 3 #sonic fanfiction #sonic fandom #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the ultimate lifeform #shadow the hedgehog #sth

875 notes · View notes

missadangel · 1 month ago

Text

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

II. Tensio

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: You’re making Marcus regret bringing you, and he’s considering a decision you won’t like. Chapter W. Count and warnings: 11k; romantic comedy, ancient rome, using drugs (tranquilizer), anxiety attacks, violence, power imbalance, a little angst, mention about marriage. authors note: conubium: Roman law; the right to intermarry. pater familias: He is the oldest living male in a household. Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

gif by nicolethered

chapter theme (sorry tumblr didn't let me to add this before)

A searing headache throbbed in your temples, reminiscent of the intense pain that often accompanied your period. Oh, right—your cycle was just around the corner. Thankfully, you had taken your painkillers from the pharmacy and stashed them in your bag alongside your depression medication. You should taken it immediately because this was unbearable.

And that smell—

Wait, was that a horse neighing?

With a jolt, you realized something was pressing against your face. You blinked your eyes open, only to find your head resting on a shaggy bale of hay. A massive horse loomed inches away from you, its large, dark eyes fixed on yours.

This wasn't a dream.

“Aaaaah!” you screamed, your voice piercing the stillness of the small stable, the sound reverberating off the wooden beams. Startled, the horse reared back, its powerful hooves striking the ground with a resounding clatter that echoed like thunder in the confined space.

“Why are you screaming?” an irate voice demanded.

And there he was.

Him.

That psycho.

The source of all your frustrations.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

A tremor of rage coursed through you as your anger bubbled up. The surrounding scene intensified your fury, and you asked, “Where the hell am I?”

“I had to carry you here after you lost consciousness,” he replied.

Wait a minute—what were you wearing? Had he draped that black robe over you?

“Why am I dressed like this, and why are we in this… place?”

"Wearing your usual unconventional attire may attract attention. Besides, I need to make sure your legs are covered properly."

“That sounds rather bigoted,” you grumbled.

Marcus let out a troubled sigh, the annoyance stretching across his face. "Could you rise if you are feeling capable? I need to proceed to the villa now."

With hands pressed into the dirt-strewn floor for support, you attempted to rise but staggered, the earth beneath you gritty and unpleasant. “It stinks! Everything stinks!” you whined, finally managing to stand upright.

He had the audacity to not even offer a hand to help you up.

Rude bastard.

The flowing black robe cloaked you entirely, brushing the ground with each step. Marcus’s expression remained stoic as his gaze raked over you from head to toe. "At least you're less conspicuous now. Let’s pull this over your face,” he instructed, tugging the hood down to obscure your features.

“What’s wrong with my face?” you frowned.

“Your hair looks a bit odd compared to the other women around here,” he explained.

You let out a hysterical laugh, incredulous. “I just dyed it a salted caramel color. Do you have any idea how expensive that is?”

He paused, seemingly baffled. “I wonder why a woman would choose to change her hair color at all?”

“What do you know anyway? You’re practically a caveman,” you muttered beneath your breath.

He didn’t understand your sarcasm, as usual. “I need to lay down some rules, and I ask that you please follow them, alright?”

You shrugged your shoulders, noncommittal.

“First off, in your time, I may appear as a nobody, but here I possess some dignity. When with my family, you will refer to me by my title, not by my name. You will not speak disrespectfully to them, and foul language is strictly off-limits. If you’re asked a question, I’ll take care of it. It’s best if you just keep your mouth shut unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Crossing your arms defiantly, you retorted, “Why should I abide by any of this? Why did you drag me here if your reputation means so much to you?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, his expression hardening. “It’s going to be more difficult for both of us if you don’t comply. I’m trying to help you.”

“Hah! Help! Of course!” you scoffed.

“Stop it,” he warned, his tone low and menacing. “Act like a woman.”

“What did you just say?”

He let out a deep sigh. "You’re acting like a child. Can't you show a little more maturity? I truly regret what’s happened to you, but I need you to trust me. I promised I’d do everything I could to find a way to send you back."

“You’d better find it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes defiantly.

“I will,” he replied.

“Ugh, let’s hurry up and get out of here. The stench is making me want to hurl,” you said, your face contorting as a wave of nausea struck.

“Follow me closely and quietly,” he instructed, stepping cautiously out of the stables first.

You clutched your -his- robe tightly around you and trailed behind him. However, it was a bad idea, as you walked, your foot suddenly squished down onto something soft, warm, and utterly revolting.

“Aaaaaaaaa! Damn it! Ugh!”

Marcus pivoted sharply, rushing back to you and clamping his large hand over your mouth. “Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?”

Muffled protests escaped you, anger bubbling within. He removed his hand to understand what you were saying, but he regretted it. “I just stepped in something disgusting! What do you expect? My Converses are ruined! It's all your fault!” You lifted your shoe, revealing the smeared evidence of horse manure that now coated it.

“What kind of woman...” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You’ve never encountered horse manure before?”

“Do you think I would react this way if I had?” you yelled at his face, frantically attempting to wipe the muck off your shoe against the ground.

Marcus shut his eyes tightly, exhaling a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods, have mercy on me and grant me the patience I need. Just be more careful with your steps,” he scolded, exasperation lacing his tone. “You can clean them once we reach the villa, but for the love of all that’s holy, keep it down until then,” he said, turning away in annoyance.

With gritted teeth, you followed behind him, your eyes narrowed with frustration.

As you walked through the gloomy, dark streets of the ancient city, your jaw dropped in disbelief. You still couldn’t fathom it—you were truly in ancient Rome. Shops lined the streets, their facades adorned with elaborate carvings, while majestic temples loomed in the distance. The rich fabrics draped across the citizens—very few of whom were out at this hour—were a stark contrast to the modern world you knew. It was as if you had stepped onto a film set, and part of you desperately wished it were just that. Tears began to form in your eyes as you fought the urge to scream. How did you end up in this bewildering situation?

The structures surrounding you took your breath away. Many of them existed only as crumbling ruins back home, yet here they stood tall and resplendent, as if freshly crafted by artisans. You felt as though you were walking through a living, breathing history lesson, and the sheer beauty left you trembling.

You desperately wanted to retrieve your calming medication from your bag, anxious to ward off the looming threat of an anxiety attack just at the fringes of your mind. It was maddening that Mr. Psycho clutched your bag as if it were something undesirable. Of course, if you carry it yourself, your robe would come undone, leaving your legs exposed.

What a true gentleman, indeed!

After what felt like an eternity of walking, your feet began to protest, aching with each step. Finally, he stopped and surveyed the surroundings. “Here we are,” he announced, casting a glance about.

You followed his gaze, taking in the imposing wall that surrounded the area, shadows dancing along the surface of the torch-lit stone. He pushed open a heavy wooden door, gesturing for you to enter.

As you stepped inside, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a stunning ancient Roman villa, far more magnificent than anything portrayed in virtual re-enactments. The centerpiece was a grand fountain, water glimmering in the dim light. Towering columns of white inlaid marble reached for the sky, while lifelike statues adorned the space, all framed by a beautifully landscaped garden. A film crew would have gaped in awe at such splendor—if only you had thought to capture a picture with your phone.

“Domina!”

You were pulled from your reverie by a woman's voice echoing through the spacious hall. She appeared to be in her middle years, her eyes wide with a blend of anxiety and hope as she called up the polished marble stairs. Clad in a modest dress that whispered of simpler times, she was a vivid reminder of the era—this was ancient Rome, a place where the specter of slavery loomed large. You had made a dress like that before, back when you were crafting costumes in the set.

Before long, a couple more men and women showed up, and then an older woman made her way down the stairs. Her silver hair gleamed like moonlight, and despite her age—perhaps seventy—she carried herself with an air of vitality. “Acacius! My son!” she called out, her voice filled with both worry and relief.

Wait, what? *My son?*

You couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as you leaned closer to Marcus, whispering behind him, “So the great Mr. General lives with his mother.”

He shot you a stern look from the corner of his eye, a silent warning that made you quickly redirect your gaze.

As the old woman carefully descended the stairs, Marcus stepped forward to greet her. Just then, a tall, good-looking guy walked into the courtyard, his eyes wide. “Brother,” he said, wrapping Marcus in a warm hug. “It’s really you! Where have you been?”

The old lady placed her hands on Marcus’ shoulders, concern etched on her face. “We feared the worst, dear son. We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Marcus let out a weary sigh. "I was attacked, but I'm alright, truly. I was meant to be away from Rome.... for a while," he said, casting a sidelong glance in your direction.

Suddenly, every eye shifted toward you with curiosity. You raised a hand slightly. “Hi.”

“Who is this young man?” the woman inquired, her brow furrowed in confusion as she took a closer look.

You raised your eyebrows, letting out a laugh that turned hysterical. The woman's eyes widened as she realized you were a woman after removing your hood and revealing your face.

“This woman will stay here for a while. She will be our guest,” Marcus interjected, his voice firm and assertive.

“*This woman?*” you echoed incredulously. “I have a name, you know.”

Marcus shot you a warning glare, his patience thinning.

The old woman, along with the handsome man, exchanged perplexed glances.

“Is she outlander? Barbarian? Or a savage?” the woman questioned, her gaze roving over you with a scrutinizing intensity. “Did she brought here as a prisoner of war? Or Gods forbid... a whore?”

“Hey!” you snapped, your indignation flaring.

Marcus raised a hand, silencing your protest. “She’s neither. Rather, she’s an outlander who helped me. She will be residing here for a few days, after which I will ensure her safe return to her homeland."

The old woman and the other man shared a look that hinted they weren’t completely convinced. “Very well, if that’s what you believe. Let the girls take care of her,” the woman said, nodding toward the two young girls. “You need rest too my son; you must be tired.”

Marcus nodded and turned back to the other man.

The two girls gently took hold of your arms, urging you to follow. “Come with us. This way,” one of them said.

You turned to look at Marcus again, but he wouldn’t even glance your way.

Bastard.

“Hey! Psycho! Where are they taking me?” you called out, frustration spilling over.

Your shout caught his attention, and he finally turned around, annoyance flashing across his face. The girls exchanged glances, trying not to laugh.

“Calm yourself; a room will be provided for you shortly,” he replied, a hint of indifference in his tone. With a dismissive wave, he signaled to the girls and turned back to the other man, leaving you fuming with annoyance.

What an asshole.

The girls pulled you into a cramped little room, and one of them quickly untied your robe, letting it slide off your shoulders. Their gazes widened in astonishment as they took in your short shorts and halter top—garments that were completely foreign to them.

“This is quite peculiar, the attire you wear,” one of them remarked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“It resembles what the tribes don,” another mused, tilting her head as if trying to figure it all out.

You kicked off your Converse sneakers and tossed them aside, feeling a bit annoyed when one of the girls reached out to help you. “I got this, okay?” you snapped.

“Just trying to help—” she began, but you cut her off.

“No thanks, I can handle it,” you said, pushing her hand away.

Her expression shifted to one of surprise, and she shared a glance with the other girl, whose head bobbed in agreement.

After a brief moment of consideration, the girl returned, a cloth draped over her arm. “Here, dress yourself then,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

“How am I supposed to change with you all just staring at me?”

They looked at each other, clearly not getting it. “Alright, fine, but where can I take a shower?” you asked, a little desperate for some privacy.

“Shower?” one of the girls echoed, disbelief etched on her face.

Right, that slipped your mind. “I mean a bath,” you corrected, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“You can go there during the daytime. Didn’t you know?” she replied, bewilderment lingering in her voice.

“Where are you truly from? You’ve obviously never set foot in Rome or heard of it. You’re a total outlander,” she continued, her eyes searching yours for answers.

Well you had been living in Rome for many years, but it was the Rome of the future.

How ironic.

“How did you come to meet the general? What was your purpose in coming here?” they probed, their curiosity unyielding.

“Isn’t it funny how, regardless of how many centuries I travel back, women’s curiosity remains unchanged?” you giggled.

But their expressions remained serious, their eyes reflecting concern as if you had just shared a bewildering riddle.

“That guy forced me here,” you explained, taking off your shorts and blouse as they gasped at the sight of your underwear. They had no clue what it was.

“It’s, uh, an accessory,” you tried to make sense of it, but you knew they wouldn’t get it. After slipping on the weird dress they gave you, you realized it was just way too revealing. Your black bra was sticking out, and you were feeling a little odd.

“I think you should remove that... thing,” one of them suggested, a slight frown marring her features. “It looks strange.”

“Yeah I agree,” you muttered, you couldn’t judge them for their confusion, so you took off your bra. But the panties? No way you were parting with those. How did they get around without them, anyway? It was a question you couldn't shake.

In the morning, you jolted up at the sound of a rooster crowing and birds chirping. It felt just like your alarm clock going off. You jumped out of bed like you were shot out of a cannon. “Grab the fabrics, get the drawings approved by the head designer, make sure the stuntman’s suit is done by five, and don’t forget to take your meds.” Those words had turned into a daily mantra you whispered to yourself each morning, coming out without a second thought. But the place around you was nothing like the chaos those words suggested. It felt like you were stuck on a movie set with no way out. A sudden pain shot through your back, prompting you to pat the aching spot. “Ugh, what kind of bed is this?” you complained as you hopped out. This tiny room looked like some slave quarters you’d seen in a museum in Rome. Tears threatened to spill and you buried your face in your hands. “Is this real? Wasn’t it all just a nightmare? Wake up! Please wake up! Why, God, why? What have I done to deserve this?”

A chill swept through you, and panic set in. You had to find your meds. Oh no, your bag was still with that psycho.

You bolted out of the room, your bare feet hitting the cool marble—it was at least clean, not gross dirt. How many rooms were in this place? The courtyard was so bright now, the complete opposite of last night’s darkness. You squinted against the sun and ran to the expansive courtyard. If you weren’t already anxious, you might have taken a moment to appreciate the view, but all you could think about was your meds. Where were all the people?

“Psycho!” you shouted.

As soon as you stepped into the courtyard, a few girls and guys in matching clothes and necklaces turned to stare at you. Of course, that look again—the stunned expression. But maybe it was because you were yelling; well you didn’t shout just for fun.

But where was he?

You spotted one of the girls from the previous day and sprinted toward her, desperation in your voice. “Hey! Have you seen that psych-? I mean, Marcus?”

Her eyes widened in alarm before she glanced apologetically over your shoulder. Confused, you turned to find the old woman from yesterday, seated upon a throne-like chair that seemed to hold both authority and menace, giving you a piercing glare that could shatter glass.

“Hello,” you offered, lifting your hand in a tentative greeting as you approached her cautiously. “Um, you’re Marcus’s mother, right? I’m looking for him. Have you seen him?”

She raised a gaunt finger, stopping you in your tracks. “What kind of disrespectful girl are you to address the general by his name? Your mother or father clearly never instilled any manners in you.”

“Look, I—”

“How dare you interrupt Domina!” a man beside her growled, his voice like thunder.

“You truly lack decorum. Weren’t you taught how to show respect patricians where you come from? Acacius may be kind, but I will not tolerate this insolence.”

Kind? That psycho? Seriously?

You suppressed a laugh.

“Cicero, take this girl away from my sight,” she ordered.

What the fuck? Were you an object?

“But you don’t understand, I need my meds. I have anxiety, and my bag is with that- General.”

She sighed, gestured Cicero who grabbed your arm and started to drag you away. “Look, this is a tough spot for me too, but I really need my meds.”

He clearly didn’t care; his grip tightened as he pulled you toward inner courtyard, barking the two girls from yesterday. Keep a close watch on her,” he warned, his tone brooking no argument. “She is strictly forbidden from stepping foot in the main courtyard. If anything goes awry, I’ll ensure Domina hears that it’s your fault.”

The girls nodded frantically, clearly afraid.

What on earth was this madness?

“Seriously, how could you stand up to Domina? Are you insane?” one of the girls whispered harshly.

“I wasn’t-- I just want to find Marcus. He has my bag!” You felt frustration bubbling within, the absurdity of the situation overshadowing your growing fear.

“Refrain from using his name. It’s simply not appropriate here; such disrespect is utterly unacceptable,” another girl scoffed.

With an exasperated huff, you retorted, “Fine! But where is he? Where can I find him?”

“He must have left early for his duties. He won’t return until nightfall,” one of the girls informed you.

“What?” you squealed, the panic rising in your throat. “I can’t wait that long! Just tell me where his room is—my bag must be there.”

Their eyes widened incredulously as if you were proposing the most outrageous act. “Are you mad? They warned you not to go into the courtyard, and now you want to invade the general’s chambers?”

“This girl is truly a savage! Are you a member of a barbarian tribe?” another girl chimed in, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just please, stay in your room and wait quietly for evening. Do not provoke Domina; she has no tolerance for disrespect.”

They warned you as they led you towards the room. They closed the door and left.

This room was just like a prison cell. Small, bare, and totally lacking a window, it felt stifling. As someone who struggled with anxiety—unable to even ride in an elevator without freaking out—you knew this wasn't going to last long. How on earth would you manage to spend the whole day like this? It was a miracle you got any sleep last night. Now, with the sun creeping in—was it maybe 8 or 9 a.m.?—the idea of being stuck here until evening twisted your stomach.

And Lizzie... what was she going to think when she found out you were missing? Just 17, still a kid really, and you were all she had. What about your dad, the hospital, your job, the rent and all those bills?

Life is moving on out there but you trapped here, this world and you can't do anything to go back, unable to return your time.

Was time different here?

You recalled the fantasy worlds depicted in movies, such as Narnia. In Narnia, time doesn't align with Earth; it generally moves much faster. Another example is the movie "Interstellar," which is Lizzie's favorite. In it, there is significant time dilation—one scene features a difference of around 23 years!

Suddenly, a wave of panic surged within you, your burried your face in your hands—“Oh my God!!!”

You had to escape before you lost it completely, just like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." Bursting out of the room, you gasped for air. Your stomach growled angrily—how could they not provide food or water?

You loathed it.

Fortunately, the area seemed eerily deserted. From the distant clatter and murmur of voices, it was evident the kitchens were bustling, filled with the sounds of life beyond this cold corridor. You needed to find the stairs leading to the upper floors where the owners probably stayed.

“Looking for the general's chambers?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see a woman about your age, dressed like she belonged to the upper crust.

“Well, I am, yes,” you managed to reply, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Head upstairs, turn right down the hallway, and you'll find it,” she said, her smile curving with an unsettling warmth that sent a chill racing down your spine.

Why was she aiding you?

You had no time to ponder motives though; you needed to get to your bag.

“Thanks,” you answered, forcing a smile as you extended your hand, “but who are you? My name is Rose.”

She scrutinized your offered hand as if it were tainted. “Lydia. How did you and the General meet, and what's going on between you? No one has ever seen him with a woman before.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that, really. It’s complicated and very strange.”

Lydia squinted, taking a moment to consider your words. “Hmm, I see. Walk quickly before someone notices you.”

Nodding, you rushed upstairs, completely unaware of the cruel smile that crept onto her lips as you turned away.

Upon entering the room, you were struck by its grandeur—everything looked rich and authentic, but it felt more like a woman’s chamber than a general's.

“Domina! Mother! This is unacceptable!” Lydia's voice rang out, startling you. Before you could react, she grabbed your arm and dragged you back down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” you protested, bewildered.

“Shut your mouth! How dare you enter Domina's room? You there! Come back here this instant!”

Your expression morphed into one of shock and disbelief.

She had trickd you, but why?

The tension swelled around you as they had gathered in the stairs below.

“Lydia, my daughter, what in the world was all that commotion about?”

“I caught this brazen girl trespassing in your room!” Lydia exclaimed, her voice sharp. “Who knows what her intentions were?”

“Hey, no! She's lying! You told me it was the general's room!” You interjected, desperation rising in your throat. “She's deceiving you—believe me! She’s a liar!”

Out of nowhere, the old woman’s hand flew across your face, delivering a stinging slap that left you momentarily speechless. A sharp pain erupted on your cheek, and reflexively, you pressed your palm against it, feeling the heat radiate from the spot as tears blurred your vision. “How dare you call my daughter a liar?” she thundered, her voice cracking like a whip. “What right do you have to step foot in my room after I told you to stay out of my sight?”

“I didn’t know it was your room—” Before you could even finish your sentence, she gripped your hair with surprising strength, yanking it as if trying to pull you closer. “Shut your mouth,” she commanded, her voice low and threatening, leaving you feeling both powerless and shocked. “Bring the whip at once. Apparently, this is how I must teach you rules and manners. Bring the girls responsible for this girl here too.”

Did she just say 'the whip'?

No, that couldn't be right; they couldn't be so primitive, so cruel.

Could they?

They brought the whip along with the other two girls. They fell at her feet, begging for forgiveness. It broke your heart to see them in such a state. This was a consequence of your own foolishness and Lydia's deceit.

She looked at you and the girls, smiling cruelly.

What a bitch.

So, even in ancient Rome, there were undoubtedly cruel individuals. Why were you surprised anyway?

Such people have always existed and will continue to exist in the world.

“It’s my fault,” you suddenly said. “These girls didn’t know, they're innocent. I will take the punishment; please spare them.”

Lydia almost laughed and felt cheerful as she looked at her mother.

"Very well." Domina signaled to the slaves and two of them came to you and turned you around. One of them stripped off your dress exposing your back. You were trembling with fear; you had never felt so scared in your life.

“Grab her arms,” she said, adding more fear to your fear. Your body shook uncontrollably, and your tears flowed like waterfalls.

All those movies came to your mind, depicting scenes of whipping and wounds.

“Oh, God, please,” you murmured, pleading, hoping for something to happen.

In that moment, a masculine voice shouted, “Mother!” It was filled with anger and warning, but it was too late. You felt the blow of the whip on your bare back with a great reverberation. You gasped, as if your ribs had been crushed from back to front and your heart was about to jump out of your throat. And the pain came later than the sound, searing, crushing, so strong and sharp that your brain stopped functioning. If they hadn't been holding you tightly, you would have collapsed violently to the ground already. You couldn't feel your feet; all you could feel was the wound in your back as if they had cut you with a knife.

Your cries reverberating in the courtyard. That voice you just heard, the commanding voice of a man, echoed around you, likely directed at his mother, but the words were drowned out by the buzzing in your ears. Every thought focused on the searing pain from your wound, and your vision blurred, turned murky as if shrouded in fog. Just as you felt yourself slipping away, strong arms enveloped you, preventing your fall before you could collapse to the ground.

Looking up, you were met not by the face you had expected, it wasn't him, it was his brother. Suddenly, it was as if the world sharpened around you, and you could hear his voice cutting through the haze. “How dare you treat my brother's guest like some common slave? What are we going to say to him now?” he snapped at his mother, his tone laced with indignation.

He lifted you with unexpected gentleness, surprising both you and the onlookers around you. The weightlessness was brief as he carried you to a different room, where he gently set you down on a luxurious lectus. His demeanor shifted; he hesitated to touch you, yet he grasped your chin with careful fingers, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Are you alright?” he asked, a storm of concern evident in his eyes.

How could you even answer that?

You were far from alright; you were in terrible pain, feeling paralyzed by it.

He glanced away, frustration flickering across his features. “Damn it. My brother Acacius sent me to check on you, and look what I found. Oh mother, why did you do this?” His voice softened as he urged, “Lie down here. I'll find the medicus and come back shortly.”

You could barely catch his words; your eyelids were heavy, and all you could focus on was that soothing hum in the background.

When you finally opened your eyes, the rough texture of the wall met your gaze as a low murmur pierced the haze of your mind. A voice drifted to you from behind. “Fortunately, the whip’s blow wasn’t deep; the bleeding has ceased. If she applies the ointment I prepared, it will mend in a few weeks.”

You closed your eyes again, the ache in your back still pulsing. When you opened them again, a familiar voice drifted in, but it felt far away. “You may hold the title of Domina in this house, but remember, I am not your trueborn son. As the paterfamilias, it is I who commands, and everyone under this roof must heed my authority.”

Closing your eyes again, you felt the weight of your own anger seep into every fiber of your being. A hand brushed against your back, the coolness of an ointment container sending a shiver through you. When you turned, his face was stark against the dim light, concern etched on his features.

“Are you awake? Stay still while I apply the ointment,” he said, his tone laced with an authority you found infuriating.

So frustrated, you propped yourself up and slapped him across the face, tears of anger stinging your eyes. “This is all your fault! Why did you just disappear and leave me with these people? Where the hell have you been?”

He didn't even flinch. “Are you still in pain? I heard Julius arrived just in time.” His tone was even, but the lack of sympathy ignited the fire within you.

“I’m in pain, yes, but not because of my wound. It’s the humiliation—the way they treated me,” you spat, turning your back on him in frustration. He continued to apply the ointment quietly, a reminder of your wounded pride.

“Is it always like this? How one person tie up another like an animal? Do you have to be the daughter of someone important for anyone to care about what you say? Nobody takes a slave an outlander seriously, but if a noble girl lies, everyone believes her, right? Is this what Rome is like?”

Ignoring your questions but contemplating about them at the same time, he stood and placed the pot of ointment onto the nearby table. “Can you stand?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I thought that if I could take you there and you read the words inscribed in the parchment. Maybe this time it might open a path for you to return to your own time at last”

“First, give me my bag.”

He nodded, calling out, “Julius!”

Moments later, Julius entered with your bag in hand, his expression solemn. “Do you feel well, now?” he asked as he handed it over.

“Yes,” you replied, accepting it with gratitude. “Thank you for saving me,” you muttered, your anger dissipating slightly.

“No. I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time to prevent her,” he said, extending his hand toward you. “How is your wound?”

“Better, and it will be well,” Marcus answered for you, his voice firm. “We should leave now.”

You eagerly rummaged through your bag, relief flooding over you as you confirmed everything was intact—reminders of your life, your comrades. A smile tugged at your lips when you found the painkiller. “I need some water, psycho. I have to take this pill,” you murmured.

Julius chuckled lightly, while Marcus shot him a disapproving look, his brow furrowed with annoyance.

What was that?

One of the slaves trembled as he offered you water.

“Oh right, I asked the great general for water. My bad,” you said, popping the pill into your mouth.

“It’s not that you asked for water; it’s that you called me that peculiar, disrespectful term,” Marcus hissed.

You rolled your eyes, sipping the water. “I’m not from here, I am an outlander, so I can say what I want.”

“No, you cannot,” he retorted sternly. “I hope this time it works—so you can leave soon,” he added before turning to exit the room.

“I want to return more than you want me to!” you called after him.

Julius burst into laughter. “I’ve never encountered a woman like you before. You’re truly something else.”

“Believe me, you haven’t,” you laughed back as he extended his hand to help you up.

“Besides, I’ve never seen my brother so anxious in the presence of a woman before. In fact, no one has. Perhaps it’s because you traveled from another time.”

That caught you by surprise.

“True, he shared everything with me. Don’t worry, nobody else knows.”

“So you just believed him right away?”

“My brother never tells lies; I trust his every word. He’s a man of honor.”

You examined his face, noting the softer features that set him apart from Marcus. He looked a decade younger, his skin caramel and hair tousled, a perpetual smile illuminating his countenance. He exuded warmth and friendliness that drew you in, and despite the chaos around you, you found yourself liking him.

"Why, why, why, why?"

You were stuck on those words in the parchment, reading them over and over, but nothing happened. It felt like you were running in place, just trying to grasp something that slipped right through your fingers.

"You spell it like this last time, and... the... path... opened...?" Julius inquired, his voice laced with uncertainty as he leaned closer, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze drifting toward Marcus. "Was anything different when you traveled to my time that night? Has anything changed compared to tonight? Was the place altered somehow? Please, just one detail could make a difference! Try to remember."

Marcus crossed his arms, a stark figure of calmness that only fanned the flames of your frustration. "I wasn't here that night."

Shock rippled through you. "What? You weren't here?"

‘He was in the barracks,’ Julius interjected.

Marcus nodded. "They attacked me there, and I… died. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in your time."

Your heart raced, eyes widening as the weight of his words sank in. "What did you say? Died? Why didn’t you mention that before?"

"You wouldn’t have believed me," Marcus replied, adjusting the lethal strips of his armor with casualness. "You kept addressing me with words I didn’t know the meaning of and never believed what I was saying. Would it have made any difference if I said it?"

You sighed, lips tight. "But seriously? You’re dead? Dying and coming back… how does that even work? This is just... bullshit." You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling totally lost. "I can’t wrap my head around this. I don’t even know where to begin." Then a wild thought popped into your head. "Wait, do I have to die too? Maybe that’s how I’ll wake up there. What do you think?"

Both men stared at you like you’d gone off the deep end.

Marcus then responded, a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he kept his serious look. "Are you really considering ending your life? If it doesn’t work, you die for nothing? That idea is completely unreasonable."

"Well then, Mr. General, what do you suggest?"

"This parchment is a prayer. If we can find who wrote it, maybe we’ll have a clue," Marcus murmured.

"Priests and priestesses, they who inscribe the sacred symbols of the divine, much like on your own bulla... brother." Julius hesitated at the end of his sentence, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features as if he regretted speaking at all.

Suddenly, a shadow crossed Marcus’s face—pain or anger, or both, you couldn’t tell for sure.

Wait a minute, can they see those symbols? Katie didn't notice them last time.

What the fuck?

"So? What does that mean?"

"Tomorrow, I’ll go to the temple and speak to the pontifex maximus (the high priest)," he said, his voice cracking. Marcus wrestled with unseen emotions before regaining his composure; you wondered what caused this change in him. "We need to move forward promptly, night is approaching. I can’t take you back to the villa in case something happens while I’m away. So, I’ll take you somewhere safer."

‘Wait a minute,’ you stopped him, an idea sparking in your mind. ‘To the barracks? If I can read the words there, I can—’

"No, you can’t set foot in there," he growled, turning sharply away.

You furrowed your brow in frustration. "Why is he so angry?"

"It’s no place for women," Julius explained, falling into step beside you as you both trailed after Marcus.

"So, where are we going?"

"To the house of the second person my brother trusts most in this life," he replied, his voice softening slightly as a hint of familiarity entered it.

“Who is it?”

“Lady Lucilla.”

"There's no way I'm riding that!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with disbelief as you stared at the majestic horse before you.

“Have you never ridden a horse before?” Julius asked, his eyes widening with surprise.

“We drive in cars, not horses. Sure, I know some folks ride in the countryside or for sport, but honestly, I've never even sat on one before,” you admitted, your heart thumping in rhythm with your anxiety as you eyed the large beast with trepidation.

“It is quite a distance to our destination, and walking may be time-consuming and exhausting," Marcus said, mounting the horse expertly. “Julius, help her get on my back.”

Julius nodded, extending his hands toward you. “Just give me a moment!” you protested, halting him with outstretched palms, eyes locked on the horse. “I need to prepare myself mentally first.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. Just place your foot here.” He motioned to the stirrup while enveloping your waist with one steady arm.

Marcus rolled his eyes, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at the sight of Julius’s unguarded touch lingering on you. “Take my hand,” he urged, his voice resolute and sounding like a warning, extending his hand toward you.

You complied, gripping it tightly as you placed your foot in the stirrup. Julius supported you as you clambered onto Marcus's back, mindful of the wound on your back. Once seated, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his torso, clutching him tightly. In your fear, you closed your eyes, unaware of how uncomfortable you were making him. His breath hitched in his chest, and he felt your warmth pressed against him, the thin fabric of your black robe a mere barrier between you.

“How can I breathe when you cling to me like that?” he grumbled, wrestling your hands free to ease the pressure.

Opening your eyes, you replied, “It’s my first time on a horse! Can’t you be a little understanding? Aaaah!”

With a sudden jolt, he urged the horse forward, and your grip tightened once more, this time eliciting an unexpected smirk from him. As your initial panic began to fade, he turned the horse around to gather his thoughts. Casting a glance back at Julius, he said, “You go on ahead. I will ensure her safe arrival there and return to the villa."

“What? You’re going to leave me and return?” you squeaked, incredulous.

Julius smiled at you. “I hope to see you again.”

Before you could grasp the gravity of his words, Marcus kicked the horse into motion again, this time heading down the road. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your head against his back.

“Does your back hurt?” he asked over the rhythmic pounding of hooves.

“A little, but it’s nothing serious. Why do you ask?”

In response, he kicked the horse's flanks, propelling it forward at a faster pace. A small scream escaped your lips. “Goodness! Don’t ride so fast, you psycho! Are you trying to scare me to death?"

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your dismay. “Cover your head,” he instructed as you approached a grand garden and a tall gate. He pulled the horse to a halt, and the sight of a man in polished armor standing by the gate captured your attention.

“General,” the armored man saluted.

As the gate swung open, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the intricately designed metal armor. Its craftsmanship was astonishing, far beyond anything you had ever seen or created in your costume design endeavors. It all felt surreal.

Marcus stopped the horse by a beautiful fountain, where bystanders began to approach, their curious gazes lingering on you. Dismounting, he turned to face you, his expression now serious. “Now, I want you to lower your foot off the horse.”

You nodded hesitantly. “What if I fall?”

“I won’t let you fall,” he assured you, holding out his hand. “Trust me.”

“Better catch me, or—” you began to protest as you attempted to swing your leg around. “Why is this dress so long?” you exclaimed, lifting the fabric only to realize it was inching dangerously close to revealing more than intended.

Fortunately, Marcus caught you as you slipped, his grip firm yet gentle, but his hands inadvertently brushed against the back of your thighs. He quickly set you down, maybe a bit more forcefully than he intended, his hands clenching into fists like he was trying to shake off the awkwardness of that brief touch. “Stop fiddling with that dress. Do you take pleasure in revealing your legs? Be more careful!” he scolded.

“Revealing... What? What can I do about it? It’s too long!” you shot back, still trying to manage the fabric.

“General Acacius,” a woman said with a tone of respect and authority.

You both turned and looked at the owner of the voice. It was a tall blonde woman who looked exactly like a Roman noble lady. Just like the statues in those museums. She was beautiful and charming despite her age.

Marcus bowed his head. "My lady."

Her jewelry clinked as she approached. "Who is this girl? To what do I owe the honor of your coming to my villa at this hour?" She looked you up and down and you smiled nervously.

“Forgive me, my lady, I wouldn't bother you at this hour if I didn't need help.”

You looked at him with your eyes wide open. That rude, grumpy, cold man had suddenly become a kind man.

"Why don't we talk inside?" she said, inviting you in. "Leta! Serve wine to our guests," she said to someone at the couryard and turned away so you can follow her inside.

You leaned toward Marcus as you walked together behind her. "Is she your girlfriend or something? Beautiful woman, congrats dude."

He looked at you sharply. "Cease your nonsene, never talk like that in front of her. Remember what I told you before and don't disrespect her. You'd better keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking."

"Do you want me to leave you two alone?" you taunted playfully stretching out the word 'alone.'

His expression hardened even more. "You really are a shameless woman with no respect."

“And you're a caveman with no sense of humor,” you muttered.

The woman invited you to sit at a table. There were fruits and something bread-like on it. Finally something to eat. As soon as you sat down, you grabbed the apple from the fruit plate, ignoring Marcus' judgmental gaze on you as you ate it, looking at her and smiling. “I'm sorry, but I haven't eaten since this morning, thanks to some people.” you said, squinting at Marcus.

Lucilla laughed and looked at the woman serving wine. “Leta, bring her some proper food.”

"Thank you very much, ma'am, um my lady."

The food they brought was very good, but you were eating a little too fast because you were starving. "You could eat a little more politely," Marcus hissed.

"I'm famished," you grumbled. "And I can't get better if I don't eat properly," you said with your mouth full.

Marcus turned his head away, obviously embarrassed by you.

“I’m truly sorry I couldn’t attend the banquet,” she said to Marcus, stifling a laugh at your unapologetic behavior.

"My lady, please rest assured, there was nothing of interest anyway."

"I heard about that you were attacked. Did you find out who did it?"

"Yes, and I punished them, but I couldn' let them talk."

“Could it be Severus?"

"Emperor Severus? I doubt it. Why do you think he would?"

Lucilla smoothed her dress and adjusted herself more comfortably in her ornate chair. “He might harbor resentment towards you for helping Lucius. Never place your trust in him, Acacius.”

They both turned to the sound of your coughing. Marcus handed you some wine. "I told you to eat slowly," he scolded.

Lucilla looked at you both and stood up. "Acacius," she said, calling him to her side.

They walked slowly towards the fountain, a distance you couldn't hear.

“She is a little odd, an outlander maybe? I have never seen her before.”

"My lady, this is a difficult thing to say. I can only say that I promised to send her back and she needs to stay somewhere until I find a way."

"Lady Balbina and your sister Lydia have obviously been difficult on her. Since you brought her here."

“You are correct, my lady. If her presence is an inconvenience, I will take her elsewhere; I certainly do not wish for her to cause any disturbance.”

“Of course, she is welcome to stay. I must express my astonishment though, I've never seen you with a woman since...”

Marcus paused and looked directly at her. “It's not like that, I assure you, my lady. I only made a promise and I must fulfill it, there is no other meaning.”

"Well, it would be good to see you with a woman rather than always grieving. I thought for a moment you had opened your closed heart to this woman that you couldn't even open to me."

Marcus looked away, his expression dark, gaze cold as ice. "As I’ve already stated, there’s no hidden meaning behind it. I ask you to endure this for just a few days; you may confine her if it eases your mind. I will now take my leave," he nodded to her and turned to leave.

"I'll return tomorrow evening, so there's no need for concern. Please don't create difficulties for Lady Lucilla during my absence; behave yourself and wait for my return."

Marcus’s words echoed in your mind as he rode off into the distance, disappearing, leaving you alone in this unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling place. Lady Lucilla appeared to be kind, but there was an air of strangeness that had settled since your arrival. Still, she was certainly a relief compared to Marcus’s cruel stepmother and evil sister, and you were allowed to wander through the sprawling courtyard.

Now, nestled in the soothing warmth of your tranquilizer pill, a wave of comfort enveloped you. Morning light filtered through the grand windows as you pulled your phone from your bag, only to be met with a frustrating ‘no network’ error. What had you expected? This was ancient Rome, devoid of GSM or Wi-Fi. With your battery at 67%, you decided to turn it off, conserving it for later.

But your chill vibe was quickly ruined by the awful smell of horse manure in the air. You really needed a shower; it was like a craving. Based on what you knew about Roman villas and their grandeur—this one was way bigger than Marcus's place—there had to be a bath somewhere. And sure enough, Lady Lucilla had mentioned you could use it, which brought a wave of relief. Once you were inside, you almost jumped for joy. The space was huge, with stone walls and steam rising everywhere, like a fancy bathhouse rather than just a simple pool. But then it hit you: no soap or shampoo—those were luxuries that hadn’t been invented yet. A little panic set in at the thought of dirty hair, but then some slaves brought you flower essences and oils that surprisingly smelled good.

As you soaked in the hot water, the pleasant smells revitalized you. Just when you were starting to unwind, a sharp pain shot from the wound on your back—a reminder that you’d forgotten to use the ointment Marcus gave you. You cursed yourself for not including a proper first aid kit in your bag; instead, you made do with only hand and face cream.

Then, amidst the tranquility, you heard a whistle—sharp and unexpected. A deep, unfamiliar, masculine voice followed, cutting through your moment of solace. "Gods above. What have we got here? Am I dreaming or what?" You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, a sudden wave of vulnerability crashing over you.

What was a man doing here?

You froze in panic. When you turned to see who was talking, there was a man close to your age, with a playful grin o his face, his head tilted to the side as he clearly enjoyed the sight.

Frustration bubbled up inside you. “What are you staring at? Turn around and get lost!”

Instead of leaving, he laughed hard, stepped closer, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a panic, you sank deeper into the water, the heat now a fierce contrast to the throbbing pain in your back. “Don’t come any closer or—”

“Or?” he challenged, his grin widening.

“Or I’ll scream!” You could feel the rising tide of emotion pushing to break free.

He chuckled, undeterred, and crouched before you, curiosity dancing in his gaze. With no choice left, you screamed at the top of your lungs, "Lady Lucilla! Leta! Help!"

“Oh, stop squealing like a damn rat,” he growled.

Within moments, a bunch of slaves rushed in, looking both concerned and annoyed. Lady Lucilla soon followed, glancing between you and the guy. “Lucius! My son!”

Your heart raced—her son? You watched them hug, the warmth of their family bond hitting you hard while your anxiety spiked. Lucius turned your way, curiosity painted on his face. "Who’s this girl? She doesn’t even look like a slave."

Lucilla sighed, focus returning to you, as she commanded one of the slaves, “Leta, get her dressed and get her out of there. Enough with the bath.” Her demeanor softened as she turned back to Lucius. "When did you arrive? I didn’t expect you so soon. I couldn't even speak to Severus."

“I arrrived this morning. Acacius' men brought me,” he replied.

Lucilla paused for a moment, a hint of worry flashing across her face before she focused back on the situation. "Come, I'll feed you. You must be hungry."

“Oh my god! It’s Marcus Aurelius.”

The moment your eyes landed on the bust of the emperor, which was Lizzie's favorite in the grand courtyard, your heart raced as if it might leap from your chest. Just last month, you had marveled at the original in a museum, but this one looked absolutely amazing, with a brighter contrast to the original.

“That girl is really disrespectful; she talks like she’s met my grandfather,” Lucius remarked, swirling his goblet of wine.

Lucilla, lounging gracefully in her chair, rolled her eyes.

Did he just say grandfather?

No way.

A wave of anxiety washed over you again.

“Your name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, and your name is Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla. Is that true?” you ventured, not quite believing what you were saying.

Lucius flashed a roguish grin. “Even a five-year-old knows that. Why are you so surprised?”

“My sister admires him—well, your father, my lady,” you corrected quickly.

Lucilla reclined back, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “My father was a very wise man, a good emperor. Many still hold him in high regard.”

“I wish we could say the same about the current emperor,” Lucius muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Lucilla shot him a warning glance that could silence a storm.

Right, the current emperor.

You couldn’t ask about that directly. You could already feel the awkwardness creeping in. You racked your brain, trying to recall your Roman history. It couldn’t be Commodus; it had to be after him. Oh, those years with all those emperors. Which one was it again? You figured it was best to talk to Marcus when he showed up. But he didn’t come. It was dark now, and he was still missing.

Living in this ridiculous, twisted reality without him was nearly unbearable. Being around living versions of those historical figures you only knew from books and museums felt surreal. You needed something to take the edge off, another pill.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice drawled from the corridor, making you jump.

Lucius approached, his presence both imposing and oddly captivating, as he leaned casually against the stone pillars.

“You wouldn’t do what?” you asked, confused.

“I mean I wouldn’t venture out into the courtyard,” he explained, his gaze drifting over the stone wall. “They’re here.”

“Who?” you followed his line of sight.

In the shadows of the courtyard, illuminated by flickering torches, two young blonde men sat facing Lucilla. One was tall and striking, exuding an air of authority; the other, shorter and clearly overwhelmed, seemed to shrink under the weight of expectation. When you caught sight of the golden crowns atop their heads, panic seized your gut. “Who are they?” you stammered.

“They are Geta, the cunning one, and Caracalla, the mad one."

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

“The sons of Emperor Septimius Severus?”

His silence confirmed your fears.

“Oh, no. Fuck. Why? Why?” you moaned, pressing your hands against your temples, feeling the heat of dread seep into your bones.

“What’s wrong with you? Your face has turned pale,” Lucius observed, his smirk painting an amused picture against your turmoil.

You sank your head into your hands. “How much worse can this get? I just want this nightmare to end. That psycho is nowhere to be found. He promised he’d come,” you lamented.

“General?” he chuckled. “You actually believe he’ll return?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”

“He must want to be rid of you if he brought you here,” he replied, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"Stay out of stuff you don’t get."

“This is a prison,” he said. “Once something enters these walls, it rarely escapes. Just think about it—my mother, Lucilla, hasn’t seen the outside world since that day—only allowed out for the Princes’ birthday celebrations. She was practically coerced into attending that damned banquet.”

"But she’s the princess, right? She’s kind of important, and there are soldiers—"

“Praetorians,” he corrected, his voice dripping with disdain. “And they’re the emperor’s dogs. They do whatever he says."

“So your mother is being held here against her will, like some form of house arrest?” you asked.

“Yes, because of her importance and me, and also because of the general.”

“What do you mean?"

"The general serves the emperor, not my mother. Severus didn't deserve the throne. After my uncle's death, everything became chaotic. Severus manipulated the military to seize power over the Senate. It could have been different if Acacius had assisted me, but he didn't. Unlike Severus, he has no interest in politics, Acacius is a man of war, eager for battle—though I know the real reason behind that."

"What reason?" Your heart raced, curiosity fighting against your unease.

He grinned, brushing his finger against your cheek. His touch made you uneasy. “That one thing that bothers all men.”

You recoiled, pushing his hand away, your pulse quickening. “Anyway, I believe he will come—he promised me.”

“Keep waiting then, flower.”

You stood there, eyes wide, watching him walk away, his words ringing in your head.

The only thing that bothers all men.

What could that possibly mean?

Or was he alluding to love or something equally absurd? That cold, grump guy—love? What could he possibly know about any of that?

It felt like the most absurd joke ever.

“We must do this to eliminate Acacius.”

You turned your head, it was Geta. You were curious about what he was talking about. And why did Lucilla seem so unfazed? Then you remembered Marcus’s earlier words: “Someone betrayed me; I need to find out who.”

Was it Lucilla?

What kind of outrageous nonsense is this?!

This was all beginning to feel like one of those dramatic soap operas—full of intrigue, even in the world of ancient Rome.

You reached into your bag, fingers grazing the familiar contours of a pillbox, but just as you grasped it, an unexpected yelp rent the air. A quick flicker of movement caught your eye—a creature, not quite human, darted past you with astonishing speed, snatching the pillbox from your grip. It leaped away with the agility of mischief incarnate.

A fucking monkey?

For a moment, you froze, utterly astonished. Then instinct kicked in, propelling you into a chase. “Hey! Come back here, you little thief!” you shouted, your heart racing as you pursued the nimble primate. It was a ridiculous pursuit; the monkey, far too agile, danced and dodged your every effort, leaving you flustered.

“Dondus! Where—”

Before you could figure out who shouted, you collided with someone and fell to the ground.

“What the hell?” the person exclaimed, clearly annoyed.

You rubbed your head where it bumped against his. “Watch where you’re going!” you shot back, realizing too late you just insulted a prince—probably Caracalla.

“How dare you!” he bellowed, scrambling to his feet, his garments slightly askew. Perched on his shoulder was the very monkey you were still trying to catch, nibbling curiously on your pill box.

You pointed accusingly at him. “That’s mine!”

“Brother, what’s happening here?” Geta called out, approaching with Lucilla by his side.

“This insolent wretch dared to throw herself at me, sending me sprawling!” Caracalla’s voice dripped with indignation.

Your blood boiled. “I didn’t mean to! The monkey stole my medicine!”

Geta wrinkled his nose, scrutinizing you with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “How dare you treat my brother, your prince, with such disrespect?” His sudden grip on your hair made you gasp, panic surging as you felt his intimidating presence. “Do you wish for your life to be snuffed out?” The menace woven in his tone made you swallow hard.

“Who is this? A slave of yours?” he tossed at Lucilla.

Lucilla rolled her eyes at you, her lips parting to speak when the thunderous neigh of a horse interrupted.

“My Lady!”

All eyes turned toward the sound, and relief washed over you as you spotted Marcus. In a flash, you elbowed Geta, urgency driving you to escape from his grasp. He groaned as you dashed toward Marcus who leaped down from his horse. You huddled behind him, a barrier against the escalating tension. Marcus nodded toward the princes, a mix of confusion and caution shadowing his posture.

“Acacius?” Caracalla narrowed his gaze, suspicion oozing from his words.

“You whore!” Geta thundered, clutching his side where you had elbowed him earlier. “General Acacius, I insist you tell me—what is your connection to this insolent girl? Speak up immediately!"

"Do you know her?” Caracalla asked.

Marcus glanced at Lucilla, then swiftly nodded. “Yes, your highness, I do.”

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” you whispered to him, desperation crystallizing your words. “His monkey took my medicine. He started it!”

“Do not say another word, girl or I'll cut off your tongue,” Marcus snarled through clenched teeth, clearly tense, startling you.

You pressed your lips together in response, a wave of fear silencing the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

It became clear that you had both landed in a perilous situation.

“There’s one more thing I’m curious about: Do you visit Lucilla often?” Geta's tone dripped with dry sarcasm, a predator circling its prey.

Marcus's eyes hardened. "I was surprised to find you here at this hour. I thought you might be with your father, who told me you weren't joining him for dinner and asked if I could help. It seems I was right to look for you here."

“Are you demanding an explanation from us, general? We can go wherever we please!” Caracalla retorted, anger flaring in his words.

“Of course, you may, it is not my place to tell you otherwise. However, as I mentioned, the emperor is concerned, and it is my duty to serve him,” Marcus replied, steady and resolute.

"Looks like you're dodging the real issue here, Acacius," Geta said, shooting you a pointed look. "I wonder why..."

With a gesture, he signaled one of the guards standing by the fountain. The guard bowed his head and approached you, reaching out to grab your arm. Marcus’s muscles tensed, an uncertain battle waging within him as he watched, powerless to intervene.

The piercing sound of metal as the guard unsheathed his sword reverberated in your ears, but when it was pressed against your throat you felt your heart beating right there.

You gasped and screamed.

“Please! I didn’t do anything!” Your heart raced with fear, body trembling.

"Do you hold any concern for this woman? No? If she’s merely a slave, I assume you find it acceptable for her to suffer the consequences of this defiance against your prince."

What the hell is this?

'Suffer the consequences…'

You looked at Marcus, your eyes wide, but he didn’t even flinch—just cold and blank. Then it hit you: everyone else was the same, totally chill like this kind of thing happened all the time. Was offing someone part of their daily routine? Panic shot through you because you had zero plans of being a victim. “Do something, you psycho! Tell him I saved your life!” you shouted, feeling the guard shake you hard in his rage. Caracalla’s laughter sliced through the air, wild and menacing, like a predator enjoying the hunt.

“Is that even true?” Geta said, clearly amused.

“Come on! Tell them you forced me here! Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you really just going to let them kill me? After everything I’ve done for you? What if I hadn’t come to get you from that police station—”

“Shut…” he growled, then went on in a quieter tone. “…that mouth.”

Geta and Caracalla traded glances and burst out laughing.

"Do you have feelings for this girl, general? Our father will be deeply affected when he finds out about this; was she the cause of your rejection of the unions he proposed for you?" Geta teased, still chuckling at Caracalla.

Lucilla crossed her arms, all of them looking at Marcus, waiting for an explanation.

With a heavy exhale, Marcus gathered himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “This woman...” He swallowed hard, searching for the right words, but found there was no escape from the truth. “It’s all true...” His gaze flicked to you for a heartbeat and then fell away, as if he couldn’t bear the intensity of the moment. “I brought her here because...” He closed his eyes, letting out a pained breath. “She is the woman I love.”

There was silence, you stood there with your eyes and mouth wide open, almost forgetting the sword pressed against your throat.

“I ask you to release her. I promise you that nothing like this will ever happen again. Forgive me for everything that has transpired. My lady, I beg you to forgive me as well. I have caused you trouble.”

Wait a minute — that “trouble” was you?

With a dismissive gesture, Geta motioned to the guards, who stepped back to release you. “So the rumors had a kernel of truth. My father will certainly be surprised to hear this, Acacius,” Geta chuckled, his grin widening as he ambled towards the waiting carriage in the garden. Caracalla snatched the medicine box and threw it in your direction. “Don't appear before me again."

You squinted at him, relief flooding through you as he returned your medicine box. Lucilla’s gaze lingered on you as their carriage rolled away. “Did you lie to me, Acacius? I never took you for a dishonest man. You’ve disappointed me.”

Marcus bowed his head. “My lady, I implore your forgiveness.”

“Regardless, it’s not suitable for this woman to remain here now that Lucius is present. Please, take her and leave.” With a casual wave of her hand, she turned and strode back inside.

I didn't like staying here anyway, you thought to yourself.

Marcus turned and walked to his horse, where a slave was holding the reins. The slave gave a quick salute, he then grabbed the reins, and hopped on without hesitation.

“Are you really going to leave me here?” you wailed, jogging to catch up with him.

He glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, then extended his hand. You reached for it, trying to pull yourself up onto the saddle, but stumbled and landed hard on your butt. “Aah, shit,” you groaned, wincing at your clumsiness.

With a deep sigh, Marcus dismounted. “You really are a troublesome one,” he remarked, and before you could protest, he grasped you by the waist, effortlessly lifting you and placing you onto the horse like you were as light as a feather. He swiftly mounted, took the reins, and urged the horse into a gallop. The wind whipped through your hair as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, exhilarated to escape from this place, though a wave of nervousness washed over you about what awaited next.

Julius was waiting for you near the Pantheon in the distance. Marcus dismounted, gently lowering you to the ground before turning back to guide his horse toward his brother. You rushed after him, your bag slung over your shoulder, urgency in your steps as you looked up at his face. “Hey, are you mad at me or something? It was not my fault, I swear. As if it wasn’t enough dealing with that Lucius guy, then that monkey came along and stole my medicine. How was I supposed to know it was Caracalla’s monkey? I still can’t believe he’s the real Caracalla. Do you know how significant he was in my time?” Despite your frantic words, he remained silent, his focus ahead, lost in thought as he strode forward.

“Um... did you mean what you said back there? Were you serious? I mean, I was really surprised. You don’t exactly seem like the love type, and you’re always so grumpy with me. You won't even look me in the eye. Seriously, you’re still not making eye contact.” He turned his head, when you were stealing a glance at his face. “Look, you’re still avoiding my gaze.”

He picked up the pace, and you hurried to keep up. “Honestly, I’m mad at you. It was dark, you didn’t show, and that Lucius guy said you weren’t coming, and I—” Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and pulled you in close, your body bumping against his shoulder. “Never approach someone with a sword from behind. And never touch him without warning. If you do, your hands will be cut off immediately.’" Then he shoved you forward, and you stumbled, nearly losing your balance. Anger bubbled up inside you as you shot him a look—still rubbing that sore spot where his hand had grabbed you. “Wow, you’re seriously rude! You’ve got zero sense of humor."

“What I said earlier...” he started to explain.

“Yeah, I get it,” you cut him off.

He blinked, looking caught off guard. “Get... what?”

“You had to say it; I get it. I’m not stupid. And honestly, I don’t care. I’ve got no interest in arrogant guys like you. Let’s just say I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Good,” he muttered, his voice barely making it out.

Feeling a sudden jolt of courage, you stepped in closer, put your hand on the corner of your mouth, and whispered playfully, “But too late; I’ve already heard everything,” nudging him with your elbow before darting off toward Julius, who was standing on the steps of the grand temple. Marcus just stared after you, his fingers still lingering where you nudged him. 'Gods. Among all those people from her time, why did it have to be her, why?' he thought angrily.

Once again, the night had turned out to be a total bust. Even though you had put in the effort to spell out the ancient parchment's inscriptions, nothing had changed. A wave of despair washed over you as the thought crossed your mind: 'What if I never make it back home?' Your thoughts lingered on your sister and father; your work felt minuscule compared to family. You longed to escape this bizarre, anachronistic world that felt so alien.

While you journeyed through your thoughts, the horse abruptly halted, jolting you back to reality—you were at Marcus’s villa. The thought of entering sent a shiver down your spine. “That woman won’t want me here,” you mumbled, dread twisting in your gut.

Marcus looked at you with unwavering eyes. “No one will ever harm you again, you have my word,” he said with a conviction that defied doubt.

“Why are you so confident? That woman—and her daughter—they scare me,” you admitted, anxiety clawing at your insides.

“Trust me,” he asured you before stepping into the courtyard.

You looked at Julius, whose gentle smile offered slight reassurance. “Trust my brother,” he insisted.

What was he insinuating?

You didn’t have many options left but to take a leap of faith; you were stuck here, after all.

As you stepped into the grand courtyard, the old woman and her daughter regarded you, their eyes widening in surprise. They rose from their seats, gliding toward Marcus, and your nerves instantly tightened with memories.

Marcus surveyed the gathering, as if to ensure that every ear was attentive, preparing them for something significant. His gaze darted to you momentarily, then he composed himself, taking a deep breath as he addressed everyone. “I’m going to say this just once, so listen carefully. As the eldest living male in our family, I’ve reached a decision that you all must honor.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of contemplation and determination. Then, with a commanding gesture, he continued, “This woman will now be considered part of our household, treated as if she were our own kin. Any hint of disrespect towards her will be viewed as a direct affront to me.”

A grateful, warm smile emerged on your face, yet the anger brewing inside Balbina was evident, prompting you to suppress a mocking laugh.

“Acacius, my son,” she began, her voice laced with scorn. “What title will this woman have while she is here? Considering that Julius is a widower and you are an unmarried man, her staying here might raise questions about propriety and attract unnecessary gossip. You are aware of how individuals can be quick to judge, especially in your position as a general. Such circumstances could potentially jeopardize your reputation. Furthermore, I want to remind you that she is not a citizen.”

“Do you think I’m unaware of these implications? I will petition the Emperor for special permission to grant her conubium,” he declared.

Gasps erupted from the residents of the house.

Lydia fumbled, dropping the glass in her hand, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. Balbina pressed a trembling hand against her chest, shock evident on her face. Julius's expression mirrored the astonishment shared by everyone present. Even the slaves froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances, as though witnessing something very rare.

You, however, were completely lost. The word “conubium” escaped your mind entirely, leaving you confused as you tried to remember its meaning.

“Preparations will commence tomorrow,” Marcus continued, his voice assertive. “Prepare one of the other rooms for her, she shall stay there until then.” With that, he strode purposefully up the stairs, leaving the courtyard in a hush of murmurs, disbelief, chaos.

Lydia steadying her flustered mother, they were still caught in shock, trading looks of disbelief.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone so surprised?” you asked Julius, your eyes still on Marcus, who was ascending the stairs without looking back at you or anyone else.

“Don’t you understand?”

You shook your head. “I mean, I’m not certain what that word means.”

He sighed, a hint of bewilderment slipping through. “Honestly, I’m surprised too; I never guessed my brother would do this.”

“What? Why? What did he just say?”

“He conveyed his intention to marry you,” he revealed softly.

In that fleeting moment, the meaning of “conubium” surged back into your mind, and it was your turn to freeze, caught off guard by the situation.

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️

taglist

@immyowndefender @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @javiismyhsbnd @heramj @longlivekingminnn @pedroloverbilmemkac @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @pedritomylovebemyhusband @fatimayilmazzz @javiismyhsbnd @jisungandpedrolover @shinsegismylove @peelieblue @darkheartgatita @orcasoul @sunwoosbaby @madnessofadaydreamer @ultraviolence44 @balhoneysweetstuff @catofash @queenofodds @blackborndue @daydream-believer19 @stalactitekilla @croissantdefleux @sonjajames2021 @indiegirlunited @picketniffler @sesdeuxyeux @wencontre @divaofmads @mysticmorning1 @iamfandomnerd @fancypeacepersona @shinsegismylove @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @possiblyafangirl @libbybalas6192 @inept-the-magnificent @zella07 @darkheartgatita @sonjajames2021 @divaofmads @longlivekingminnn

736 notes · View notes

be-xkyy · 2 months ago

Text

𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑉𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ

Summary: Reader spending time with her baby a few weeks after Louis brought him to the castle.

Warning: Fluffy content, mentions of depression, mentions of betrayal, mentions of murder, mentions of death, dead first husband.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★ @rosey1981 ★ @thejadevvitch ★ @jellystar-star ★

Masterlist

“Who's the cutest baby in the world?”

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Yes, you are!”

A smile spreads across your crimson lips as the baby giggles and gurgles happily. You gently pinch one of his chubby cheeks before taking a bib and wiping the spit from his lips. You pull the bib away as his sticky little fingers grasp the silky fabric, trying to bring it to his mouth.

“Don't put the bib in your mouth, my love.”

“Uhmmm.”

“You pouting like that only makes you look more adorable, my love.”

You let out a low laugh at the snort the baby lets out when you stop him from putting the bib in his mouth. An adorable pout forms on his lips, and without being able to help it, you lift the baby from his place on the bed and take him in your arms, rocking him gently. The little one looks at you with those big, innocent eyes, an innocence you haven't seen in centuries in this wretched place.

“You don't know how sorry I am that that monster brought you here, putting your life at risk, but I promise that from today on, I will make sure you are happy and safe by any means necessary.”

“Ahhhhh!”

You smile and feel a happiness you haven't felt in a long time. You are happy. This baby makes you happy. Your child makes you happy. As you lean down to kiss his forehead sweetly, you swear to yourself to protect and love him forever, when suddenly a thought comes to mind: your son needs a name, something meaningful and important, before Louis decides to name him himself. When you look at your sweet boy, only one name seems appropriate, a name that warms and aches your dead heart in equal measure.

“Your name will be Alexandre... I think the name suits you wonderfully. You are sweet, adorable, and charming, just like his original owner...”

Alexandre. Your beloved Alexandre. Your sweet husband, who was betrayed and murdered because of the vile schemes of his best friend and confidant, Louis. Although that happened centuries ago, your heart still hurts like the day you lost him. The wound is still fresh, open, and you don't believe it will ever heal.

“At least you make this ordeal feel like paradise, my dear Alexandre.”

553 notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 3 months ago

Text

A world in your colours

𐀔 Cherry Blossom, March Event 𐀔

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Daycare teacher!Kang Yeosang x Florist!reader

𐀔 Warning: none 𐀔 Word count: 6.2k 𐀔 Rating: sfw 𐀔 Genre: fluff, soulmates: you see all the colours for the first time when you meet your soulmate, strangers to lovers, fated together 𐀔 Summary: A world through the faint hues of your soulmate's eye colour isn't the most colourful life to live. Approaching twenty-five and still being unable to see all the colours the world has to offer has you worried that you'll never meet your soulmate. Doubts and questions riddle your mind day and night, but at least you have the one thing that makes you happy no matter what, your little flowers. You can't actually see their colours, but you can imagine their vibrancy. And then, one day when you're making a bouquet for a lovely man, your whole world gets covered in an overwhelming amount of colour, rendering you stunned.

A/N: Here it is, our lovely Yeosang's drabble. I love this guy and I love this little fluffy story, man, I was smiling so widely while writing these two, they are so endearing. Despite writing a florist!au...I cannot take care of my plants for the life of me, even though I really love them...especially pretty little flowers, but oh, well, I'll have to get better at taking care of them once I move out...I hope you enjoy this drabble and let me know what you thought of it, your feedback is much appreciated! Enjoy! ^^ divider @cromernet

𐀔 Join the taglist here! 𐀔

Taglist: @thecarnivaloflies @faeriehwa @mingiatz @kang-ulzzang @xylatox

@mintchocolatto @mintsugarr93 @solaris-amethyst @foxinnie8 @marvolos

@licityvibes @amoryeonjun @nkryuki @matchahintonagar @k1ttym0nkey

@justconniez @ateezswonderland @lemonkait00 @youcanstayalways @cristy-101

@my-atiny-kookie-rkive @wooyouz @cosmicrecs

Colour, as defined by everyone’s best friend, Wikipedia, is the visual perception based on the electromagnetic spectrum. Although colour is not a fundamental attribute of matter itself, the way we perceive it is intricately tied to how an object absorbs, reflects, and emits light, as well as the subtle play of interference within those light waves. That was another sentence you had long ago read on the internet, and it stuck with you. Your peers have always considered you a bit strange for your obsession with colours, but then again, in a world that was painted mostly grey with hues of brown, amber, and copper, you couldn’t help but obsess over it. It wasn’t by choice that you couldn’t see all colours…if it were up to you, you’d coat your whole life in nothing but a mess of bright and light pastels. You sighed at the reoccurring thought as you walked over to another plastic vase to grab a purple Lily to add to the bouquet. You double-checked the label before grabbing it, though; you didn’t need another embarrassing incident today.

The sole reason as to why you couldn’t see colours yet was because you hadn’t met your soulmate yet. In a way, it was something you were glad for because you’d know for sure who your soulmate was. You’ve read stories written by famous novelists who fantasized about a world where your soulmate's first words directed at you would be inked into your skin, and you wondered whether that felt as magical as the author made it seem. What if five different people said the same exact words to you that were on your wrist? What then? How would you decide which was your soulmate? You didn’t like thinking about that, though, content with the reality of your world. Sure, it was a bit depressing and quite literally grey, but it also brought a sense of excitement and anticipation with it. Whenever you allowed yourself to fantasize about the moment when you’d meet your soulmate, your cheeks would burn hot, and your heart would race. You’d close your eyes and try to imagine all the vibrant colours that suddenly coloured your surroundings.

You figured it would feel overwhelming at first, making you sentimental or sending you into a panicked sobbing. You thought it would blind you and make you feel nauseous as all the colours would be suddenly as vivid as an explosion in the distance that was now right under your nose. You thought you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself anymore, that you’d need a second to piece your thoughts back together, to make sense of the situation, to tell yourself that everything was okay. That’s how you imagined you’d react, but you were always a person full of surprises, even to yourself. Besides, diving too deep into this topic always leaves you with a sour aftertaste. You were twenty-five, and your world was still gloomy, devoid of the warmth and brightness everyone around you gushed about. It wasn’t unusual to be still single by twenty-five, but most people have found their soulmates back in high school. Your parents, for example, were even luckier than that and met in middle school; their worlds suddenly filled with all colours. You were jealous of them, but you also admired them profoundly.

Their love was deep and unlike anything you’d seen before. Their respect for each other went even deeper than their love, kindness and devotion, just a few sentiments that could be added to their plate when cherishing one another. You wished for a gentle love like theirs, for quiet moments where no words had to be uttered to be understood, for genuine kindness and laughter that filled the longing in your chest. You smiled at your customer as you tied her bouquet together, getting an excited grin back in return.

“Oh, this is gorgeous!” She exclaimed as you grabbed a little butterfly sticker, searching for the perfect leaf to press onto, “My little one will love this!”

You were happy that the mother was excited; seeing your clients excited and happy over the flowers you loved so much always filled your chest with warmth. You imagined being with your soulmate felt like that, too. You handed the bouquet over to the woman once you were done with it, accepting her card when she said she had no cash.

“I’ve never seen anyone combine these colours so beautifully before,” The woman mused to herself as her eyes took in the plethora of flowers, a mixture of white, yellow, pink and even a little bit of purple in there, “You’ve got an artistic eye for it.”

You felt proud at the praise as you handed the card back, grinning at the lady as you bowed your head in gratitude, “That’s a lovely compliment, thank you so much!”

You didn’t have the heart to tell the lady that you had no idea what the flowers looked like in colour, whether the pink bow you’d tied to keep the bouquet together matched with the flowers you had chosen. The lady left soon after as she was in a rush, and you sighed, looking around the flower shop. You could tell the walls were a lighter orange, the shades a dark brown and probably your soulmate’s exact eye colour since the colour was so rich in hue. You’ve always wondered if the other colours were just as beautiful as the ones you could lightly see from time to time—or more pronounced if they were the same colour as your soulmate’s eyes—and your conclusion had always been that, yes, no matter what nuance or hue, all of it was just as gorgeous.

You thought of colours as you thought of flowers, special and unique in their ways, distinguishable and rather easy to remember once you learned their properties. Flowers have been your escape since a young age when your preschool teacher tasked you with growing little beans, encouraging you to name them and speak to them daily. After that, you had asked your parents whether you could try and cultivate your little garden in your room, and once they’ve given you the go, you had never turned back. The flower shop that you were working at wasn’t yours just yet, but its owner—a lovely middle-aged woman—was considering passing it on to you once she had grown old and tired of her business. You’d gladly take over it as you had no big plans for your future. You were content living in the place you had been born, surrounded by friends and family. You realised you were luckier than most that you could live a comfortable and fulfilled life, and that’s why you always made sure to give back to your community, even if it was something little.

You were just about to walk over to the vase with sunflowers when the doorbell chimed, signalling a new customer. You plastered a small smile to your lips and straightened your back, welcoming the man who had decided to walk inside your store, “Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, uhm, it’s my mother’s birthday today.” The man spoke, surprising you with his deep voice. His features were soft and relaxed; it was an unexpected juxtaposition, “Her favourite flowers are Magnolias; do you have any of that?”

You nodded your head, walking over to the vase placed right by the entrance. They were fresh as they had come in just today, so they were gorgeous as they were in bloom, “Silk Magnolias are mostly used for bridal bouquets, but I can make you a simpler one if you want me to.”

“I’d love that, please.” The man said as you two looked at each other, and for some unexplainable reason, your heart skipped a beat. You averted your eyes shily and crouched down to grab three Magnolias, your long skirt brushing past your ankles.

“They go well with Gardenias; would you like me to add some of those too?” You stood back up, realising that since the bouquet would be all white, you could add a deep red coloured ribbon to it, or perhaps even a soft pink one. The challenge, however, would be to find the right nuances since your coworker messed up some of the colours after her shift. You’d be embarrassed to ask the man for a little guidance, and that would be also you assuming that he had found his soulmate already, which would be a bit rude as you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. Due to you being unable to see all colours, everything inside the store was labelled with little post-it notes, bold letters stating the colour of the flowers. With that also came the shelf behind the front counter always being organised after a system that you had already memorised, no need to read the labels anymore. All ribbons and coloured foils were placed in their designated spot so that you’d know which one was which colour, but your coworker had mixed up the black and blue ones, resulting in you embarrassing yourself not even half an hour ago when a customer asked for blue ribbons and you had given them black ones. You quickly fixed your mistake, and the man wasn’t even upset, but your cheeks still burned with shame as now the man knew you still hadn’t met your destined partner.

“Uh, if you think it’ll be pretty, sure.” The man said, walking to the counter as you went behind it to organise the bouquet for him, “May I ask…what colour it’ll be?”

You froze for a second before you hummed, going over to the Gardenias to grab two of them, “White, if that’s alright.”

The man nodded eagerly, letting his green briefcase rest on the counter where it didn’t invade your space, “That’ll be perfect, my mother loves the colour white.”

You smiled as you glanced up at the man, and somehow it seemed as if the sunrays shining through the window were brighter, creating a white haze around him. He looked really pretty with his curly hair falling over his forehead, curling around his cheekbones, and you noted its copper hue with slight admiration. Afraid you were starting to stare, you lowered your eyes and started working on the man’s bouquet. You first made sure all the flowers were fresh and in perfect shape, undamaged by transport, and then cut into the ends a bit. Then you held the Magnolias together, arranging the Gardenias in between and adding a few dark green weeds for a better aesthetic. The handle of the tape was almost black, and you found yourself humming a melody as you taped the flowers together just until you’d tied the ribbon around it. You pulled the bouquet away from your face and felt the customer’s eyes on your face, almost insistent, but you kept working with a small smile on your face, catching a glance at your bright orange nails. You remembered your mother saying that colour might be a bit too bright, but since you couldn’t see it well as it was dulled to your eyes, you decided to still go for it. It was fun, after all.

You turned then and looked at the shelf behind you, tilting your head in wonder. There was the blue ribbon that had embarrassed you earlier, small white dots decorating the fabric, and you found it cute how the pastel colours blended nicely together. You glossed over the black and blue ribbons, they wouldn’t make the white pop right now. You needed something intense and eye-catching—like the burgundy fabric that would look gorgeous in contrast with the white flowers! You grinned triumphantly and grabbed it off the shelf, turning around to tie it tightly around the bouquet, making sure the flowers didn’t move while you worked on making the perfect bow, not too small nor too big. Your chest felt warm, and you were aware of your cheeks burning, but you couldn’t decide whether it had gotten warmer inside the shop or if it was the man’s eyes following your every move that made you feel shy. Nonetheless, you smiled brightly as you raised the bouquet and extended it towards the man. His eyes were slightly wide as they frantically searched your face, and you felt a little disheartened as you couldn’t decipher what his reaction meant. Was your bouquet really that gorgeous, or did he perhaps not like it and wasn’t sure how to voice his thoughts?

“Oh,” You muttered, eyebrows slightly raised as you glanced at the man’s burgundy red hair and then at the ribbon, “The ribbon matches your hair! What a coincidence…”

Your smile froze on your face, your heart stilling in your chest. The ribbon matches your hair, kept repeating in your head like a distant echo as your fingers slightly trembled, your eyes running all over the man in a panic. He was taller than you, a bit buff underneath his dark green suit, tailored to fit his body prettily. His necktie was a light orange, a lighter shade that still matched his beautifully dyed hair, his lips a cherry red much like the small heart-shaped discolouration on his left temple. Your breath stuttered in your chest as your hands fell to the counter, mindful of the bouquet in your hands still.

“You’re…”

“I am.” The man sounded just as winded as you did, a huff of disbelief leaving his mouth, “Your socks are so bright, they match your nail colour.”

Your bottom lip trembled as you laughed, looking down at your socks that peeked out from underneath your skirt. They were bright, really bright actually, a neon colour worse than your nails. You had no idea you even owned them, and you wondered why your mother had never said anything about them.

“The bouquet will be 15€.” You said as you typed the amount into the cash register, and the man nodded, opening his dark green briefcase.

“Right, thank you so much.” The man said, fumbling with his wallet as he opened it, pressing the crumpled-up money on the counter. He reached out for the bouquet but hesitated slightly, and you averted your eyes as your fingers brushed together. You had a feeling it wasn’t by accident, given that the man’s cheeks also flushed pink, eyes abashed, “My mother will love it.”

“Happy birthday to your mother.” You found yourself saying as the man pressed his wallet into the small pocket of his suit jacket, briefcase in his firm grip. You didn’t want him to leave, not yet, but you couldn’t keep him here all day…it was his mother’s birthday, after all.

“I’ll come by tomorrow, same time as today. When does your shift end?” Your heart skipped a beat as the man stumbled into the open front door as he was walking backwards, his eyes not leaving you for one second. You chuckled and bit your bottom lip, playing with the money in your hands.

“I have the morning shift; I’ll be ready to go by the time you make it here.” The man’s lips pulled into a wide smile, lighting his whole face up. He looked gorgeous, and you felt breathless as you watched him wave at you and almost get stuck on the door handle, his cheeks flushing pink again as he finally left the store with haste. He glanced back inside through the huge window, and you told yourself to hold it together until you couldn’t see him anymore, and then came the squeals you could barely contain in front of him, your heart racing a mile. You had to take a seat and press your forehead against the cool counter, and even that didn’t help the warmth from spreading throughout your body as if winter was finally over and the first spring sun was here to warm you up from the inside out. That man was your soulmate. Your fingers trembled as you raised your head, blinking hard.

The world was so…different. Everything had colour, absolutely everything, and you didn’t know how to react to it all. The counter, which you thought was a light green or blue, was actually a cute beige colour, the stickers stuck to it a whirlwind of bright colours. You traced them before looking back up, eyes taking in all the beautiful flowers. You couldn’t believe that you could see the yellowness of the Sunflowers, a little taken back that they looked mustard coloured…or was that right? You hadn’t seen mustard yet, so you couldn’t tell; you’d have to test your theory out once you got home. The Lilies, the purple ones, left you in awe of their beauty, and you couldn’t help but walk over to the blue Orchids and trace their petals with a fond smile. You wondered who the man was as you looked out the window dreamily, your heart racing in your chest uncontrollably. He was a gorgeous person, and he also seemed kind; you couldn’t wish for tomorrow to come faster. You giggled to yourself and hurried back behind the counter, hands shaking as you dialled your boss in your excitement, too eager to tell her that you could see all the colour around you now.

Your hands trembled as you clocked out, locking eyes with your grinning co-worker. She was a bouncing ball of nerves, even more excited than you over the fact that your soulmate was supposed to show up any time now. You chewed on your bottom lip and smoothed down your kaki long skirt, your black blouse thin so you had to cover up due to the morning chill. Your warm and long coat was a bright orange, and on your way home yesterday, you had realised that orange was slowly becoming your favourite colour. Judging based on your wardrobe, littered in colours you had no idea even existed, you had concluded that even unknowingly, your world had always been infused with colours. Your mother cried, and your father jumped around in happiness when you told them about this new development, right while having dinner, accidentally slipping up by saying sunflowers were definitely not mustard coloured. You had wanted to tell them in a cosier setting, perhaps in a cuter way too, but what was done was done. Your mother then made you call your grandmother, who was groggy since she was getting ready for bed, but the soft smile on her lips told you that she was just as happy for you as your parents, co-worker, and boss.

“What was your first impression of him?” Your co-worker smiled brightly at you, fiddling with a ribbon she had difficulty tying around the thick bouquet.

“He’s just…he seems very sweet and caring.” You heard yourself saying, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes were glued to the huge window. He was supposed to be here a few minutes ago, but then again, he hadn’t specified an exact time when he’d stop by, “His features are really delicate, but he looks manly still. I love his hair, though; it’s so rich in colour.”

“What colour is it?” Your co-worker followed up with her question quickly, too invested to pay any attention to the bouquet she was supposed to finish in five minutes.

“Burgundy, and he has a matching—” You gasped, eyes widening as the man was here. He wore a tailored suit again, a beaver brown—you’d stayed up until a very late hour last night, researching colours and hues, shades and tones, trying to memorise them all in your rush of excitement—and his tie was a darker orange. Your heart was racing furiously as it felt impossible to look away; your eyes met when the man arrived by the door. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks slightly flushed a light pink colour, and you took a deep breath before you turned to wave at your co-worker. She looked stunned, eyes frozen on the man before her grin spread wider, ushering you out the shop with a squeal. It was embarrassing, but you were more preoccupied with walking straight without having your knees give out as you watched the man open the door for you.

“Thank you.” You lowered your eyes as he hummed, stepping aside to make space for you, “Hi…uhm, it’s lovely seeing you again?”

You wanted to facepalm yourself for making it sound like a question, but the man didn’t seem bothered as he chuckled, ducking his head. His suit jacket was nicely folded over his arm, his white shirt clinging to his body. It had gotten significantly warmer by noon, but you were someone who easily got cold, so you didn’t take your coat off.

“Hi, it’s really nice seeing you, yeah.” Then, the man cleared his throat and looked up with more confidence on his face, “I didn’t introduce myself yesterday. I was honestly too stunned to function properly. My name is Kang Yeosang.”

You extended your hand to shake Yeosang’s hand, your soulmate, and blushed when your skin made contact with his. His palm was bigger than yours, and his skin was really soft, but his grip was confident and strong without hurting you. You told him your name, and his eyes sparkled under the bright sunlight, and you felt yourself unable to look away. Yeosang was gorgeous; seldom did you see a man like him. It felt slightly surreal that he was your soulmate, and you felt extremely lucky all of a sudden. You didn’t know him yet, but something told you he was an amazing person.

“Where would you like us to go?” Yeosang’s question reminded you of the fact that you were still standing outside the flower shop, quite blocking the entrance actually, and you flushed darker when you realised your co-worker was most likely watching the two of you.

“Maybe for a stroll in the park just there?” You pointed across the street, the gates of the lovely park in the heart of the city visible. Yeosang nodded enthusiastically and motioned in front of himself as a way to tell you to lead the way. As you took off, you found yourself walking as close by Yeosang’s side as you could without making it weird, and your heart hadn’t stopped racing ever since you saw him. There was something magnetic about the man, about your soulmate, and you felt like you couldn’t last another day without being in his presence. Matter of fact, you didn’t want to be since you’ve waited twenty-five years for this moment.

“Would you like some coffee? Or tea?” Yeosang asked as you two noticed the small coffee stand at the same time and you hummed, looking at Yeosang a little sheepishly.

“I don’t like coffee, but I really like tea.” Yeosang chuckled, something like endearment appearing on his face as he grabbed your elbow gently and veered you away from the oncoming crowd of teenagers.

“That’s funny. I don’t like tea but basically live off of coffee.” You chuckled too, your eyes meeting as Yeosang walked you two over to the coffee stand. There weren’t a lot of tea options, so you settled for wild berries, glad that the vendor had some homemade honey for you to mix with your tea instead of sugar. Yeosang asked for a simple black coffee with ice, a bit of milk and one spoonful of sugar, and you found yourself reciting his order in your mind until you could recall it easily.

With your drinks in your hands, you headed for the crosswalk, having to wait since it was red for the pedestrians. The street was bustling with many people at this hour, and not everyone was as self-aware as you—and it seemed like Yeosang, too—so they either didn’t look where they walked or purposefully pushed people around to get further to the front. You had to make space for a guy on his phone, not paying even a little bit of attention to those around himself as you, too, could hear the music coming from his headphones. You tried to make space for everyone, but before you could step behind Yeosang, you felt fingers sneaking between yours, a warm palm pressed against yours as you were gently guided into Yeosang’s side. His eyes were still sparkling, his cheeks were red—not as red as the discolouration on his temple—and you thought for a second you could hear his rapidly beating heart.

“Is this okay?” He asked almost too quietly for you to hear with the honking cars and loudly conversing people, but you did catch it, and you nodded eagerly, making sure to squeeze Yeosang’s hand for extra confirmation.

“Yes! More than okay, actually.” You sounded more confident than you felt, and Yeosang was suddenly smiling widely, his cheeks pulled up and making him look the softest. Before you could do something as crazy as lean up and nuzzle your nose against his, the light turned green, and you followed the crowd, crossing the street. The walk to the park’s entrance was quiet, your hands fitting perfectly into each other’s, and you revelled in the comfort of it all as Yeosang occasionally glanced at you. The park wasn’t as packed as the sidewalks, and you could freely roam around without bumping into anyone, and yet, your hands stayed intertwined.

“So,” You spoke up, taking a sip of your tea before you faced Yeosang while walking, “What do you do for work? I’m a florist, but you know that much about me already.”

Yeosang hummed, facing you with that adorable small smile on his lips, “I’m a daycare teacher. The school isn’t far from here. You actually saved me yesterday. I was running late for my mother’s birthday dinner, and I thought there weren’t any flower shops close by.”

You chuckled, veering Yeosang away from the flock of birds that didn’t look too friendly, “Did your mother like the bouquet?”

“Yes, she loved it, thank you.” Yeosang then stopped, tilting his head with furrowed eyebrows, “I told them…my parents…that I found my soulmate, and they, well, uhm, they want to meet you. I know it’s too soon, and I asked them to wait a little bit until we’ve gotten to know each other, but they are just too impatient and excited to finally meet you.”

You felt your heart swell and almost burst out of your chest as your smile grew into a wide grin. You didn’t even realise it, but you had taken a step closer to Yeosang, smiling up at him so widely that your cheeks ached. Yeosang looked stunned for a second before he returned your smile, biting his lower lip as he averted his gaze down to the ground, “I’d love that, but I want to do what makes you feel comfortable. If you think we should wait, then we will; if not…just let me know when it’s good for you and your parents.”

Yeosang nodded, his eyes finding yours, “You are so kind.”

“You are too, Yeosang.” You chuckled, and it was your time to look down. Yeosang seemed to feel proud over that compliment before he took off, guiding the two of you through the park.

“I don’t feel like we are rushing, but I think it’s more responsible if we go on a few dates first.” You felt like a high school girl, wanting to squeal over the fact that you’d be going on dates with Yeosang, “My parents are nice people, but they are…well, they had gotten a bit desperate about me finding my soulmate. Honestly, they thought you were dead.”

Well, that thought had never crossed your mind before, but it definitely didn’t sit well with you as you looked at Yeosang with a frown. His expression looked neutral, but he squeezed your hand, “I’m twenty-seven, so they think I’m too old to be single. My parents’ families were close friends, so they’ve always known they are soulmates. They had it easy, so it was weird seeing their son struggle to find his soulmate.”

“Did it hurt you? That you sought me out without success for so long?” You found yourself asking, curious to know how Yeosang felt. He seemed to think for a second, humming as he looked down at his cup of coffee.

“It was frustrating at first, mostly because my parents were also pressuring me.” He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, then shrugged, “Then I realised I wouldn’t find you faster if I made myself mull over it, so I just let it go. Since we are fated to be together, I realised I couldn’t trick fate and quicken the process.”

You hummed in agreement, realising you’ve had a similar mindset to Yeosang’s for the past one or two years, “I’m twenty-five and had lost hope at some point. My parents, similar to yours, met very early on, in middle school. I thought I’d also find my soulmate around that time, and when it didn’t happen, I thought it would come in high school…but then that didn’t happen either, and I felt disheartened, like something was wrong with me. And then I realised I can’t push something that isn’t meant to happen just yet.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait.” Yeosang’s answer was quick, his hand squeezing yours as your eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t apologise, the wait was worth it in the end.” You giggled, averting your eyes shily.

“Yeah?” Yeosang sounded surprised, perhaps even a bit cocky, “You think so?”

“I think that you’re very handsome, Yeosang, and soft.” There was no reason to be embarrassed in front of your soulmate, certainly not when it came to complimenting him, “You have an aura of kindness and brightness around you; I think it’s everything I wanted in a partner.”

Yeosang was smiling widely again, nodding his head as he became shy once again, “You’re cute and vibrant; your smile makes my heart race. I’m thankful that you are my soulmate.”

You stopped walking, the sudden urge to hug Yeosang wasn’t something you could control, so you threw your arms around his torso and leaned into him, smiling to yourself as your head landed on his shoulder. Yeosang’s arms were quick to go around you, squeezing you into himself, and you realised he smelled like oranges and fresh grass, refreshing and calming. You loved the fresh smell of nature, and you loved Yeosang’s natural fragrance. You heard a chuckle, and suddenly something was plucked out of your hair, making your eyebrows furrow as you slightly pulled back, looking at Yeosang’s hand. A dry leaf was between his fingers, his expression amused.

“You’re like a garden fairy, do bees gravitate towards you during summer?” You laughed and shook your head, feeling a bit embarrassed as Yeosang pocketed the leaf instead of letting it fall to the ground. Your cheeks burned as you two let go of each other, fingers naturally intertwining as you headed for a bench, “Why did you choose to become a florist?”

You sat down on the bench, facing each other, and Yeosang’s knee brushed lightly against your thigh. You held your cup of tea in both hands, playing with it as you looked down in your lap, “Well, I just really love nature. I’ve always felt at ease around my little plants in my room, and then I realised I just really love flowers. They are so beautiful and tender, you have to nurture them and take care of them as if they were human. I feel like I have a connection to nature; it’s like I can be completely myself around all that beauty—and the colours! Oh, I love their colours, they are so gorgeous! I’m so glad you walked into the shop yesterday. I had no idea I was missing out on—so much!”

Yeosang watched with fascination on his face as you spoke, a little overexcited that he wanted to hear your hobbies and likes. It was only normal; you’d have to gradually get to know each other, yet it still felt surreal that the sky was an almost transparent blue, the clouds completely white, the barks of the trees various shades of brown, the grass so green, all the leaves, and all the colourful flowers. You loved seeing all the colour on people, too, how they expressed themselves by their outfits, all the colours inside buildings and outside. You’d have to buy some more colourful furniture for your room since it’s mostly beige and yellow. You wanted to cover your world in the colours of the rainbow, in every possible hue and shade.

“Yes, the world is so…intense now, vibrant. It’s impressive how I could live without it all.” Yeosang’s deep voice was soft and quiet as if he was speaking to himself, “I like being in nature, surrounded by wildlife, away from the noisy city. We could go on hikes and maybe even camping.”

You nodded eagerly, having fond memories of the hikes you had gone on with your friends and family, “I’d really love that, Yeosang. I’ve always wanted to go camping, but my parents don’t like bugs, so we never stayed out after nightfall.”

Both you and Yeosang laughed at that, and then you were eager to learn too about Yeosang, “I imagine you love children since you are a daycare teacher; how did you realise that?”

“It’s nothing too revolutionary,” Yeosang chuckled, finishing his cup of coffee, “I would babysit for our neighbours when I was a teenager, and then my cousin had a baby brother, and I’d spend a lot of time with them. As I was growing up, I realised I was fond of those little ones, so…it just happened, I guess.”

You nodded, understanding him, “Would you want children?”

The answer was obvious to that, but you still wanted to ask, “Definitely, if you’d also like to have children, of course.”

Your whole face flushed, and you coughed, a little taken off-guard by Yeosang’s direct answer. His eyebrows raised and his ears flushed, and suddenly he was stumbling over his words, “I mean—like, whoever is my partner, I care about that! You know, like, whatever my partner wants—whether it’s you or someone else, not that I’m thinking of anyone else—but I’m just…yeah, I think that was too soon, wasn’t it?”

He was adorable, you had to shield your mouth with your hand as you laughed quietly, shaking your head at Yeosang, “I mean, since we are soulmates, I don’t think any topic is too soon, Yeosang.”

“Yeah?” Yeosang asked, not quite looking at you yet, “Right, I mean, sure, that makes sense.”

Comfortable silence settled over the two of you, and you picked a stray string off Yeosang’s knee. He watched you quietly, taking in your serene expression, and your eyes met as you raised your head. You smiled at Yeosang without saying anything for a second, then chuckled, this whole situation feeling unreal. Just yesterday, your whole world was covered in grey and hues of brown, amber and copper—and now, your soulmate sat next to you on a bench, the world infused with so much colour you still weren’t used to it, and to top it off, your soulmate was kind and loving, good with children and soft-spoken despite his uncharacteristically deep voice. His face was gentle, his features almost as if they were sculpted by Greek Gods, his burgundy hair even curlier than yesterday as it was pinned back by a little pink bow, and it made you wonder if it was a child from the daycare that had placed it there. Yeosang’s expression looked a bit baffled as you continued to stare at him without saying a word, and not wanting to look weird, you spoke up, “I’m just admiring you because I cannot believe you are real.”

A surprised gasp left Yeosang’s lips at your words, and he didn’t shy away this time, leaning forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You grinned as he caressed your cheek, his palm warm and his skin soft, and for a second, you forgot there was anyone else in the world beside the two of you, “I’m as real as it can be, and I’m here to stay, by your side, for an eternity, Y/N.”

And your heart skipped another beat hearing his words, your body freezing when Yeosang suddenly started leaning towards you. You were ready, if he wanted to kiss you, then you wanted to feel his plush lips against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed as it felt like your heart was in your throat, but instead of kissing your lips, you felt something warm press against your cheek, underneath your left eye, then your right eye, and it felt more intimate than any other kiss. You bit your bottom lip and opened your eyes, staring deeply into Yeosang’s rich brown ones, an almost red-like hue licking around his irises.

“Would you like to spend the rest of your day with me, Yeosang?”

“I don’t think I want to spend any time away from you from now on, Y/N.”

And you knew in your heart, in your whole being, that the future ahead of you two was bright, vibrant, gentle, and so, so colourful.

509 notes · View notes

walpu · 1 year ago

Text

pre-relationship stage with them

characters - Gepard, Aventurine notes- gn!reader, pining, light angst but mostly fluffy, a bit of hurt/comfort. I love blonde preservation men okay. no beta we die like the economy also this was written before 2.1 but I still think I kinda nailed it

Gepard

Poor poor Geppie.

He pines so much. Treats his love for you like a tender flower. Even his feelings for you is something so precious to him, he's happy to simply be in love with a person like yourself.

I feel like this poor man willd try so much to do everything for you without giving away how deeply he cares and how intense his feelings are.

"Aw, lil' Geppie, you care about y/n so much!"

"I- I do not. I mean, of course I do! But- There's nothing surprising about it. After all, it's my duty as a Captain to care about every citizen. And, of course, it's my duty as a friend to care about y/n.

Sure, Gepard. Sure.

He would never say something like this to your face though. After all, he simply can't lie to you.

Oh but how he adores you. His face literally lights up when he sees you, the most gentle smile blooms on his face when he watches you doing even the most trivial task.

Tries to act like his usual self around you but it's pretty evident to everyone that you're his weak spot.

Would gently scold you if you would ever put yourself in danger or break any rules.

If you get seriously hurt, would actually lose his mind. Would blame himself even if the situation has nothing to do with him. Beats himself up, asks for your forgiveness and does his best to help you.

Despite the popular belief that he would prioritize his work over his beloved, I don't think it's true. Sure, he takes his duties seriously, but he would always find time for you. Would make sure to see you at least two times a weak, would answer your texts and calls. If you need him, would certainly be right by your side. Even if it means he would have to work overtime later.

Tease him a bit and he's all red. Doesn't try to stop you though, secretly adores your attention.

Would be oblivious to the fact that you like him back. Like. Really dense about it.

He's just so used to giving, to protecting, he simply doesn't expect anything in return. He has silently accepted the fact that you may never love him back, but he will be there for you regardless of it, no matter what.

Plus, he feels like he may not be the one for you. Like you need someone who doesn't have to constantly put their life in danger, who can always be by your side, who won't break your heart. Because he's painfully aware that each fight may actually be his last. That he may not come back to you.

Speaking of that. He would make sure to say a proper goodbye to you before every battle or expedition. Nothing too sappy or depressing, he doesn't want to make you worry, after all. Would probably tell you to take care of yourself, to sleep well and to eat healthy food lol. He really just wants to make sure that he got to see you before heading straight into the battle.

If you're a Silvermane guard as well, would restrict himself even more, not wanting to use his position or to be pushy. However, would still be worried sick, even more so. Would still talk to you before every battle, asking almost begging you to be careful.

Loves giving you head pats.

Generally the goodest boy. Just make sure to make the first move because otherwise he would be satisfied with just being your loyal puppy.

Aventurine

Good lord.

This man is such a mess.

Be ready for a mindfuck but not because he's manipulative towards you or something like that but because there's so many layers of trauma in him.

You have to be patient with him okay.

I feel like pre-relationship stage would be so confusing to him. He had flings in the past, okay? Short ones, meaningless. Something to distress, to feel another person's touch, to feel some sort of connection, no matter how shallow it is. He knew he uses those people and that those people use him in return. Not once he asked them to be gentle or caring.

But with you it's so different. Doesn't matter if your relationship started sexually and developed into something more or if it was mostly platonic/slow since the beginning. He still feels something. And he's not sure if he likes it.

Sometimes it feels so good to be seen, to be addressed as a person, not just as a tool. But sometimes it scares him. After all, this man hasn't been vulnerable with anyone for a long, long time.

I'm sorry but I feel like he would try to pull away from you a bit after realizing how much you actually mean to him.

Oh but he will crumble if you reach out to him, okay? He simply can't ditch you like that, not when you see him for him and want him for him.

Even if it's scary.

Would slowly relax around you. Don't expect him to open up easily but still, the more time you spend together, the more his cocky mask will slip away.

Will randomly and out of the blue tell you small details about his past. You two may walk down the street together and he will see something that reminds him of Sigonia so he will share this memory with you.

It may be the smallest thing but it means a lot to him that you listen. Even this tiny moments of vulnerability are hard for him.

On the more positive note, he's so fun to be around. Would tease you and cling to you all of the time. If you tease him back, he would pretend to be offended but would actually enjoy the playful banter a lot.

Just don't tease him too much about him becoming more and more clingy with each passing day.

Spoils you rotten. New clothes, jewelry, watches, shoes, anything you may want or need. He still can't quite get rid of this idea that you have to be convenient for someone to be valuable. It's not like he's trying to buy your love but... Maybe subconsciously he does. Once again, be patient. This man is so used to the fact that all of his alliances are build on mutual benefit that it's still hard to accept that you're really here for him.

Spoiler even when he will feel more stable in your relationship and his mindset will turn more healthy, gift giving will still remain one of his love languages.

Just like Gepard, would care greatly about your safety. He may be careless about his own life but never with yours.

Loves, loves, loves physical contact. As I said before, gets very clingy, putting his arm over your shoulder or tugging on your sleeve. If he's feeling down, would crawl to you side and subtly brush his shoulder against yours or lean to your side. He may still have his confident smile but those small gestures show that he wants you to be the one holding him this time.

Invades your personal space a lot actually. Texts you constantly too lmao.

LOVES SILLY NICKNAMES. Would call you his dearest darling in the sweetest voice during the most inappropriate time and then laugh at your reaction. Would settle for something more casual like "baby" when he's not trying to be a pain in the ass. Still tries to play it off as something teasing. Deep down yearns to call you this without having to pretend that this is just a playful banter between two friends.

Oh and he would dance around the topic of dating, throwing hints but never having the courage to ask openly. So good luck with him.

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x reader #gepard #gepard landau #hsr gepard #gepard x reader #walp's writing

2K notes · View notes

heartyluv · 4 days ago

Text

Note: The amount of love you luvlys have shown me for this mini-series has not only shocked me, but it’s made me so happy. Music is one of my favorite ways to show emotions in my writing so as you read, I’ve included two songs to represent both the POV of you and Caleb. You can reread the section where they appear and think of what both of them are thinking and feeling, if you’d like. But, I don’t wanna yap your head off, so I’ll let you get right into it. I hope you enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the pink dividers! I don’t know who to credit for the plane, but I got it off of @/aew-regression-cove!

Warning: Caleb masturbates, mentions of you wanting to masturbate, very brief mention of depression after the divorce. Other than that, this is just really fluffy and cutsey.

Word Count: 4.6K+ (WOWWW) !!MDNI!!

Summary: Part three to Ex-Husband!Caleb

Part One • Part Two

Ex-Husband!Caleb/Reader ~ Part Three

Caleb couldn’t help himself as he stood in the shower and fisted his cock the more he thought about you. While the hot water fell onto his body and trailed down his muscles, his mouth stayed slightly parted the closer he got to finishing.

He’s supposed to be getting ready for the date he had finally gotten together for you. He was on track up until he came to shower and began to lather himself in a mix of yours and his favorite body washes.

Caleb never stopped buying a lot of things that reminded him of you after the divorce. Like your favorite shampoo, a small bottle of your signature perfume to spritz around his lonely apartment when he missed you a little too much, and even down to the honey body soap that had the privilege of touching your soft skin everyday.

When he pumped a small amount into his hand and started to rub it down his stomach, his mind instantly went to all the times he used to join you in the shower when you least expected it. How your wet body was so eager to press against his.

He thought about your pretty tits that you’d let him hold and suck on, about how wet your pussy got for him when he’d lift you up without a second thought to wrap your legs around him. How he’d slide into your cunt as his tongue made love to your mouth and neck.

There was no guilt in his system as he firmly grasped his cock and teased his slit with his thumb like your tongue used to do. None of that existed when he came so hard that he had to brace a hand on the tile wall to keep himself steady while his cum hit the shower floor. He breathed deeply, watching his spend fall into the drain.

Determination coiled through him because he was certain that everything was happening the way that it should be. He’d get all of that back and it would be more—better. How could it not be if it was given to him by you?

You sat side by side with your mother in the living room as you folded the laundry you helped her with this morning. It was a beautiful Saturday, Mother Nature granting you the opportunity to enjoy temperatures a little more tolerable than anticipated in early February.

Jonah and Blythe were sitting on the floor next to each other, indulging in the cartoon on TV while they snacked on a small plate of their favorite fruits.

“What time are you leaving, love?” your mother Casandra asked as you handed her a few towels you finished up. “Forgot to ask when you got here earlier.”

“Caleb said he’d be here by three,” you confirm, watching how she purses her lips with a gentle nod.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “Just…I’m shocked you’re really going for this again, is all.”

You plop the shirt you’re holding down on your lap with a frown. “I thought you were okay with Caleb, ma.”

“While I may not hate the man, I’m not too fond of him and neither is your father. You know that.”

When you told your mom about what Caleb was putting you through before you separated, she wanted to hurt him for hurting you. Especially when she found out about all the times you felt so isolated in your marriage—a bond that’s supposed to do the opposite for people who genuinely love each other.

Your father Simon on the other hand? Caleb was lucky he never got his hands on him.

Simon is a man who absolutely values the women in his life and wasn’t someone who believed that second chances existed when you screwed up as badly as Caleb did, but he respected and trusted you enough to make your own decisions. Still, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

It’s why he’s been in the garage all day after you asked them if they could watch the kids until tomorrow morning so you could attend the date Caleb asked you on about two weeks after that night of Jonah’s game.

“I really think he regrets it all and that he’s changed,” you say with confidence, thinking of all he’s done so far to show how committed he is to righting his wrongs.

“That’s not up for me to decide. It’s your heart that has to deal with the consequences.” She stops her folding to put her attention on you when it grows silent besides the goofy laughs from your kids about whatever happened in the show they’re watching. She places her hand on yours for comfort.

“Look, your dad and I saw what everything did to you. We saw how depressed you became, how hard it got for you to function. He crushed that heart of yours and it took us all a long time to put a semblance of that spark back in you. I refuse to let him be the reason it’s gone again.”

If it weren’t for your parents and your kids, you’re convinced that you would’ve lost yourself. You stayed with them for a few months after the papers were signed because you couldn’t deal with being in the home that really felt like a hollow house with Caleb gone entirely. On days where you couldn’t get out of bed, they helped with the babies. When you couldn’t eat, they’d feed you. When you were weak, they were your strength.

You understood their hesitation. It was valid for what you went through—an experience that trickled into them and has poisoned their view of Caleb.

“I understand,” you sigh. “Just give him a chance? That’s all I ask.”

“I have no choice if he plans on marrying you again like you say,” she smirks knowingly. “We’ll see about your father, though. And don’t you need to start getting dressed?”

She pats your knee and you raise a brow. “It’s only 10 o’clock.”

“But I know you. You’re going to want to look and be your absolute best. You’ll need as much time as possible so that you aren’t stressing.”

“I wasn’t stressing a moment ago, but maybe I should be?” You chuckle at how she nudges your arm playfully.

But rather than feeling that way, you’re nothing but excited about what today will bring—even if you have no clue what Caleb has planned. All he told you to do was come comfortable and prepared for walking, so that’s what you intended to do.

As the day went on, it wasn’t until about one in the afternoon when you started to get ready. You boosted yourself up with some music, singing along to lyrics that fueled your spirit. You decided to wear a simple maroon mermaid skirt, a cream colored blouse with puffy sleeves, and your favorite simple white pair of sneakers.

Your mother was right about you taking your time, but it was only because you’ve been so indecisive. You’d been fiddling with your hair in the mirror for an hour now. It took some effort, but once you figured it out—albeit still not entirely satisfied—you kept your makeup simple, covering a few blemishes, adding some eyeliner, and dabbing your lips with a thin layer of gloss.

You were thankful she put the kids down for a nap so you didn’t have to worry about them trying to bombard you and Caleb with questions about where you two were going and why they couldn’t join. Checking the time on your phone, you knew you were bound to get a—

The music playing lowly from the speaker ceased as a call came through. It was 2:56 when Caleb’s contract flashed across the screen, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. You took a deep breath before answering, now feeling those nerves you didn’t have before begin to bloom.

“Hey,” you answered softly.

“Hey, pretty. I’m outside whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay.” You grinned obnoxiously hard to yourself. “Coming out now.”

You cleaned up quickly and found your mom sitting in the kitchen, reading a book quietly.

“I’m heading out,” you call as you make your way to the front door to grab your purse. “Dad’s still outside?”

Cassandra smiles at you, looking you over. “You look gorgeous. And yes,” she huffs. “He’s still in the back. You want me to get him?”

You shake your head, knowing he’ll come around when he’s ready. Whenever that is.

“It’s okay. Thank you for watching the kids for me, mom.” You run up to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Love you, okay?”

“I love you, too. Say hi to Caleb for me.”

You nod, happy that despite the things she rightfully feels, she’s willing to try.

Once you step outside, you see Caleb climb out of the car and make his way to you. He’s wearing navy blue slacks with a black turtle neck top tucked into them and a deep blue leather jacket. You can’t take your eyes off of him and he must notice your lingering gaze since he throws you that know-it-all boyish grin the closer he gets.

“I guess I did good?” he teases, holding his arms out as if he were showing himself off.

“Really good,” you emphasize. You’ve decide that there’s no need to play coy anymore. Both of you knew what you’re here for and what your intentions are. Caleb has noticed how you lean into the reality of that a lot easier now, and he likes it. He likes it a lot.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” His tone deepens and his eyes make a pit stop on all his favorite parts of you—which is admittedly everywhere. “You look really good yourself.”

“Just good?”

“I could say more, but then we’d miss our plans.”

“Would that be so bad?” You flutter your eyelashes with faux innocence, playing along with the flirtatious banter.

He gently bites his lip, feeling the buzz in his body from how you tease him. It doesn’t help when he thinks about what he did only a few hours ago.

“That mouth always was dangerous, wasn’t she?” He holds his hand out for you.

“You’d know,” you slide yours into his. “Wouldn’t you?”

The moment you and Caleb got into the car, he began to ask you about your parents and the kids. You told him the truth—that his children still missed him like crazy despite his increase in presence and your parents aren’t too elated about the whole “trying again” dynamic between you two.

“I figured,” he answers honestly, but the distress in his heart evokes a dull ache. He knows what kind of person he’d be if his daughter experienced what he did to her mother. He knows how disappointed he’d be in his son if he were to treat a woman the way he had you.

Your parent’s initial disapproval was fair and while he couldn’t change the past, he sure as hell could make a better future.

“I hope to get back into their good graces. I’m honored they’re even allowing me to be in your presence.”

“One thing at a time, yeah?” you assure him, hesitating for a brief second before you place your hand on his thigh. It makes him tense, but it’s not in a way that’s uncomfortable or even sexual. It’s the fact that you’re getting comfortable with him again, that you’re doing the things that made him so glad you were the one he put a ring on in the first place before he lost sight of what was really important—who was really important.

Being the over thinker you are though, you notice his body jolt. You’re ready to pull away with an apology on the tip of your tongue, but he speaks up.

“Don’t move,” he says with all the gentleness in the world, turning to you as he drives. “Please.”

You smile, keeping your hand relaxed. He’s mesmerized by the glimmer in your eyes, and the shine that enhances your irises tells him that the love you said you had was a gift that was truly there.

“And I hear you,” he continues. “One thing at a time.”

During the almost hour long car ride, you’ve tried your best to figure out where Caleb was taking you. You essentially began to sound like a rendition of a nagging child who kept asking their parents if they were there yet.

“Is it a movie?”

“No.”

“Is it…a new restaurant?”

“No.”

“Hm. Is ittt..a play?”

“Nope.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“You wish.”

When you saw what it really was, you nearly fell out the damn car if it were possible. As the tires rolled along the gravel road and the signs became clear, the excitement that erupted inside your little heart made Caleb’s feel like it could burst.

| Flea Market & Air Show - Limited Time! |

“Caleb you’re fucking joking!” you yelped happily, unable to sit still as he looked for a parking spot and laughed in the way that made your belly warm. You used to adore flea markets and the last one you ever went to was with him.

Don’t even get you started on air shows.

All of these interests that became high on your list of your most favorite things to do is all thanks to the man next to you.

“We’ve got about an hour to walk around before the show starts and then we can roam some more later,” he tells you as he pulls the key out of the ignition after parallel parking like it’s nothing.

There’s so much adoration across your features, so much of everything bubbling up and overflowing.

“I’m so happy,” you express freely.

“We haven’t even gotten out of the car yet.” Caleb is an absolute failure at doing anything nonchalant, so he oozing out just as much love as you are without needing to say it.

“Let’s change that.”

Caleb is by your side the entire time, buying any and everything that you may look at or pick up. You’ve made two trips back to the car because he’s pulled cash out of his pocket—that you didn’t even know he had—to buy everything that made you smile or fascinated you in the slightest.

Neither of you have been the fine dining type of people, so you pig out on the concession stands that made your mouth water the most. You’ve walked up and down the rows of all the people selling personal goods, hand crated items, and even small groups that played unique music.

The ambiance of all the people, the comfort, the excitement, the way your conversations with Caleb become a part of the mixing bowl of all the others happening around you. You haven’t felt this close to who you used to be in a long time.

If you could read Caleb’s mind, you’d know that he feels like all the emotions you’re sharing with him is enough to give the man a sugar crash. And all he wants is for you to keep aiming it at him so that he can share that beautiful energy with you until it consumes you both.

He poses for all the photos you take, helps you in all the little mini games that some people set up like you’re at a carnival, and you clap and cheer for him every time he succeeds.

“The air show will begin promptly in twenty minutes. Please make sure you have your tickets ready in line to be scanned for entry!”

You grin widely at Caleb who’s already standing up from the bench you two sat at to give yourselves a break. There’s comfortable conversation exchanged between you both as you mingle into the crowd, walking toward the huge open field to sit on the large bleachers on the side.

It’s a little darker now, so street like lamps illuminate the walkway and huge football fields style lights are lined up around the perimeter of where the planes will land.

“I’ve never been to an air show that wasn’t during the day before,” you squeeze Caleb’s hand.

“You’re gonna love it. Promise.”

As you approach the person at the stand, you expect Caleb to pull out two tickets. Instead, he simply shakes the man’s hand.

“Colonel,” the younger man salutes. “I’m glad you made it. This must be your wife?” He looks to you with a nod. “Nice to meet you ma’am.”

You don’t bother correcting him. Being Caleb’s wife again honestly has a nice ring to it. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“No need for you to be scanned. Again, we sincerely appreciate your generous donation! Enjoy the show, you two.”

“Thank you, Daniel.” Caleb pats his shoulder as you walk past.

“Care to share?” you ask with your arm hooked in his.

Caleb chuckles. “Just had to pull a few strings. Tickets were sold out when I found this, but I made sure I got us in.”

“Mr. Romantic with connections, huh?” you jest. “And I didn’t know we were married already?”

“You better get used to it. All of it’s gonna be your everyday real soon.”

After you two find seats and the show begins, you’re absolutely mesmerized the entire time. And while Caleb should’ve been focusing on the planes gliding through the golden evening sky, all he could do was watch you. All he could do was appreciate the way the sun captured your face, how your eyes glided across the sky, how your beautiful brain digested all the information being shared.

His nerves were at an all time high, the need to impress you more than he has being one of the reasons why you’re his focal point. While it’s a sentiment left unspoken, one look at his face from any stranger could tell you how in love he is with you.

All the while, even with your eyes to the sky, your mind began to juggle the thoughts of Caleb and the impressive aircrafts that made the crowd ooh and ahh.

You never thought you’d be by his side like this ever again. The day you witnessed him walk out that front door was equivalent to feeling what death must be like. Imagine half of your being just gets taken away from you, but you’re forced to keep going as if its connection to you wasn’t important enough to stop your existence. The mere thought is torture, but actually experiencing it is infinitely worse.

But now he’s here, doing everything in his power to bring you back to him. In truth, he already had you that night when he first uttered “I miss you”.

All you continue to do is fall harder and deeper, becoming a woman with no intention to want nothing but him to cushion you when you land.

Every brush of his fingers against your skin makes you shiver, every comment he delivers makes you want to hear everything else he has to say. This is exactly how it felt the first time you fell in love with him, and it could be seen as a blessing or a curse that you’re being given the chance to do it again.

“You watching?” he leans down to whisper in your ear, halting your thoughts.

“Duhhh. Are you?”

“Of course I am.” There’s something deeper to that, you’re certain, but you don’t mention it.

The loud roaring jet engines spark a burst of adrenaline when they get close to make their landings. In awe, you gape at how the large crafts settle onto the flat surface of whirring dirt and think of how a few of them are exactly like the ones Caleb knows how to handle. The thought of him effortlessly controlling something of that magnitude makes you want to sit on his face.

He becomes your personal teacher as he tells you all the details about the jets he’s familiar with after everyone was given the okay to come down and get a closer look.

“The F-22 Raptor,” you gush, running your hand across the warm metal. You’ve always loved the idea of being able to go fast and if you ever had the chance to sit in one of these bad boys, you’d want it to be this one. The way it’s agile in the sky like a snake yet swift and efficient like a cheetah is always an exciting sight.

“You’re still in love with this model, huh?” The first time Caleb took you to an air show, the F-22 Raptor became an obsession for months. “They’re talking about retiring this poor old thing.”

“I heard.”

Caleb quirks a brow. “I didn’t know you were still looking into stuff like this.”

“Maybe you have a lot to learn, colonel.”

He nearly fucked you right there, if he was being completely honest with himself.

But with the discipline he’s enforced in every encounter he’s had with you, he simply licks his lips and huffs out a laugh. “So long as you’re willing to teach me.”

You were exhausted in the best way as Caleb pulled up in front of your parent’s house. It was nearly twelve in the morning when he looked over at your sleepy form in his passenger seat.

“Well,” he looks you up and down. “How’d I do?”

“You kidding me?” you snort. “It was awesome, Caleb. Everything was so, so awesome.”

“I want to do more of this with you.” He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips. “Maybe bring the kids along one of these times and we make it a family thing, you know?”

“I’d love that.”

Both of you go to speak at the same time, an awkward titter passed to see who would try to go first. Caleb, being the lovesick man he is, encourages you to be the one to talk.

“I was just going to ask if…you’d like to come in?” You find it hard to look at him, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought of your request. “You can sleep on the couch so you don’t have to drive home so late.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to upset your parents.”

“You won’t,” you say swiftly. “I promise.”

While you can’t really promise that, you do know that you’ll defend him should it be a problem in the morning. Besides you actually not wanting him to drive another 30 minutes home this late, you’re not quite ready for him to leave you right now.

You’re relieved when he answers you by turning the car off.

You stay silent as you make your way inside, taking care to not wake anyone. The urge to see your babies before you get settled in is strong, so Caleb quietly follows you to get a peak at their small bodies beneath the covers, fast asleep in the two beds their grandparents got specifically for them.

“I have a pair of your sweatpants and a shirt if you want something more comfortable to sleep in,” you whisper on your way back to the living room.

“You do? I’ve never left any clothes here.”

“I know. But I still have some of your things and I packed some since I knew I’d be spending the night.”

You catch that smirk on his face when you turn around after cutting a lamp on. “You still wear my clothes, baby?”

You press your lips together. “Clothes or no clothes?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“I’m gonna hit you,” you roll your eyes, turning around and walking to the guest room you’re staying in to get them. It’s all to stop him from seeing the stupid grin on your face.

But of course, he’s right behind you. “You promise? Can’t be too soft…or too rough.”

You try not to laugh, but it’s one of those moments where for some reason, things that aren’t that funny is making you want to do nothing but cackle.

“I’ll wash upstairs so you can use the bathroom connected to the guest room.” He catches the clothes, noticing the sweatpants have the college he went to stitched into the fabric when you toss it to him.

In the middle of your shower, it crossed your mind to touch yourself when you felt your nipples tighten the more you thought about the day you had and the way you only wished it would end. Even if you knew it wouldn’t be right now, your gut was telling you soon.

There was a throbbing sensation between your legs, but for your sanity, you had to ignore it. But oh, was it difficult.

The feeling of his hands on you brought back all the memories of how he used to make love to you, how he used to talk to you so sweetly while he defiled your body in ways only you’d allow him to do. The way he took care of you, worshipped you, protected, guided, and educated you—it was enough for you to press your thighs together.

You didn’t know if you could handle coming on your fingers and facing him in the next few minutes without that need still being there. Perhaps if you didn’t acknowledge it at all, especially with the help of your tiredness, it was bound to fade.

You were partially right.

That almost went out the window when your towel glided against your clit as you were drying your body. You desperately craved putting a pillow between your legs and burying your face into the sheets as you make yourself come in record time.

The thought was so tempting—the feeling of the rough material grazing back and forth between your pussy lips while you thought about Caleb and his cock inside of you. But you wanted to be loud, and right now you couldn’t be. It would have to happen another time.

Soon after calming yourself, you made your way back to the living room to find that you were finished before Caleb. Seeing the empty room with the barren couch except for the one blanket and pillow you left for him, you decided that you’ll sleep with him on the couch instead of leaving him out here alone.

“Sleepover?” he teased as he fixed his clothes over his body when he stepped out of the room. The peek of his abs nearly unraveled you.

“Don’t ruin it.” You patted the spot next to you.

He smelled like your honey body wash that you left in there when he sat down.

“Mm, you smell good.”

“We do, don’t we?”

You don’t know if you’ve stopped smiling once today. Handing him the remote, you don’t pull your gaze from his. “Find us a movie?”

“Ah, my specialty.”

He settled on one you’ve seen together dozens of times, but you’d never complain because it’s one of your favorites. You began to get comfortable as he threw the blanket over your laps, inching closer and closer until your head rested on him.

“Caleb?” you whisper, the thoughts in your mind making your mouth move to speak before you can try to tuck them away.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for today.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, placing your chin on top to stare at him. The glow of the TV is all you have to see his features. “And thank you in advance for everything else to come.”

“Don’t thank me yet, pretty.” He glances at you. “We’ve got a lot more to get to, and you’ll have the rest of our lives together for that.”

“I like the confidence.”

You think he’s about to kiss you with the way his eyes can’t decide if they want to keep staring at your own or your lips. To your disappointment, he ends up just smiling before returning his attention back to the screen. Suddenly, all that wanting to take it slow mumbo-jumbo is cock blocking you.

Despite what you want, this is good—at least in this scenario. You can’t fuck him on the couch of your parent’s house.

You don’t know when you ended up passing out, but sleep has never come to you so easily. Even if he said not to thank him yet, all the credit would be given to him.

In the transition of you succumbing to your exhaustion, you knew that soon enough, words wouldn’t be able to encapsulate your feelings anymore. Today has shown that you’re more than ready to give him back every single part of you.

You’re just hoping that when the time comes, you don’t end up regretting anything else anymore.

A/N: If you thought this was the happy ending, IT’S NOT. Not yet 😏. AND NO SMUT JUST YET, I’M TORTURING YOU ALL, AREN’T I LOLLL!!! NOT EVEN A KISS THIS TIME!! Honestly though, let me know what you think! I really tried to make this part like a glimpse into what they were before it all went to shit, you know? Caleb doing something like this for you is just the tip of the iceberg.

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @inutrasha94 @honeycrispangels

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #love and deespace smut #caleb smut #lads x you #lads smut #lads caleb

324 notes · View notes