#i fell like soul is leaving my body | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he��ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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catchastarorten · 29 days ago

Note

hey lovely, i don’t know if you take requests but i absolutely love your works!! i wanted to see if you can do a jun ho fic x fem!reader where jun is in a coma after in ho shoot him on that island and reader has been visiting him every day since at the hospital. and one day he finally wakes ip and reader just takes care of him? just like a baby, food, kisses, cuddles. i feel like our man needs that :(

tyy if you would do this, have a great day or night 🩷🩷

Hello, anon! Here's your request :), I hope I did Jun-ho justice because you're absolutely right, the man needs some love and care, and he's gonna get it here. Hope you enjoy this — lots of love! <3

—Feels better with you.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: after everything Jun-ho went through, he was in a coma, you were there with him when he finally woke up. He needed you. And you took care of him while he was recovering.

Content: fluff, comfort, kisses, yearning, a little bit of angst, Jun-ho in a coma then waking up, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.0k

Seeing him lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and fragile in a way you’d never seen before, broke something in you. This was the man who had once held you so tightly, who had whispered promises into your skin, who had loved you with a quiet intensity that made you feel untouchable. Now he looked so far away.

You visited him every day after hearing about how he'd been pulled from the ocean. He was in a coma.

You talked to him, your voice soft but steady, telling him about everything and nothing. You read to him, held his hand, brushed the hair from his forehead like you used to on those lazy mornings. And every day, you hoped he’d come back to you.

The day he woke up, it was like the world stopped. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. Your heart leapt into your throat as you leaned closer, your hands trembling.

Waking up felt like surfacing from a dream that had gone on too long—foggy and disorienting, the kind of dream where Jun-ho wasn't sure if he was still alive or dead. His body was heavy, every muscle aching, but especially from the shot on his shoulder, the weight that it carried.

For a moment, Jun-ho couldn’t remember where he was or why his chest felt so tight, why his head throbbed with such a sharp ache.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over him, your eyes wide, tears brimming as if you held them back for too long. And when you whispered his name, the sound cracked something deep inside him.

“Jun-ho?” your voice echoed.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his voice coming out like sandpaper as he rasped your name back. Just your name, like it was the only word he'd held onto all this time. “Y/n…”

And just like that, the weight of the world fell away. You were there, holding his face, your touch soft and grounding, your presence the only thing grounding him to reality. “I’m here,” you told him, your voice thick with relief. “I’m right here.”

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. He wanted to say so much, to explain why he left, to apologize for everything—for leaving without a word, for the pain he knew he’d caused you—but his body betrayed him, too weak to form the sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, the words barely audible.

“Stop,” you shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything right now,” you said gently, your voice a balm to his soul. “Just rest, okay? Please.”

He didn’t argue. He never could with you.

In the days that followed, Jun-ho spent more time watching you than anything else. He was too weak to do much else, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Every time he opened his eyes, you were there—staying with him, and he held your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You’d talk to him in that soft, steady voice of yours, telling him about the most ordinary things. It didn’t matter what you said. All he cared about was the sound of your voice, the way it wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and warm. Like he was home again.

There were times, late at night, when you thought he was asleep, and he’d feel your fingers brushing against his, hear the quiet, shaky breaths you took as if trying to hold yourself together. Those moments broke him more than anything else.

He hated himself for leaving you. For disappearing the way he had, knowing how much it would hurt you. But the guilt wasn’t as strong as the relief he felt now, knowing that despite everything, you were still here. You hadn’t given up on him, and he loves you for it.

When he was finally strong enough to sit up on his own, you started bringing him food—simple things like soup or porridge. He’d watch you blow on each spoonful, your lips pursed slightly as you cooled the soup before holding it to his mouth.

He ate obediently, his eyes never leaving you, his gaze flickering to your lips like he was counting the moments until the bowl was empty and he could kiss you again.

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt.

The first time he finally did, you were brushing your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, Jun-ho reached up and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut as if the touch alone was enough to heal him.

Your heart clenched as you leaned down to kiss him properly, your lips soft against his. It was slow, tentative. Your lips were warm, familiar, and he felt a shiver run through him as he let himself sink into it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Jun-ho wanted to hold you properly, more than anything. To pull you into his arms and never let go. But the hospital bed wasn’t big enough for that, much to his silent frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh when he gave you a soft frown, but you gave him your arm instead, letting him curl up against you. He rested his head on your hand, his eyes focused on you as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

The frown dissolved from his face, his eyes traced your features as if he was memorizing every little thing about you. His breathing slowed, and you knew he was at peace.

He needed this. All of it. And he needed you.

#hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x you #squid game #hwang junho #hwang junho x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game fic #squid game imagine #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #junho x reader #jun ho squid game #jun ho x reader #jun ho

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dksfml · 4 months ago

Text

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

3K notes · View notes

anyarose011 · 2 months ago

Text

Et tu, Brute?

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius

Summary: You went by many different names: "Rome's Delight", "The Woman with the Golden Mouth", "Geta's Favorite Whore", and "Julia". None of these were your true name; all used just to dehumanize you as nothing more than a slave. When the General Acacius returns from conquering Numidia, and you meet one of the slaves that was brought from the bloodshed, you hope to reclaim not just your freedom...but power along with it.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Depictions of rape and SA [not shown], slavery, cannon typical violence, minor Stockholm Syndrome, major character deaths, historical inacuracy [but I tried my best to make it somewhat accurate] and Spoilers for Gladiator II

I saw this movie once, watched Game of Thrones at the same time, and cranked out a story where you, the reader, know how to play "The Game" (but also not because let's keep it kinda realistic) I'm gonna be honest, this might be a hot mess, and I used a script I found online (but Idk how accurate it is). Also, this first part is just mainly story based with the events of the film the SECOND part will focus on reader and Lucius' relationship (including smut, you sluts {I am also slut, don't worry}.

I do want to say though that the depictions of SA are in no attempt to romanticize them. I also decided not to write out the specific scenes because I myself am a survivor, and wanted to focus more on the protagonist's growth. The trauma still affects her story, but I do not want to write rape scenes merely for shock purposes.

Also, if you name is actually "Julia"...no it's not :)

Word Count: 16.1k

youtube

It was your own fault, that was what they tried to make you believe.

How dare you not wish to participate in the public baths, how dare you desire to bathe in the place you felt most safe.

Foolish, foolish girl. You were not even safe on your own porch in the house you grew up in.

Your father hadn’t been the wealthiest of merchants, but before he passed into the Elysian Fields after his death that year, he had made a fortune; so much as to buy a bathtub for your house.

If anything, you had bathed at night when you believed no one could see you not for your own modesty, but to prevent anyone from stealing it.

Yet, one particular night, a man had spotted you.

The Emperor Geta of Rome had watched your naked form glisten in the moonlight as you washed the most intimate areas of your body; sighing at the feeling of being clean after the day, only for your soul to feel tainted once morning broken.

Guards had nearly broken the hinges off the front door to your house, and dragged you to the palace. You had lived in that house for your entire life, the same neighbors beside you, yet as you kicked and screamed…none helped.

You had grown tired once in the palace, and the eldest of the twin emperors stood before you. He cupped your chin.

“What is your name, girl?”

You answered him, attempting to speak with venom, but the quaking of your voice betrayed anxiety.

He hummed, repeating your name. “Why are you all alone?”

You huffed. “My mother died in the battle that is childbirth, and my father was lost to an ailment in his loins.”

“You have no brothers?” Geta questioned, his eyes running down your form. “No husband?”

“They called my father strange for leaving me his possessions.”

“He mustn’t have passed on so long ago.”

“Why does the death of my father concern you if you only seek my body?” You questioned.

A smile twisted upon his lips. “Perhaps I like to know my fruit before I devour it.”

And he kissed you.

You had been kissed before, but this was the first time you hadn’t wanted to be. You hadn't expected him to be serious about devouring you. His teeth sank into your chin, then your cheeks, until they were finally upon your lips.

It was the first time, in all your life, you felt your body grow cold and freeze despite his hands wandering over you, pulling at the thin fabric of clothing that covered you.

You fell to the floor, clinging to it desperately as he tried to lead you to his chambers. You had expected him to order one of his men to kill you, or have them carry you…

Instead, he took you right there. He simply lifted his own robes then yours and stole what wasn’t his to take.

All you remembered of that was counting how many pillars were in the room.

You were one of his several concubines. Yet, despite being the newest, you were his favorite.

“Julia,” he whispered to you in the night a month after he had made you his. A month after he had decided to call you by his mother’s name instead of your own. “are you awake?”

You mewled, sitting up. “I am now, my love. What is it?”

Geta smiled, holding out a stack of parchment. “Look at what some of the men found in Carthago.”

You rubbed your eyes as the lamps in his room brightened before looking down at the crudely written words. Geta looked at you in earnest.

“Can you read them?”

A few days prior at him and his brother Caracalla’s birthday festivities, it was revealed that you spoke five languages: Latin, Phoenician, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek. Your father had taught you every single one of them to fend for yourself amongst all kind of people.

Now, it was nothing more than a shameless trick Geta used to his amusement.

“Rome’s Cleopatra,” he deemed you in front of the crowd. “the Woman with a Golden Mouth”.

Everyone in that room and all of Rome knew that your ability to speak so many dialects was not the only reason he gave you that title.

Still, as you lay in his bed with crumbling parchment in hands, you forced a tender smile. “Yes, I know what it says. Would you like to know?”

He laid his head in your lap without another word.

Months passed, and he had grown kinder…only when it was night, and even so, that was only when the moon was full.

There wasn’t a day where your body hadn’t ached from the turmoil he put you through. It was hard to discern when he would want you to be small and subservient to him, or confident and commanding in matters of the bed.

The handmaids that were blessed to not be in bed with him would bathe and coddle you as best as they could, for even through your suffering, you tried your best to treat them with kindness.

You didn’t even know who you were after the fourth month of being Geta’s slave.

Gone was the girl who had a peaceful life; there was now the Emperor’s Pet.

General Marcus Acacius returned to Rome after overtaking the kingdom Numidia in the emperors’ names, and it was the first time you were in his presence. It was certainly a surprise that Geta would string you alongside him on personal matters that had nothing to do with sex.

The general would glance at you every so often, and his look of pity felt more violating that any of the times Geta, or his brother, or anyone else in all of Rome had looked at you.

Upon the general’s return, a series of games at the Colosseum were to be hosted, among parties that would last for the remaining week.

The first was at Senator Thraex's home.

“My little Julia,” Geta caressed your cheek as you sat upon his lap in the makeshift throne. “might you fetch me another cup of wine?”

You nodded, taking his cup and kissing his hair. “I shall, my love.”

He ran his fingers down your neck as you got off of him and made your way to the barrels. Yet, as you passed an open door, something caught your eye. Peeking around the somewhat crack in the door, you saw a few men sat in the room, chains around their ankles and their wrists.

One of them, more muscular than the others with brown curls, held his head low. His skin wasn’t as dark as other men from Africa Propria, but not as pale as the Germanic lands.

When his eyes met yours, you saw a pale blueness only seen in the sky on a summer’s day.

Gasping, you hid behind the door for only a moment before looking again. His gaze was still on you. Deciding to end the strangeness of the situation, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

He said nothing; you tried again.

“I’m sorry.” You said in Greek.

The look in his eyes changed to confusion, but he said nothing.

“Hebrew?” You questioned. “Aramaic? Phoenician?”

“You speak Phoenician?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard it in forever.

You nodded. “I speak five languages.”

“Ah,” he answered in your native tongue to your surprise. “Rome’s Cleopatra.”

Your nose scrunched as if you smelt something rotten. “You understood me the first time?”

“I did.”

“So why not say anything?”

“What am I to say to your pity?”

You hummed. “I do not pity you, I was showing respect.”

He scoffed. “Respect? Am I a man that looks as if I deserve respect?”

“I believe every man deserves respect so as long he is kind.” You glared at him.

The man shook his head, sighing. “You are a foolish child if you believe that men can be kind.”

“I haven’t for quite a while.” you stated. “I pray that it is the hope that kills me.”

He questioned. “And not one of the emperors?”

“What is your name, slave?” You crossed your arms.

He huffed, drawing his eyes away from you and clenching his fists before relaxing them. “Hanno.”

You nodded. “They call me ‘Julia’.”

“But that is not your name.”

It was blistering hot that particular day, but you felt your body run cold; the same cold you felt when Geta…when he first…

“Who says it is not my name?” You challenged.

“You are merely a concubine,” he said. “you are not a part of his lineage, and therefore, your name is not ‘Julia’.”

You do not know why you seethed with so much rage from his words. You did not even spit on him; you merely stomped away from that door, filled up the emperor’s cup, and went back to Geta.

“It took you nearly a millennium to come back, my sweet.” He scoffed yet kissed your bare shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

You shook your head, leaning against him as you sat on the arm of the throne. “You mustn’t over me, my love.”

“You seem distressed.” Caracalla teased beside you. “This is a festivity; you should be merry!”

All you did was smile and nod. It was a pleasant change from the parties you were forced to attend in the past; you weren’t the center of attention, and this was the first time Geta dressed you in the bright colors everyone else wore instead of white.

You could pretend you were royalty for a day.

Not so long after you came back, both Thraex and Macrinus, a stable master who traveled far and wide for new gladiators, approached with their own champions to fight.

You were not even at the Colosseum, and yet, violence still had to be played for everyone’s amusement.

Hanno entered from the door you had previously been at, and another man entered from the opposite side of the room. Both were given swords.

“Brother,” Hanno began. “let us not kill each other for their amusement-.”

The other man struck him without hesitation. You had seen fights before, but none like this. It was ruthless, quick yet drawn out. Hanno lost his sword in the middle of it all, leading to him smashing a flowerpot over his opponent’s head.

The fight was still not done, he rose up on his feet and took his sword from the ground, raising it high above him. Hanno, against all odds, knocked him back onto the ground and took the sword just as they both sood, stabbing his opponent in the chest.

A chorus of cheers and groans echoed in the room. Geta arose from his seat, laughing and applauding as you sat there, eyes as wide as they could be at the bloodied sight before you.

“Remarkable! Gladiator, which part of the Empire do you hail from?” He questioned Hanno. Hanno stood stoically, glaring at the emperors before him. Geta tutted, turning to you. “Julia, open your golden mouth and-.”

“-The gates of hell are open night and day.” Hanno interrupted in the common language. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

Geta smiled. “Ah…a poet!”

The rest of the world fell away as you could not tear your gaze away from the man laying on the floor. If he hadn’t died from his wounds, he would’ve from choking on his own blood.

“-You understand, don’t you?” Geta asked.

You sat in your own personal chambers that night for the first time in a while. You were never overjoyed to be in his bed, but being sent to your own perplexed you.

Then, he simply told you that you were to be General Acacius’ for the night.

“He’s sacrificed so much, my little Julia.” Geta combed his fingers through your hair to soothe you. “I refused him once already; I cannot do so again. Do you understand?”

The emperor had never shared you with anyone. He wasn’t delicate with you, but at least you knew what to expect.

He clenched your jaw. “I do not care to ask you a third time, girl.”

“Yes,” you squeaked. “I understand, Geta.”

Nodding, he softened his hold, leaning his head against yours. “You are still mine alone; I promise, it will only be us after tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“There she is.” He kissed your lips before pulling away and standing. “He will be in right away. Do not fret, I told him to be gentle with you.”

Geta left through your chamber doors without another word. There you were, sitting on your bed, draped in silks you should have known were given to you out of lust and not out of kindness. Your eyes trailed to the empty vase on a table beside your bed.

You didn’t know what possessed you that night, but you yanked it off the table, and smashed it on your bed. The handle of the door began to rattle. Quickly pushing the shattered pieces under your bed, you hid a shard behind your back and sat at the head of the bed.

In came General Marcus Acacius, wearing only a thin overshirt that went down to his knees. You’d done this game of seduction many times with Geta, how different could it be for him? Grabbing the bottom of your night dress, you raised it until it bunched up your thighs, revealing your bare center to him.

He took a hitched breath. “My lady-.”

“-What troubles you, general?” You asked then smiled with gritted teeth. You felt your hand begin to ache as you squeezed the vase shard.

Marcus furrowed his brow, and as if he already knew, he said. “Cover yourself and show me what is behind your back.”

Your eyes dropped along with your heart. Still, as his face turned into a scowl, you cooperated. Handing him the shard and quickly pulling your dress back down, you spoke with intensity.

“If you will not stab me before you rape my corpse, then I shall throw myself from the nearest window and allow the people of Rome to defile me. I will not lie on my back and take it anymore.”

He took a deep breath, holding the sorry excuse for a weapon in his hand. “It is unwise to tell the enemy your plans.”

…What?

“It would serve you greatly to control the faces you make before harming a man as well. Yet, above all,” He held the shard out to you. “your enemy is not afraid to kill you; you should feel the same.”

“Why do you tell me this?” You asked, still not believing it.

Marcus sat up. “I believe we can help each other, my little dove.”

“How?”

He lowered his voice. “You have heard of the gladiator Maximus, his dream of a free Rome, yes?”

“Yes.”

“A dream that cannot be obtained from the rule of two emperors.” He lamented. “My wife and I, along with several others, plan…to fulfill our shared dream.”

They were going to overthrow Geta and Caracalla.

“What gives you reason to believe I won’t say a word of this to them?” You asked.

He smiled for the first time since you’d seen him. “That freedom belongs to you.”

“I…I’m still lost. How will I be of any use?”

“Emperor Geta favors you considerably. He is a man, and not a cunning one at that. There are ways to wear foolish men down.”

You nodded, beginning to understand. “There’s always a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” He solidified. “Gain the trust of the public; make them love you, and they will not see the emperor’s whore but a woman of the people.”

“And how will that dethrone them?

He smiled. “My wife and I will meet with the counsel tomorrow night. I will send for you.”

You scoffed. “Geta said that after tonight I am just his alone.”

“Then I’ll refuse to give him Persia and India.”

“He’ll have your head.” You berated. “Besides, I don’t think he’d believe my cunt would be worth two countries.”

Marcus shrugged. “Considering he only wants you to himself, I have no doubt that it is worth that much. But I am unable to confirm it.”

You sighed. “Even if he’ll allow it, he’ll send a guard with me.”

“I am not one to invite a third into the bedroom.”

“Then where shall-?”

“-Little dove,” he interrupted. “the city was not built in a day, therefore it cannot be emancipated in one.”

Gods help and forgive you for being impatient on wanting to be free. Still, you composed yourself. “Alright.”

He nodded, standing up. “I will be seeing you on the morrow, one way or another.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what, child?”

You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. “Not forcing yourself upon me.”

Marcus’ face softened, and he lowered himself to your height as you sat on the bed. He took your face into his hands, and you immediately tensed when his face drew closer to yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “it’s not that kind of a kiss.”

With a tenderness that reminded you of your father, he placed his lips on your forehead and pulled away. Giving you one last knowing nod, he promptly left your chambers.

You wanted to do nothing more than shed tears of happiness, yet for no reason at all, you could not cry.

Your father had only taken you to the Colosseum to watch mock animal hunting. Even when your friends invited you to watch gladiator fights or other public executions, he had found ways of making you stay far away from them.

There was a strange humor in sitting in the best chair for your very first gladiator duel. That being in the front as Emperor Geta ran his hand up and down your back.

In utter honestly, you tried to stray your attention away from the fights, speaking more with Caracalla of all people. He was more erratic than Geta by far, and it was more difficult to tell when he would be kind one moment, then out for blood the next.

Yet at least he was open about being cruel, unlike his brother.

When you would watch the fights…a familiar face seemed to catch both you and the general’s wife’s, Lucilla, eye.

The man with light skin yet hailed from Numidia…Hanno.

You hadn’t recognized him at first, for it wasn’t his mere presence that drew you to finally look at the event before you. No, it was the way he fought.

Most men previously had attacked with brute force; just stabbing the beast and hoping it would die. Hanno fought with wit. Simply using the sand beneath his feet as an advantage, blinding and tricking the rhinoceros to run directly into the wall.

He was cunning…he commanded the men beside him as if it weren’t the first time he’d done so in his life.

Then, when it came to deciding his fate when all seemed lost…Geta turned to you.

“My love,” he played with a strand of your hair. “shall I show the poet mercy, or bloodshed for your entertainment?”

Even if it weren’t Hanno, your answer would have been the same. “Mercy.”

As a hush fell over the crow, Geta rose his thumb up, sparing him. As cheers erupted, Hanno shook his head.

“No, no mercy.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses-.”

“-I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!”

Thus, the fight continued. An act of defiance…Peculiar…Quite peculiar.

Both you and Marcus were correct about the night; Geta did indeed allow you to go to the general’s house, but only if you were escorted by a trusted guard. When you arrived, Marcus immediately draped you in a cloak, practically covering your face and had excused as not wanting the staff to tell his wife of who he was bringing into their house.

Marcus led you into his chambers, and there you saw two people. Apparently, they weren’t even apart of the counsel; simply paid to pretend to be both you and the general as the guard would listen outside, assume it was the two of you fucking.

He had certainly thought through every little detail.

Marcus pushed on a stone in his chambers, revealing a hidden door. You had only heard of these within stories, and as he led you down the darkened passage with only a torch in one hand, and the other holding yours, you had never felt more alive since your past life had been stolen.

You were welcomed to a room filled with dozens of the senate you had passed by in the palace. How strange it was to see them all huddled into a dimly lit room, plotting the demise of the men they initially swore to serve.

An arm looped through yours, and it was Lucilla. She whispered into your ear.

“Whatever you have to say, speak it to me, and I shall speak to them.”

You turned. “Why must I not speak for myself?”

“I only allowed you to be here if Marcus agreed to not let your voice be heard.”

“What?”

“I will explain more to you soon after, I vow it.”

Thus the meeting began. In all truthfulness, you were only able to understand the bare minimum: In a few days’ time, Marcus would lead five-thousand men into Rome to overtake the thrones of the empire, and thus destroy them, restoring the Roman Republic.

When the conversation turned to you, you were merely referred to as an informant who had the closest relationship to the emperor.

It still perplexed you as to why you needed to remain anonymous; there was an excellent chance they would know you as ‘Geta’s Favorite Whore’.

Yet, you did your best to inform the counsel of a plan you had simply created on the spot (they did not need to know the latter part of it).

You would gain more favor from the public, while at the same time, putting Geta’s worries to rest about any uprising or dislike from the majority of the empire.

How you would do that…it was fortunate that they didn’t ask you to give specifics.

Once the meeting ended, you were taken back up from the secret passage, yet instead of going back to the chambers, you felt Lucilla take your hand and lead you down another path.

You couldn’t even get a sound out before she said. “It is alright; he knows I want to speak with you in private. We will not take long.”

She led you up into the bath area of the house. It was quite beautiful; the tub wasn’t made of porphyry, but that did not make it any less exquisite. There was something about it being lesser of the baths you’ve had in the palace. It wasn’t entirely reminiscent of the one you had at home…

But you felt safer.

Lucilla had been gentle in pulling off your robes, and never once did it feel wrong. You were a woman and so was she. She never pulled or scratched your skin, and you knew that she only felt sorrow when she gazed upon the bruises and wounds you had received from Geta.

“How long have you been at the palace?” She questioned as she carded herbs through your hair.

You glanced at her, sighing. “I’ve stopped counting…months, I know.”

“Were you forced to leave any family? Brothers, sisters, children?”

“No. My mother died birthing me, and my father was taken half a year ago to an ailment emperor Caracalla also suffers from.”

She hummed. “Have you ever been in love?”

You laughed the most genuine laugh ever since you became a slave. “Why on earth would you ask that?!”

“I am merely curious!” She teased. “You are truly beautiful, and there is no doubt that men would throw themselves off cliffs for you; but it matters most of who you would choose.”

Her question scraped your mind. There had been times you were fond of, even lusted over, men both your age and older…but love? The only one you experienced would be storge; perhaps philia…but eros? Agape?

“I don’t think I have been.” You answered. “Have you?”

She nodded, a forlorn look in her eyes, but smile upon her mouth. “Twice.”

“Twice?” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left your throat. “It can happen twice?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And who have you willingly fell captive to?”

“Marcus is the most recent, though there are days I do not understand what he sees in me. Then…the father of my child.”

Lucilla poured water upon your head to wash out the soap in your hair, and a silence fell over both of you. One that was broken when you spoke a name.

“Lucius…”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He-he had gone missing all those years ago, hadn’t he?”

“He had.” She ran the bar of soap over the top half of your body. “I believe he must’ve been around your age when he ran away.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of him since?”

“No.” She answered right away.

You curled into yourself. “I apologize if I upset you my lady-.”

“-No. I…I love talking about him.”

You managed a gentle smile to soothe her. “What was he like?”

“Headstrong.” She chuckled. “Wanted to become a gladiator more than anything in the world. Yet, he was gentle, and kind as well. He…I believe he would’ve adored you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe when we were children, but I don’t think so now.”

“It’s hard to judge.”

Whilst the air between you turned into more intimate topics, the question that had weighed on your mind was brought to light. “Why did you not allow me to speak or show my face tonight?”

Lucilla stopped her ministrations. You looked up at her, and the look she wore bore an exhaustion that you had felt recently.

“I know too well the cruelties of men.” She began softly. “My brother had done everything to keep me from ever resisting him…he had done everything. I had only wished for someone to be there with me at every moment when I faced his abuse.”

Words; simple words that meant everything to you was what made you weep.

There was no warning at all. Once she was finished, tears sprang to your eyes, and you felt your sinus clog up. Even as you tried to tear yourself away from her comfort, she merely wrapped her arms around you in an embrace from a mother you had never felt.

“I don’t want to go back.” You begged. “Please don’t let me.”

She kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” You sobbed. “I-I don’t want to! Please, please, you can’t make me. I-I-I-!”

Lucilla shushed you, rocking you back and forth. “Do not weep. You will be free beside all of Rome, and the past months of your life will be nothing more than a distant, horrible dream.”

You pulled away just enough to look at her. “You-you must promise me something.”

“My child-.”

“-Promise me and I shall help you overthrow them until my last dying breath!”

She stared for a moment before nodding. “Yes. What is it?”

Your lip quivered. “When I die, you must bind my legs with chains or ropes when you bury me. I have,” you whimpered. “I have been told of men who dig up the bodies of girls and…”

Lucilla kissed your forehead before holding you once more. “I vow I will honor your wishes.”

All you could do was believe her.

There were more times than not the Emperor Geta would talk about filling you with his seed as he bedded you. You never were able to discern if he was serious about wanting to give you a child (they would be his, not yours).

It all became too real when you didn’t bleed that month.

Yet, you also did not feel sick in the morning, and your breasts hadn’t swelled. You still had urinated on wheat seeds for several weeks, but they had not sprouted.

You weren’t with child…yet there was nothing stopping you from convincing Rome you were. It would certainly be a risk; for there was no telling how Geta would react. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

Once a week, you were allowed to go outside the palace during the day, and you had chosen then to venture out into the numerous markets. It was nice to speak with the merchants you knew from your childhood. Some were elders who would watch over you when your father was busy, others were friends who had grown up with you.

“Now what would a little empress want with commoner’s food?” A man’s low timbre voice asked behind you.

Turning your head, you saw Macrinus standing before you with a curious grin. You mirrored it. “That’s not an appropriate title for me.”

“Ah, you are correct.” He nodded. “My apologies, ‘Lady with The Golden Mouth’. Or do you prefer ‘Rome’s Delight?’.”

“You may call me whatever you wish if you’d like.” You forced a laugh and turned back to the merchant you had known since you were a babe. “I’ll take a sack of wheat and small bag of garlic, Gaius.”

“Of course, lady Julia.”

Not even a childhood friend could say your real name. A tight smile formed upon your lips when he turned to sack the wheat before you. Macrinus spoke again.

“You still didn’t answer me about why you’re exactly here.”

“I am not an empress.” You turned to him. “I am not a queen from another realm, I am not even a lady. I am a lowly whore that was fortunate enough to be chosen by the emperor. I like to keep my own schedule from before, so I am aloud to bake my own bread.”

He hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Gaius handed you the sack of wheat and garlic, and you held out three silver coins. He shook his head. “No, just a copper-.”

“-Please.” Was all you said.

He hesitated, then took them from you, smiling. “May Fortuna rain a thousand blessings upon your head.”

“And unto you as well.” You curtsied and turned on your heel to leave.

Macrinus walked beside you. “How generous you are.”

“I try to be.” You decided to change the topic. “You are in charge of Hanno, are you not?”

“I certainly am, why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest.” You shrugged. “There is talk of him being similar to the one Maximus from years ago. Many admire him already and it has only been a day.”

Macrinus laughed. “It is my duty to entertain the people. I noticed though that you are more prudish of the games.”

“I must admit, I am not used to the violence.”

“A sheltered girl?”

“Ashamedly so.”

“There is no shame at all. So, it is the Numidian that has captured your affection?” He teased. “How scandalous for the young empress to fall for a slave.”

You chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, I just find him amusing.”

“Oh, I am more than happy to let you see him alone if you ever so desire. You don’t need to wander upon him at another party.”

Your carefree air fell once he asked that. “I don’t know what you-.”

“-It’s alright.” He interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, I am only concerned for your own safety.”

You stood taller, a shy smile upon your lips. “I am capable of taking care of myself, sir.”

“Of course my lady, why else would you be out here in the streets of commoners without a chaperone?”

Purposefully, you turned onto one of the crowded piazzas where the music and laughter was the loudest. You grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you volunteered yourself to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “No, just wanted to say hello.”

You didn’t have time to respond, as one of the performers had recognized you. Ah, a girl that lived in the house across from yours when you were children! You still remembered her name, and after you passed your belongings to Macrinus, she pulled you into the circle of performers, dancing with you.

You laughed the most you had that year; in fact, you swore your bruised your ribs just from the sheer joy you felt. You don’t know how long you danced and sang with those who were your neighbors and friends, but just as you felt your feet begin to give out, Macrinus put his hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you should go back to the palace and rest.”

Nodding, you said farewell to your companions and took the bag of wheat and garlic back from him. “You are right, thank you so much.”

He grinned. “Let me escort you back.”

“No,” you walked ahead of him. “I wish not to bother you anymore. Good day, Macrinus!”

You lost yourself in the crowd, purposefully making it harder for him to follow. Once you were in the palace, you rushed into the kitchen, holding the sack of wheat behind your back, you greeted the cooks and snuck into the small pantry. You set the sack down on a shelf and pocketed two single reeds, along with an onion.

That night, Geta had called you into his chambers. Before going, you had cut the onion and brought it to hover around your eyes. You were crying by the time you were at his door. Immediately, he took notice of your reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, only crying more. It was less because of the onion now, and just everything coming down crashing onto your shoulders once more. Geta pulled you into his chambers by your shoulders, sitting you on the bed.

“Tell me now what is bothering you.” He commanded.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t-.”

“-Now, Julia!”

Taking a deep breath, you reached into the pocket of your breast, taking out the two reeds and setting it in his hand. He furrowed his brows.

“I do not understand.”

You took a deep breath. “The handmaids have given me wheat and barley seeds ever since I have arrived. If they grow, then that means…that means I am with child.”

The look on his face spoke it all. You were certain you were dead.

“I-I didn’t know how you would feel, and-and so I-.”

He crushed you in an embrace, attaching his lips to your jaw. “Jupiter has blessed me.”

It was the first time you felt happiness in his presence. Of course, not because of him, but still joy. You returned his embrace, sighing in relief. “You are happy?”

“Happy?” He pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “There is nothing in this world that could sadden me right now. I will have an heir.”

As long as it was a boy (if it were real at all).

You feigned your smile and leaned into his touch. “I am fortunate to give you one.”

“And I am most fortunate to have you.” He laid down and brought you with him.

Perhaps, in another life, he was kind to you and didn’t only value you until you gave him a child. Perhaps you would be in love with him, and he would make you empress

But you weren’t fortunate to be born into that fantasy.

You wished nothing more than to sit with Marcus and Lucilla as you made your way into the emperor’s booth of the Colosseum. The three of you had managed to speak to one another, but only about meaningless things. Still, you just enjoyed their company.

It would be more exciting that day. A naval battle, the Naumachia. The arena was filled with water and sea creatures you could never even possibly imagine. It was a wonder in and of itself how all the ships managed to fit themselves in the arena.

“Caracalla,” you said to the brother beside you as you were about to take your seat. He looked up upon hearing his name. You handed him the bag filled with garlic. “I finally found some for you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “And you say that if I mix this with myrrh, I shall be cured?”

“It should treat the lesions on your skin.” You corrected. “This is what I did for my father.”

He died of the same ailment, but Caracalla didn’t ask; simply smiled. “Thank you, dear sister.”

You nodded, sitting down on the arm of Geta’s throne that would have put you in the middle of him and his brother. He wrapped his arm around you.

“You’ve been far kinder these days.” Geta pointed out.

“Perhaps that means I’ll be the most agreeable mother.” You jested, kissing his cheek.

He smirked, and as the man on the far end of the Colosseum began to announce the games, Geta stood up and rose his grail.

“I would like to propose a toast!” He yelled. The crowd fell silent, and you felt your skin crawl away from you. Geta continued. “To the health of wives and to mothers. Especially to my lover, Julia, who carries my son the moment as we speak!"

An eruption of applause and cheers filled the stadium. You blushed upon the praise, and genuinely wanted to hide yourself from the gaze of everyone; especially the ones closest to you. You could feel both Marcus and Lucilla’s eyes on you, attempting to hide their shock and perhaps horror. The worst was that of Macrinus.

He knew. Just from the look of him (or perhaps it was your own paranoia), but he had to have known from the moment you bought the wheat.

Still, they all applauded, and ones the excitement of your supposed pregnancy died down, the enthusiasm for the battle was born.

It was perhaps the one event you could stomach. While you could still clearly see men dying, it wasn’t as horribly bloody as the prior. Were you becoming numb to the cruelty of these games because you were pretending…or were you letting the game invade your head?

As several ships collided within the growing chaos, men would either die from their fellow man or would simply fall into the water and be devoured by beasts you had never seen until then. Your eyes had been following Hanno the whole time, whether purposefully or not.

Words could not describe the terror that had been brought upon you as you saw him aim his crossbow at the booth you sat in.

You did not think the arrow would pierce you, but it did. It longed into your right shoulder, and a cry you had no idea you were capable of making tore through your throat.

Tears blinded your vision, but the screams from the whole arena deafened your ears you could not even hear what Geta was saying to you.

You could barely make out Marcus’ in front of you as he snapped the body of the arrow and then hoisted you into his arms. You’d never been carried like this as a woman; only as a child by your father.

The heat of Rome felt hotter that day as the pain in your shoulder only grew tighter and tighter as if your skin was going to stretch away from you. The next thing you knew, you were laid upon a cold, solid surface, and sound returned to your ears.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geta shushed, brushing your hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Someone stuck their fingers into your wounded shoulder, and you could only scream. A tender hand laid itself on your cheek, and just from touch alone, you knew it was Lucilla.

“Do not touch her!” Geta hissed, swatting her away.

“No, no!” You whined, reaching out and holding onto her.

Lucilla dropped to her knees, kissing every part of skin that was available, mumbling. “I know, I know. This too shall pass, you are stronger than you believe, my dear.”

Then, just like that, you felt the arrowhead leave your body. The pain was still excruciating beyond belief, but all that was left was for your arm to be wrapped in cloth, and to rest.

One of the guards in charge of the gladiators approached you when you were finally able to sit up.

“My lady,” he began. “did you happen to get a look at the man who shot you?”

“She’s only starting to recover!” Geta snapped. “How dare you. She carries my child, and-!”

“-It’s alright, Geta.” You soothed.

You could’ve done it. Told him with full confidence that it was Hanno. There would have been your chance of power; to kill the man who had nearly killed you.

Yet…you were vindictive and wanted to do it yourself.

“I have no memory.” You told him. “It happened so fast.”

How horrible it is that Geta would stop forcing you to pleasure him only when you were supposedly with his child and injured. You assumed that if you were suffering from only one of those ailments, than he still would’ve held you down and used you.

You thought nothing else would happen that night. You would simply speak to one another, pretending to be completely enamored by his existence, and then lie down to sleep.

Of course, that would be too peaceful.

You were awoken gently, to your surprise, by Geta shaking you. Humming, you rubbed your eyes. “What is it?”

“The general and his whore wife.” He gritted his teeth. “They planned to kill us.”

You shot right up, forgetting about your injured shoulder, and let out a cry. Geta helped you stand, and that was when you saw Caracalla standing before you, his monkey companion Dundus perching upon his shoulder.

“How-how do we know?” You stammered, not having to feign your terror.

Neither of them answered, and the three of you were led out into the throne room. There before you in their night clothes just as you were, Lucilla and Marcus.

Geta approached them first, seething. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you. All this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex your insurrection has been revealed-.”

“-Torture me if you want,” Marcus shook his head. “but please, don’t lecture me.”

Geta’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history! You are damned to oblivion!”

“You damn me?” He laughed. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall… and so do Emperors.”

Caracalla rose from his seat, reaching for his brother’s sword. “Why wait? I'll gut him right now!”

Geta grabbed onto him. “Brother! Brother! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes. Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He pointed at Lucilla. “Crucify her!”

“No!”

All eyes fell on you after your outburst. Even you froze in place, feeling bile begin to rise up within you. Geta let go of Caracalla. “‘No?’ You say? What would you have me do then?”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard to speak as tears began to fall. You held your stomach. “Crucifixion is…it’s…”

His face dropped into a scowl. “You aren’t saying I should let them live, are you?”

“No-!”

“-Then which is it?!”

Your voice fell silent as your chest constricted, and you could barely breathe. Your mouth would move, but nothing came out; not even strangled noises of desperation.

“If I may, your grace,” Macrinus stepped forward. “I believe she means to bring equal punishments to the crimes committed.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Please, let the rest of them out of the room so I might explain more clearly.’

He considered his words, then turned to his guards. “The criminals to the dungeons, my brother to his chambers, and my love-.”

“-I wish to be alone tonight.” You stated.

The emperor scoffed. “What?”

“The babe.” You began. “I-I have helped many women deliver their children, and what has always caused an early birth is stress. I-I cannot take any-anymore of it, or I fear…”

Finally, he took in the sight of your fearful face. Sighing heavily, he said. “Put my lady in her chambers for tonight.”

“Thank you.” You kissed his hand.

You were led into your own chambers, and once the door was shut, you threw yourself onto your bed and wept. You wept until you were wailing into the night, you wept until your eyes were as red as the sun in the morning, you wept until it hurt to continue to do so…

It was unknown how long you had cried, but the opening of your bedroom door is what alarmed you. Snapping your head over in the direction, you were shocked to see Macrinus.

“The general and his wife’s fate has been decided.” He stated.

You held a pillow to your chest, rubbing your reddened nose. “And what is it?”

“The emperor has chosen to let the gods decide, and Acacius will fight against Hanno tomorrow in the arena.”

“You mean you convinced him to.” You glared.

Macrinus approached you. “May I try some of the bread you have baked, my lady?”

You held no confusion when he asked you that. Surprise, yes; but you knew what he asked. You took a deep breath. “I believe I don’t understand.”

“The wheat you bought only days ago.” He reminded. “You said you would bake your own bread. Surely, you didn’t use it as false proof of you carrying the emperor’s heir?”

You didn’t dare look at him. Even when he laid his hand on our back, rubbing circles over your nightdress. “I wish to help you, my child. You must be willing to help me first.”

That was why he also didn’t alert Geta of your betrayal…unless, he had no idea of your alliance with Marcus and Lucilla.

“What is it that you want?” You asked.

“All in time.” He soothed. “I wish to give you the privilege to speak to someone.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes wide. “General Acacius?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I am unable to escort you to the dungeons below the palace. Yet, I can take you to the pit of gladiators.”

“It is easier for you to take me out of the palace than below it?”

“Take you to the man who nearly overthrew the emperors?” He chuckled bitterly. “Not possible. I cannot grant you the gift to say goodbye, but I can allow you to bargain for his life.”

You blinked. “Hanno?”

“Correct.”

“How can I leave the palace at this hour, after what has just happened?”

“You underestimate the silence men will take when it is weighed in gold.” He tutted. “I can only give you ten minutes with him. Will you go or not?”

You were forced to decide quickly…This could be your chance. He had nearly took your life the other day, and the pain in your shoulder was just a growing reminder of that. If he were dead…there was no way you could overtake him.

Yet, you learned that, in a world of men, you didn’t have to be stronger than them: Only smarter, and faster.

“I will go.”

You had hidden a kitchen knife under your bed the moment you had your own chambers. Geta had gifted you several colorful ribbons he loved to see you wear in your hair. He perhaps did not expect you to tie one around your waist under your gown, securing the knife.

Macrinus led you swiftly from the palace to the gladiator pit, which was thankfully not a long walk. You ignored the stares and intrigued calls from the other men as you treaded the halls. You were stopped by a door. Macrinus didn’t even warn Hanno who stood shirtless in his cell, only opened the door and let you enter.

“I’ll rattle the door when it’s time.” That was all he said and left.

Hanno didn’t even seem alarmed. “And what is Rome’s Delight doing here?”

Your blood boiled upon seeing him, yet you remained calm. “I have come to make a bargain; a plea.”

That was when the puzzlement appeared on his face. “And what is that?”

“The man you will fight tomorrow, you must spare him.”

“Why should I?”

Your grief and despair had made itself known to everyone around you for the past few days; yet, in that cell, only with Hanno as your witness, did he see your rage.

“He is the one who saved my life when you meant to steal it!”

The only change you saw in him was his jaw clenching. Other than that, nothing. “The general?”

You only nodded.

He sighed, brushing past you and shaking the door. “Macrinus!”

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“I will not have you waste your breath on that man.”

“I will give you anything you desire.”

Hanno faced you. “Then you can deliver his head on a platter for me.”

You gawked as he walked away. “What have I ever done to you?”

“What?”

“Do you truly hate me that much?!” You turned back to him, getting closer. “Kill the man that is the reason I am still here?”

The last thing you thought you would hear left his lips: A laugh. No, not a genuine one. One that you yourself have released on multiple occasions when you have been in disbelief.

“You truly believe everything that happens is because of you?” He taunted. “Has the emperor been filling your mind with so many delusions of grandeur, you can no longer conceive a world where you are not the center of it?”

“Is it so difficult for you to answer my question because you are a fool, or because you wish to not admit it?” You hardened your tone.

“What is your question, my empress?”

“Why did you shoot me?!”

“The arrow was not meant for you!”

You felt your shoulders drop upon the confession. Your aggression ceased only because of your bewilderment.

“Then who?” You asked.

He backed away. “The general you so wish to defend.”

“Whatever it is that he has done, it can be solved with-.”

“-He murdered my wife.”

Hanno said it so easily. No pain, no rage, nothing. It was a fact, and that was what he wanted you to know.

And how stupid you had been. No one in all of Rome was pure of heart; including Marcus. He was a war general; how could you think he wouldn’t have committed sins against the innocent?

“Why so silent, my lady?” He asked. “Are you in disbelief that he has enemies?”

“I didn’t know that.” You admitted.

“That the general is too a monster, or that he killed the only thing in my life worth living for?”

“And that is your desire?” You prodded. “Take his life so that he may die knowing his wife will be ravaged by wolves?”

When he charged at you, you barely had enough time to reach in your dress and unsheathe your knife. Hanno stopped himself just in time for the tip to kiss his chest. Nothing to cause any more harm than a scratch.

Even though you were not the one hurt, you breathed as if you were. He stared down at you as you shrunk under his gaze, and the two of you remained frozen. That is, until he grabbed both your wrists, and rose them above your head.

“I am only merciful because the general still breathes.” He spoke so only you could hear. “If your bastard of a lover had put him to the sword this night you chose to visit me, you would be dead before you could scream.”

Your nose was an inch from his, that was how close he stood to you. His breath caressed your skin, and you turned away in disgust. He let go of your empty wrist, yet still held the one with the dagger.

“Did you believe you could kill me tonight?” He asked, yet you said nothing. Hanno then brought the dagger to his breastbone, angling it upward. “Do not stab head on; stab up.”

Silence and an iron gaze was your reply.

He then hovered it to the pulse point of his neck. “If you want a quick death, right here; with a thinner blade, preferably.”

Then, he placed the tip just above his brow. “If you need information out of a rat, and you have the stomach to do so, drag it across. It will make the mightiest of men cry like a child in the night.”

“You are clever and a skilled warrior,” you finally said. “what is it you want me to tell you?”

“That you will leave it up to the gods and to me if your general lives or not.”

“But I cannot.” You dared to dig the blade just a little into his skin, and his breath hitched. “My desire for him to live is stronger than for you to die.”

Hanno finally let go of your wrist, and you immediately retracted the knife from his brow. “So do you wish to try again to kill me?”

“I wish for you to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” He questioned. “Mercy upon the man who pillaged my home and killed my wife? Mercy for the one who has made me a slave?”

“I too am a slave and-.”

“-And?!” He cried. “And there is nothing! You are draped in silks whilst I in chains and are bathed in clear waters while I in blood, yet you say we are the same?!”

You swallowed your anger, knowing it would bring you nowhere. “You entertain the horrid creatures of Rome; I am forced to pleasure the emperor. We perform differently, but we are still slaves.”

“You are with child.” He stated. “Will that child also be a slave though the emperor is quick to claim it is his heir?”

The crackling of the torches in the room only added to the fire th in your soul. If not contained correctly, you would surely burn and take him with you.

“A child…yes.” You relaxed, folding your hands. “A child that I could command to be Geta’s. Perhaps, if I wanted to have the brothers slaughter one another, I could say it belongs to Caracalla. Or, if I despised you anymore than I do at this moment…I could say that it is yours.”

Hanno’s eyes dropped in recognition, saying softly. “You carry an empty womb.”

You nodded. “It is the same as your honor.”

Moments later, the door behind you rattled, and Macrinus spoke even when you didn’t. “The time is up, my little empress.”

You bowed your head to Hanno, curtsying. “Sleep well.”

He said nothing in reply, and you turned on our heel, leaving the cell. You pulled your hood back over your head as Macrinus led you through the darkened streets of the city.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asked.

“No.” Was your immediate reply. “And I do not know truly what I wanted.”

The day was as blistering hot as the others, yet the stare Lucilla gave you as she was being led into the emperor’s viewing box made your blood turn to ice. There was not a hint of wrath upon her face; there was nothing at all.

She already looked as if her soul had been stolen.

“How does your shoulder fair, dear sister?” Caracalla brushed his fingers over your arm.

A watery smile was upon your lips like second nature. “It still aches, but it heals, thank the gods. And your overall health?”

He sighed. “I do not know how much longer I have upon this earth.”

“Do not say such things.” You squeeze his hands. “If the gods will it, you shall live for another hundred years.”

He kissed your hands that held his. “I hope so, my love.”

Your grin fell upon the title, and Geta immediately sat you down on the chair behind him that was beside Lucilla’s. He gave an apologetic look.

“He only grows more confused by the day.” He caressed your cheek. “You are well?”

You were far from it, but you could not say that. “Your son feels better now.”

Geta smiled, lowering his head down to kiss your womb. “He will need all his strength.”

The announcer on the other side of the arena yelled to gain everyone’s attention. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of three contests in the Colosseum, the barbarian Hanno!”

You watched as he ran up from the pit, sword in hand. On the other side, you watched at they brought in Marcus. You could barely look at his already beaten figure. The announcer continued. “Will challenge General Marcus Acacius for his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the enemy of the State!”

The two approached one another on the sandy field. Even from where you sat, so close to them, you could barely make out the look in their eyes. You assumed their was hatred, but your own eyes must have deceived you, because you swore you saw a hint of regret within Marcus’ own gaze.

You blinked and the battle between the two had begun. It was a different level of insanity at how they fought. Marcus was decades older than Hanno, and yet, there were moments where the Numidian had to keep up with him.

Than, the roles would be reversed.

Blood stained the floor of the Colosseum as they fought. Then, when all feel silent between them, and Marcus could barely stand, his lips moved as he spoke to Hanno, then raised his hand.

He yielded.

The patrons of the arena began to mumble amongst themselves, growing louder and louder. Geta rose to his feet. “Romans! What say you?”

In an instant, choruses begging him to be spared overpowered the few that wanted him to be killed. Geta shut his eyes, raising his hand, and they were silenced.

“The gods have rendered their judgement.”

His thumb pointed downward, and the crowd erupted in dissent. Your heart was forcing itself to beat out of your chest as you could only stare at the sight of Hanno glaring down at the general before him.

He tossed his sword to the side.

You hadn’t even noticed Caracalla stood until you heard him yell. “Kill him, kill him!” Like an angered child.

“Is this how Rome treats its heroes?!” Hanno shouted, staring at the audience all around him and pointing his sword. “If his life has no value, what are yours worth?”

Geta stepped up onto the barrier, balancing between the viewing box and a fifteen-foot drop into the arena. He held his arms out to his side, his sleeves dropping to the ground, and his pale face was red. “The gods have spoken! Kill him!”

From all sides of the stadium, hundreds of archers aimed their bows at the center of the battleground. Yet, none fired. Caracalla jeered.

“In the name of Jupiter, kill him!”

The arrows were released, and they screamed like none other as they fired into the center. As they pierced Marcus’ body, you did not know you had been wailing in fright until Geta had slapped you.

“You mewling cunt!” He cursed. “You wish to weep over the man who nearly had you killed?”

Blood fell upon your tongue from your bruised lip, and you did not dare to look at him nor Lucilla.

“Death will be too good for you!” She cried with all of her heart.

The noise from the crowd died as if the people themselves had done so. Then, just like the confused murmurs when Marcus yielded, the same began to grow and grow into a call of rebellion.

It was all in your ears. Lucilla’s weeping, the curses from the crowd, the panic of the emperors…but you stood absolutely still.

With hooded eyes, they drifted up to see that Geta stood just on the edge of the barrier, his back turned to you. Your gaze fell to the ground below you, and it was only then you realized how high up you truly were.

You do not know who or what willed you to, but you then looked at Hanno still the center, covered in blood. As if he knew what you would do, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Macrinus grabbed your arm roughly when you took one step towards Geta.

The emperors turned to him upon his appearance, and Macrinus loosened his grip on you before saying. “For our safety’s sake, we should leave.”

“Yes.” Geta stepped down, wrapping his arms around you. “We should.”

You never knew there was a safe house in Rome until you were forced into it. Perhaps that was the reason for it being a safe house, so that no one knew of it. Yet, apparently, almost all of the roman citizens found it that night. Or, they were simply rioting wherever a free patch of land was.

The cries played in your ears despite them being behind heavy walls of the safe house, and you dared not to peek out the windows as the several fires would temporarily blind you. In the house was you, Macrinus, Dondus (Caracalla’s pet monkey, although he’d call him his other half), and the twin emperors.

“How is the babe?” Geta asked as you sat with your head hanging low.

Of course he would ask that. You didn’t look at him. “He is in fear for his life.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “but there-.”

“-But what?” You finally looked at him, hissing. “Chaos has fallen upon the city because of your actions.”

“There was nothing else to do.” Geta glared at you. “He and his bitch were plotting to kill us! If I’d let him live-.”

“-Don’t you hear them?” Caracalla cried out from his seat, holding Dondus. “They’re calling for our heads! She is right, you brought this upon us!”

Geta placed his hands on him. “Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have others-.” The money upon Caracalla’s shoulder chirped out in anxiousness from the people outside. “Keep the ape still!”

“Beware of how you speak to Dondus!” His brother berated.

“Perhaps,” Macrinus finally intervened. “you should take Dondus and Julia elsewhere. The noise outside is too much for them; you should comfort one another someplace quieter.”

Caracalla nodded, gathering up Dondus and moving to help you stand, but Macrinus reached his hand out first. You took it, and as you stood, he said into your ear.

“I will find you on the right side of the hall.”

This was not the time nor place for riddles, but you could not react in any sort of way. You looped our arm through Caracalla’s and walked out of the room, hoping to find somewhere quieter.

“I’m afraid,” you confided in him, truthfully.

“I am as well.” Was all he could say.

You stopped in the middle of the hall once he found an open door. “I…I need time with my own thoughts. Please.”

He nodded, cradling Dondus closer to his chest before entering the room, shutting the door tightly. Within the minute, you watched as Macrinus approached you from the other side of the hall.

You spat. “What do you want?”

“I know I stole your moment of vengeance, and for that, I apologize.” He stood before you. ��But let me make it up to you.”

“How could you possibly?”

From his cloak, he brandished a knife, holding the handle out to you. You took it without hesitation, yet question was still upon your face. “I do it myself?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “or, you could have his own brother do so.”

“Caracalla? He is senile.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.” Macrinus pointed to the door Caracalla was behind. “Convince him that Geta will destroy all of you if he is not disposed of. Convince him that, as the new emperor of Rome, he will need more trusting subjects. I shall be his second in command, and you shall be free.”

You furrowed your brow. “Who shall be first?”

“The monkey.” He smirked. “Do you believe he would put me above him?”

It sounded so simple; too simple. Yet, as the crowd began to die down, and you could no longer hear their protests from outside, the quietness brought to you what you had always known: You would never be your own person again so long as Geta breathed.

You held the dagger to your heart, saluting him. “I shall do my duty.”

He nodded. “May the gods be with you when you do, Brutus.”

An insult to most, and while it shocked you, you took it in stride as you stood outside the door. You made yourself look smaller, more afraid, and hid the dagger within your cloak as you entered the room.

There, sitting upon the floor, was Caracalla and Dondus. Like a scared child, he held the monkey close to him, grooming one another as if it was the only thing to bring comfort.

“Caracalla?” You whispered.

He stared up at you, and you noticed he had been crying. Immediately, you sat before him, bringing him into your arms.

“Nothing was ever mine.” He cried, embracing you. “Everything was ‘ours’, always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to deprive me of air.”

“He did?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.”

You pulled away only to hold his face tenderly in your hands. “You must listen to me, for what I tell you is dire. Your brother wishes to blame you before the Senate; for what happened, for the chaos in the streets-.”

“-That is a lie!” He tore himself from you. “I didn’t do it!”

“I know that, but they don’t. No testimony is more damning than that of a brother against another.”

“He lies! He always lies!” He sobbed.

“He’s very persuasive.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I don’t dare imagine, but…gods above, I don’t wish to know what they will do to Dondus.”

His jaw quivered with the rest of his body. “What-what shall we do?"

You sighed. “I…I have a proposition, but it is most outrageous and-.”

“-Julia,” he begged, grabbing your hands. “dear, sweet sister, please tell me.”

Breath shuttering, you reached into your cloak and held the blade out to him. “Slay your brother tonight. You shall be crowned the sole emperor of Rome when morning comes, and Dondus, the child I carry, and I will be safe.'

He took it, yet still had that look of terror. “This…It has always been he who led everything. I do not know who to trust or-or who to command.”

“Then let me-.” You stopped yourself, eyeing the monkey that lay at his legs. You held your hand out to him, and Dondus climbed into your arms. “Let us help you. Claim Dondus as your first in command, and I your second.”

You wished the same as Lucilla and Marcus; to have Rome be a free empire. Yet, you would have to free Lucilla yourself before that happened.

Caracalla nodded yet said. “You-you are with child. You will become delirious as time progresses.”

And he was the epitome of having a clear mind.

“I will need a third.” He settled.

You shook your head. “That has never been done before-.”

“-I will be emperor!” He screamed. “If it is to be done, it shall be done!”

Raising your hands in surrender, you pleaded. “It shall, it shall! For a third…Macrinus. He has been loyal and informed us of the general’s betrayal.”

“Yes, yes Macrinus will do.” He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t even truly feel like a kiss, yet it shocked you nonetheless. “You are the wisest woman I have ever met, dear sister.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. With that, he stood on his feet and left the room. IT would have been easy to stay in there and wait for his return…

Yet, you wanted to be the last thing Emperor Geta saw.

No fear toiled within your body as you approached the throne room, not even when you hear the cries that you knew belonged to Geta. You walked through the doors, watching as Geta held his hands up in fear, begging his brother to spare his life as he was forced onto his knees, trying to stop the knife in Caracalla’s hand.

“I love you!” Geta squealed, staring up at him through tears “You are my brother, I love you!”

You moved to stand behind the younger twin, glaring at the man before you. Geta’s eyes dropped in relief.

“My love, my love, please help me!”

There was nothing uncertain about how you grabbed Caracalla’s hand that held the dagger. With eyes unblinking, you guided the blade into Geta’s throat, pushing it further and further as blood drained from his mouth.

The emperor was dead, and you would sleep like a child once more that night.

There was something inside of you when you awoke that morning. Not the child you had lied to all of Rome about; it felt like a parasite. You threw up an hour after you woke up, but when you checked with the healers, they said that there was nothing ailing you.

Was it…guilt? No, no it could not be.

Was it possible to feel guilt for the act of killing someone, but not feeling it for who was killed?

You had no time to debate these issues as if you were a philosopher.

Dressed in your finest silks, you made way into the room where the hundreds of senators met, carrying a hefty sack beside you. You sat in a chair next to Macrinus.

“You have done well.” He said softly.

You smiled. “Only because of you.”

Your gaze turned to Caracalla, who sat in one of the two thrones that were there for him and Geta. He looked like the worst you had ever seen him be. A blood rag had been placed at his feet.

“Now I am the only one.” He began, voice low. “I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always ‘we,’ all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone.”

The senators look at one another in silent terror. The only ones to not feel fear were you and Macrinus.

Caracalla continued. “My hand held the blade, but my father’s hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string. As Emperor, I have convened the Senate to appoint my First Consul and bestow upon him the power to administer the military and civic functions of the Empire.”

He tossed his hand to the second thrown, revealing his fury companion. “I name Citizen Dondus!”

Where the senators were beyond terrified, they were now confused. Macrinus was the first to rise, applauding. “Hail Dondus!”

You repeated his sentiment, clapping with vigor. Caracalla and the rest of the mortified senators applauded all repeating ‘Hail Dondus!’.

Once the excitement died down, Caracalla resumed. “As is custom, I am naming a Second Consul to advise the First and to assure his integrity. Though you will find that Dondus is incorruptible! As Second Consul, I name…”

Macrinus took one step forward.

“The mother of the future heir to the throne, Julia!”

All eyes fell upon you, standing taller than you ever had done in your life. How strange it was though, that the same reaction to a monkey being assigned first in command, was to you, a woman.

Utter silence, until Caracalla applauded enthusiastically. Like sheep, the senators followed; all but Macrinus.

“Yet, as mother to the heir,” the emperor said after finishing. “it is apparent she shall be incompetent for majority of her advising. So, for the first time in the history of Rome, I name Citizen Macrinus as my third!”

Even with this third twist in a counsel, the senators seemed more so relieved at the decision. Macrinus did not smile or even acknowledge the honor, simply stared ahead. Caracalla gathered Dondus in his arms.

“There will be a triumphal parade to celebrate. There will be games and mass executions! Long live the Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!” You and the senators all yelled.

The Emperor Caracalla carried the First Consul Dondus sweepingly out of the hall, to the Senate’s terrified silence. You picked up the sack that had been beside you this whole time, then making your way to the center of the room.

You opened the sack, and out fell Geta’s decapitated head. The Senate gasped and gagged at the sight of the former emperor’s head. You almost felt sorry for the horror they felt that whole time. Yet, there horror is what would bring you fortune.

“This is what befell your emperor.” You pointed to the head at your feet. “He was slaughtered by the one who shared a womb with him. Tell me, senators, is this who we must trust to maintain the greatness of the Roman Empire?”

They did not glance at one another in uncertainty; no, no they were listening to you.

You continued, your heart stammering. “I am not the one who will stand with you for the rest of my days, it is the son I carry within me. And if it is my son who will become emperor, then there must still be an empire for him once he is born. Hysteria has poisoned the streets for decades now, it is time to put an end to it!”

Murmurs and nods of approval began to echo amongst the counsel.

“Every single one of Rome’s children matters; from the beggars to the emperor himself. If one falls, so shall the rest of the Empire. I have walked beside the lay people of the city, and they feel betrayed by the former emperor for the murder of their beloved general. To right this wrong, I call for the release of Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.”

Not one of the hundreds of senators made a sound. Deep within you, you knew that there wouldn’t be much rejoicing over Lucilla’s freedom, but you still had to try.

“The people adored her for far longer than they adored the general!” You pleaded. “If we kill her only for the amusement of the elites, then the children of Rome-!”

“-Shall live.”

You turned to Macrinus, who finally stepped all the way forward.

“Forgive me,” He bowed mockingly. “my lady, but for a woman complimented to have a golden mouth, you have no idea what you are saying.”

A few of the senators chuckled.

“You wish to free the woman who mean to have you, and the emperors killed?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I wish to show the world that Rome is capable of forgiveness.”

“A desire so foolish, only the emperor’s favorite whore could have it.”

“Another word of slander out of your mouth, and I will have your tongue removed!” You stood toe-to-toe with him.

He grinned like the devil, and just from your outburst alone, no matter how warranted it had been, he had you. Macrinus stepped away, looking around at the senators.

“Me thinks the little girl believes she is Marcus Aurelius himself born again.” He straightened his tone. “What say you, senators? All in favor of releasing a traitor to the Empire, speak.”

Not one of them said ‘aye’. If you weren’t under a sheer amount of duress, you would’ve seen perhaps a few faces of inner turmoil, debating on calling for Lucilla’s release.

Yet, no one said a word because they shared the one thing that will contribute to the death of humanity: Cowardice.

Macrinus tutted. “Now, dear Julia and I happen to have, through good fortune and not a little skill, the remaining emperor’s ear. We can speak reason in it and tame the madness in the street. Yet, I will leave the domestic work of calming the emperor to his second in command. As for myself, to restore order to Rome, I will need power over the affairs of the state. Including command of the Praetorian Guard. The decision is in your hands. Ballot or hand?”

One hand rose immediately. Another followed, then ten, then thirty, and then, all of them. He provided no evidence for his cause…yet there was a unanimous decision.

Macrinus held his hand out to you, and you could only stare up at him in question.

“I believe we shall take the seats that are rightfully ours.” He said lowly.

Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, and he led you up the stairs to sit upon the chair that belonged to Geta, while he took Caracalla’s.

This would be the first and the last time a woman ever sat upon the emperor’s throne.

After being embarrassed that morning, you paced around your chambers. Perhaps you could have found Caracalla and gave him the same reasonings the senate did not listen to. Perhaps he could somehow see to the logic that would be in setting Lucilla free.

No, of course he wouldn’t. Even if his mind was sound, he still knew she was apart of the coup to try and have him dethroned; killed in his mind’s eye.

As your mind grew heavy with existential possibilities towards the future, the door to your chambers opened. Stopping where you stood, you watched as Macrinus entered.

“Now, try to make me understand this," he shook his head. "I let you have your vengeance on the man who used you as a slave, I promised you freedom, and yet you wasted it.”

You clenched your jaw. "How dare you-."

“-How dare I?” He tensed his voice. “How dare I keep silent about your lie? How dare I give you the privilege to take your revenge? I have saved you more than you believe I have harmed you, lady Julia."

The name had always bothered you, but with one emperor dead and the other incapacitated, you assumed it would stop.

Now, it only enraged you more; or perhaps that was just because it was Macrinus saying it.

You glared. “It was your own mistake to believe you were the only one who desired power.”

He took a deep breath, then moving to sit on your bed. “Sit beside me, Rome’s Delight; I have a story to tell you.”

“I am not a child, you may tell me in short.”

“You are not the only slave wishing to be free.” He pulled back the collar of his clothing, revealing a branded ‘M.A’ “You are lucky enough to not carry your master’s mark, but were a slave nonetheless. Marcus Aurelius spoke of peace while still using violence against those who served him.”

Swallowing your pride thickly, you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You have learned now, that is all that matters.”

“But Lucilla will still be dead.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She wanted the emperors to be gone as much as you, but she will-."

“-Her father enslaved me.”

“Her father is dead; and if taking his empire wasn’t enough, than killing his last child will satisfy you?"

Macrinus clutched your arm, fingers tightening with every word. “I would be careful with how you speak to me. I wish to offer you one last ounce of kindness before I regret it. Now tell me, Brutus, will you accept me as Rome’s new emperor?”

You had all the right to say it was Caracalla, but you thought better of it. So, with the softening of your entire person, you nodded. “I accept you.”

He dropped your arm. “I’ll let you say goodbye this time.”

Macrinus led you down into the dungeons of the palace, and he was right; somehow it was more heavily guarded than the gladiator pit. Even when the worst of the worst prisoners sneered or jeered at you, your sorrow and anger could not stir your fear.

The door to one of the cells was open, and you ran in just as Lucilla turned to see you.

“Five minutes.” Was all Macrinus said before locking the door and leaving.

You embraced one another when he left. Neither of you said anything, just clung to each other as if the world itself would tear you apart.

“Forgive me, mother Lucilla.” You choked up.

Lucilla pulled away, taking your face into her hands. “Sweet child, there is nothing to forgive.”

“I failed you.” The tears finally came. “I was right there in the senate’s room, I-I told them the chaos that would befell Rome if-.”

“-You were in the senate’s room?” She sounded as if her breath had been stolen.

You nodded. “Yes, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“My dear girl,” she smiled. “if you were able to even get half a sentence in, than they listened! My father but sixteen years ago said that it was a shame I had been born a women, for I would have been a magnificent emperor. Yet, here you stand; you who had been once a slave, rose above into having a sear in the senate council.”

Still, no matter how much pride she held, your own shame outweighed it. “I still have failed you.”

“I have already accepted my fate.” She whispered. “I must take care of those who matter to me before I leave this earth.”

“Do not say such things!” You cried. “I’ll still find a way to save you.”

“Hanno is my son.”

You expected her to deny your attempts at rescuing her, you even expected her to coddle you, curse you…but this?

“What?” You uttered.

“He is Lucius Verus Aurulius,” she said gently. “second of his name, but the first son of Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

“The-the gladiator?” Was somehow the first question you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Lucius didn’t run away, I sent him. With him as heir to the empire, I know many would not rest until he was dead. How was he to fight for a claim he knew nothing about? Now, he is here; and I am no longer frightened of dying.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to!”

She shushed you, combing her fingers through your hair. “I can speak to you until the earth is burnt by the sun of how I have made peace, but I know that will not work. So, I have two final requests for you.”

“Anything.”

Lucilla walked to the small desk she had in her cell, then picking up a scroll loosely wrapped in twine. She handed it to you. “My first is to give this to my son before tomorrow. It…explains a great deal of things I do not have the time to say to him.”

You took it, holding it to your heart. “And the second?”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around you and kissing the side of your head. “To take care of him as I intend him to take care of you.”

It was not the first time that day your eyes had grown. “He despises me.”

“If the gods are merciful, then I truly believe you will both come to see eye to eye as the only two who remain.”

“I nearly killed him.” You admitted. “The night before his duel with Acacius, I brought a knife with me and stabbed him; well…not enough to harm him.”

Lucilla shook her head, giggling. “He will need someone who disagrees with him.”

You found yourself laughing along with her, even through your sobs. She pulled away from you, wiping your tears. “He is a good man. He may deny it but believe me when I tell you.”

“I trust you.” You nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I will be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“I…I know.”

“Now go before I beg you to stay.”

You forced yourself away from her before you could change your mind. You could not even look at her as you left her cell and went up the hall. Just in time, you remembered to hide the scroll as Macrinus approached you.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Sighing, you said. “She’s…inconsolable. I couldn’t bear another moment with her.”

Macrinus nodded. “You should rest for the remainder of the day. It has been quite exhausting.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “it certainly has.”

It was the first time that night you were forced to sneak out of the palace on your own. Fortunately, you remembered the route you took to the Gladiator pit and managed to dodge any of the guards on patrol that night.

The pit proved to be more difficult as the overseers of it had less space to watch over, yet you still somehow managed to maneuver them.

Perhaps the gods were on your side.

“Hanno.” You whispered once you found his cell.

The man turned over his shoulder once he heard your voice and approached with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

You wasted no time, holding out the scroll. “Your mother told me to give you this.”

He paused for only half a beat. “My mother died when-.”

“-Your mother is Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.” You whispered fiercely. “And you are Lucius, the lost son.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he reached down to the latch of the door, and cracked it opened. “Get inside.”

Though you wished to, you didn’t question how he had unlocked it and only walked in. He shut the door tightly, then took the scroll from you. You stood there as he unraveled it to read. His face changed every few seconds, ranging from distress to downright confusion. When he was finished, he looked at you.

“She gave this to you?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I was allowed to say goodbye to her.”

“From Macrinus?” He tested. “Was this before or after you attempted to steal his power?”

“I was cruel to you.” You admitted. “Even after discovering Acacius had pillaged your home and murdered your wife, I expected you to show mercy. I am astounded you did, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. My desire for the general to live extends to your mother; if not more. She did not give up my name at any moment despite the fact I too was apart of the coup to try and overthrow the emperors. I cannot simply let her die.”

Lucius stared at you, his gaze intimidating yet at ease. He approached you. “You wish to save her life?”

“More than anything.”

“It is a rumor that Macrinus was the one to puppeteer Caracalla in slaying his brother. But…it wasn’t him, was it?”

Breathing deeply, you looked at the floor. “It was I.”

“Look at me.” He commanded softly, and you did. “Would you kill again if it meant protecting her?”

Your mind said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, but your heart only sunk into your stomach at the thought. It must have been apparent on your face, for he said.

“There is no shame if you are unable to.”

“I will be with him in the emperor’s box.” You said, determination in your eyes. “I will simply need you to buy me time in the arena. It shall be done.”

Lucius nodded, and released along breath before saying. "I treated you harshly. I...I don't believe I would have survived what you have been put through."

You picked at your fingers. "I think you would have."

"No." He solidified. "I wouldn't."

A silence fell between the two of you. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; as if, for the first time, you felt seen.

“You never told me your name.” Lucius uttered.

You pressed your lips together, shrugging. “It was never important.”

“It has been,” he said. “and it is now. You know my true name, if I am to understand you as how my mother wishes I do, then I must know yours.”

Your mouth parted to speak the first syllable, but even that had felt foreign. You instead lied. “I do not remember it.”

As he looked at you, the steely gaze you always knew began to disappear. “You must remember how it sounded from your mother’s mouth.”

“She died before she could hold me.”

“Then your father.” He walked closer to you, yet you felt no fear. “It does not matter if he was wretched or kind, he spoke your name and your name alone. What did it sound like?”

Like he loved you. Even when he was cross, he never raised his voice. You hated more than ever how tears started to build within your eyes.

“Geta had beaten me until I could no longer use it.” you confessed. “It will feel like poison upon my lips.”

“Then whisper it to me so you will scarcely have to move them.”

You had been lain down on a bed and had every bit of a man touch and invade your body. Even before the emperor, you had lain with people in the past of your choosing…

But none of that amounted to the intimacy you felt in that cell as Lucius stood nearly chest-to-chest with you, hovering his ear over your mouth as you finally (finally) spoke your name aloud.

If the heat of his body lingering over yours did not set your entire being aflame, it was the breath he released once he said.

“It’s a kind name.”

It was all too much for you, so you pulled away from him, drying your eyes. “I…I will pray for your safety.”

He outheld his hand to you. “Strength and honor.”

A saying you had overheard people use as they entered the stadium. You shook his hand. “Strength and honor.”

You didn’t expect to be in the parade Caracalla raved about the day prior. Yet, there you were, draped in the finest and most colorful silks with jewelry in your hair. Inside your sleeve, you’d hidden the same kitchen knife you attempted to stab Lucius with.

You were sat beside Caracalla, who had Dundus upon his shoulder, and who had only grown more delusional since the day prior.

“Where is my brother?” He pulled on your sleeve like a child as you were escorted from the float and into the Colosseum.

A watery smiled pulled upon your lips, and you soothed him. “He feels most unwell today.”

“He should be here.” He sulked as you walked. “He would be happy for me.”

“And he is.” You lied. “You will see him again shortly.”

That managed to ease him, and you both were seated in the emperor’s box with Macrinus. It didn’t escape your vision how hundreds of Praetorians also circled the entire arena. As the time to the match grew closer, you did your best to calm your own nerves. This would be for the good of Rome. Once it was done, you would be able to rest easily again.

It was then you watched as, on one side of the Colosseum, a wagon was rolled out into the center of it. Tied to a pole, dressed up as if she were Venus herself, was Lucilla. All that attempt at soothing yourself was gone once you saw her eyes.

“Must we kill Lucilla?” Caracalla questioned.

You couldn’t even snidely repeat his question to Macrinus you were in such a state of anxiety. Macrinus responded.

“Until she is dead, you will never know peace.”

Thus, the event commenced. The announcer himself even sounded guilt-ridden as he spoke of the crimes Lucilla was being charged with. Treason, betrayal, all of it only anguished the spectators even more to see her being prepared for execution.

“Let it not be said that the Emperor is not merciful!” He yelled. “The queen will be granted a champion to defend her!”

Out from the other side of the arena came Lucius. Half of the Praetorians held their weapons to the man, while the other half faced the civilians as if expecting them to riot. Once again, at the sight of the scene before them, it would not surprise you.

You had been taught one a many myths by your father, mainly belonging to the Greeks. You were Cassandra; blessed by Apollo to speak of prophecies but cursed to not be believed.

When it seemed that hope was gone…Lucius rose his sword, and hundreds of gladiators sprinted from all sides.

The crowd and Caracalla were in an uproar at the excitement. Pandemonium ensued as the gladiators began to climb the barriers and civilians were attempting to enter the arena. The sound of arrows screaming entered your ears; so much so you could not hear what Macrinus was saying to another man, and why Caracalla was screaming.

You simply blinked, and once your eyes were open, you watched as Macrinus dove a needle into the side of Caracalla’s neck, killing him.

Only a gasp tore through your throat, having no ability to scream. Your body soon found reason to move, and you rose to your feet, remembering your duty. Macrinus had acquired a crossbow, aiming it towards Lucilla and Lucius now at the center of the arena.

You rose the knife from your sleeve, charging towards the man. The arrow was fired, and you leapt upon his shoulders.

He moved wildly, trying to force you off of him. You made attempt to slash his throat, but it made contact with his eye instead.

Still…he overpowered you. Flipping you over him, you dropped down into the arena, your head colliding with the ground.

The sky was orange above you when you opened your eyes. Your head had never felt so awful before, and you were surprised you could even sit up. All around you, bodies littered the Colosseum floor. If there was not blood laid before you, there were swords and shields.

Your eyes drifted to the center, and now sunken to the floor, was Lucilla on her wagon. You forced yourself to stand and walk towards her.

When you could see the arrow sticking in her chest, you began to run.

Climbing atop the wagon, you untied the ropes around her hurriedly.

“Mother,” you begged. “mother, can you hear me?”

“I am still here, sweet child.” She whispered weakly.

“Save your energy now.” You managed to free her, and then pulled her to your lap.

“I will be seeing my beloveds now.” She smiled.

“No,” you hissed. “you are going to live.”

She reassured. “It is alright. I have fulfilled everything that was asked of me, and what I wished for.”

“Mother-!”

“-You will look after him, won’t you?”

You wanted to cry; you wished that sadness was the first thing you felt. But no, it was anger. Still, you nodded. “I will, but you will be there to make sure he takes care of me too!”

“He shall.” Was all she said.

“You will live, just please stop talking.”

“I love you.”

“Lucilla…” Your voice broke.

“Tell Lucius I would do this all again for him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Lucilla rose her hand to your cheek, brushing it tenderly one last time.

Her eyes were held open as she went limp in your arms. You closed her eyelids, knowing her gaze would haunt you.

You did not move for the first hour, nor did you cry out in despair. It was when the sun was completely gone, and you tore yourself away from her corpse did you collapse into a fit of sobs.

The ugliest sounds were released from your mouth as you could barely stand. You do not know how long you cried, but when you could finally move again, you crawled to the nearest sword, and trailed it behind you before climbing back up onto the wagon.

You tied the rope from her body around her legs, and brought her back into your lap, sword in hand.

There was no rest for you that night. You would nearly drift off into sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give in until you could bury her properly. You also couldn’t bring yourself to bury her at the same time.

When you had lost time altogether, and the sky was purple as twilight broke, a gentle hand shook you.

Raising the sword in surprise, you felt your body relax once you saw Lucius. You should have asked how he survived, what happened to Macrinus, anything else…but all you said was.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

He nodded, tears threatening to fall as he gazed upon his dead mother. He took a deep breath. “May I take her?”

You handed her to him, and he took her into his arms. You scooted off the wagon, your eyes reddened and exhausted.

“Where,” you cleared your throat. “Where should she be buried?”

“I…” He heaved. “I know where my father’s grave is.”

“Okay.” Was all you managed.

And you walked by his side, neither of you knowing what your fate would befall in Rome.

Yet…once both slaves, you were now free.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #hanno x reader #lucius x reader #lucius versus x reader #emperor geta #geta x reader #marcus acacius #lucilla #gladiator 2 spoilers #emperor geta x reader #Youtube #lucius verus x reader

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angelseraphines · 1 month ago

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ೃ⁀➷ sad girl ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! there is also a part one to this story, million dollar man! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ one week had passed since your boyfriend, sang-woo, reappeared in your life under strange circumstances that made your blood run cold. for two agonizing weeks, he had vanished without explanation. then, he returned, battered and hollow-eyed, his face bearing scars that seemed etched not only into his skin but into his very soul. he had come to your door clutching a bag of cash, his body trembling, his clothes soaked with sweat. “wait for me,” he had whispered, his voice hoarse and desperate. you promised you would, and so you did.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop replaying that moment in your mind, every detail a puzzle you couldn’t solve. had he been involved in something criminal? was he tangled in debts or worse? the thought that he might be ensnared in something far beyond your understanding consumed you. the sight of him, standing there, so broken and afraid, haunted you. you didn’t want to believe he was in danger, but deep down, you couldn’t dismiss the fear.

˚ ༘♡ then, this morning, a text came through on your phone. it was brief, offering no answers, only an instruction, “come to my house.” no explanation, no reassurance, merely a summoning. the clock had barely struck six, but you didn’t hesitate. sleep clung to you as you threw on the white, wool coat he had gifted you months ago for your three-month anniversary.

˚ ༘♡ the streets were quiet, the morning air biting at your skin as you made your way to his home. every breath a battle against the anxiety clawing at your chest. when you reached his door, it swung open almost immediately.

˚ ༘♡ before you could say a word, he pulled you inside, his movements quick, the door closing behind you with a soft click. the air inside was warm, contrasting the chill outside, but it did little to ease the tension in your body.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re here,” he murmured, his voice low, and then his lips kissed your cheek, cool and brief, a gesture that was both familiar and foreign. the touch left your skin tingling, not with comfort but with unease. his eyes lingered on you, their usual sharpness dulled by something you couldn’t place, something sinister.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped back from him, your voice trembling but firm. “you have to tell me everything right now,” you demanded, though the weight of your exhaustion seeped into every word. the fear you’d carried for weeks had worn you down, leaving sorrow in its wake. “i can’t keep living like this, with all the secrecy and half-truths. it’s killing me.”

˚ ༘♡ as you glanced around, you noticed his home looked different, emptier than you remembered. furniture was missing, and stacks of boxes lined the walls, their presence unnerving. your eyes narrowed as you turned back to him. “are you moving? why didn’t you tell me anything?” your voice cracked with disbelief. then, anger surged, and you shoved his chest, your frustration spilling over. “this has to stop! you can’t keep throwing money and gifts at me, thinking it’ll distract me from everything you’re hiding!”

˚ ༘♡ his posture stiffened, his muscles taut under the pressure of your words. his jaw clenched tightly, and for a moment, he looked away, as though searching for the right response. when he spoke, his voice was strained, his frustration cutting through. “if you would only give me a chance!” he snapped, the sharpness of his tone filling the room. his chest heaved and fell rapidly as he struggled to compose himself.

˚ ༘♡ letting out a slow, deep breath, he rubbed his temple, his hand trembling slightly as he pulled off his glasses. without them, his eyes looked more vulnerable, the walls he so carefully built around himself momentarily exposed. “why can’t you trust me?” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a mixture of anger and hurt. “why is it so hard for you to believe in me?”

˚ ༘♡ the scars on his face had faded slightly but still marred his handsome, angular features. your eyes lingered on them, the memories of his battered appearance resurfacing with a painful clarity. tears welled up, blurring your vision, and a tightness settled in your throat. “then tell me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth he was about to share. “it was business dealings,” he began, his tone measured, “not illegal, but high-risk. it was meant to be a way to increase my earnings, and it worked. it was highly profitable and lucrative in the fiscal aspect. it was presented as a secure business opportunity.”

˚ ༘♡ you narrowed your gaze, suspicion flaring. “how much money are you talking about?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated for a moment before meeting your eyes. “forty-five billion six hundred million won,” he said, his expression unreadable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in you throat, your mind struggling to process the sheer enormity of the figure. “what?” you managed to choke out, your disbelief evident. “sang-woo, that kind of money doesn’t come without strings attached. it can’t be clean.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened, and he looked at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “do you trust me enough to believe it is?”

˚ ༘♡ you faltered, the strength of his question bearing down on you. he wasn’t explaining, he was testing your loyalty, your ability to have faith in him despite the glaring inconsistencies. deep down, doubt clawed at you, but your love for him, flawed and reckless as it was, overpowered your reservations. “i trust you,” you murmured, guilt creeping into your voice. “i’m sorry for questioning you.”

˚ ༘♡ he nodded, the tension in his frame easing slightly, though his gaze remained guarded. “the investment fund ended a few weeks ago,” he continued, his tone darker now. “it got messy, very messy.” his bruised hand lifted, gesturing to the faint scars on his face. “this… was the price of my involvement.”

˚ ༘♡ the word lingered between you, heavy and suffocating. you stared at him, the weight of his choices crashing down on you like an unbearable tide. “why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “don’t you know I would have stood by you? no matter what?”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes darkened, and his voice rose intensely, startling you. “because I didn’t want to drag you into my problems!” he shouted, the force of his words filling the room and making you flinch. the reaction caught him off guard, his frustration fading as he noticed the fear on your pallid face. he let out a deep sigh, running his hand through his disheveled hair before pacing the length of the room. when he returned, his expression softened, and he cupped your face gently, his touch warm despite the tension. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with regret. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i’m sorry.”

˚ ༘♡ you had hoped that hearing the truth would make things easier, that it would bring the clarity you craved. but instead, it felt as though the distance between you had grown wider. “sang-woo,” you said softly, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions, “i don’t care what you’ve done or what happened. i only want to know that you’re safe, that we’ll be okay.” tears spilled freely down your pale cheeks, salty streaks marking the anguish you couldn’t hide.

˚ ༘♡ his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in a way his words couldn’t. his hand moved slowly along your back, a comforting motion that was far different than the turmoil brewing within you. “everything will be fine,” he whispered, his tone firm yet almost pleading. “i promise, it’ll all be fine.”

˚ ༘♡ despite his reassurance, you couldn’t shake the pang of unease in your stomach. his words might have been meant to comfort, but they felt fragile, as though they could shatter under the strain of whatever truths still remained hidden.

˚ ༘♡ “i love you,” he murmured, his hand gently tilting your chin until your eyes met his. his gaze was steady, filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “i want to spend my life with you. to get married, have a family…”

˚ ༘♡ a shaky laugh escaped through your tears, a fragile moment of relief breaking through the tension. “alright,” you said softly, wiping at your damp cheeks. “let’s start with something simple. how about we go get something to eat?” your fingers brushed against his tired, weathered face, tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his features. “you look like you haven’t had a decent meal in days,” you added with a small smile.

˚ ༘♡ sang woo’s lips curved upward, faint but genuine. “that sounds good,” he replied, his voice carrying a gentleness that was almost unfamiliar after everything.

a/n: i thought sang-woo wouldn’t tell his girlfriend about the squid game, with how concerned he is with maintaining a perfect reputation. let me know if you have any other requests! 🤍

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 1 month ago

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We meet again | In-ho x Fem!Reader | PT1

Summary: It was only one night for fun, you never thought you would see him again. Even less in a place like this one.

PT2 PT3 PT4 END

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Canon violence - Pregnant!Reader - Non canon background for In-ho -

Na-eun -> Coworker - Use of (Y/N) - Angst - Suggestive -

Gif by: @el-cheung

The ocassions where In-ho could leave the island and get himself a drink with normal people in a normal bar were slim.

He liked to think of these as vacations of some sort. Even if it was in a lost town in the coast. He still avoided big cities.

The place was nice nothing fancy like he is used to. And that gave him a nostalgic feeling, made him feel like he was not that man, the one making sure the games went on. But another normal man enjoying a drink.

"Can I buy you a drink" A female voice broke his thoughts.

He took a look at his left side and felt his heart flutter, god did you look gorgeous, your hair kind of a mess but in a good way, not too revealing clothes, eyes to die for, that made him think you were piercing his soul, and your smile, it was like the sun.

He gave you a polite smile but refused, knowing it was better for both to not get involved.

Such a coward he was.

"Oh cmon handsome, just one drink and I will let you in peace" You insisted getting a funny look from the barman

"Dont scare my clients off (Y/N)" He called over his shoulder.

In-ho saw you pout at the barman, you were most likely from this town, a local. Someone with a boring life, maybe you worked with lifestock or had a small store. He could picture you having a flower shop.

"Sorry if I bothered you" You finally said feeling his lost of interest and going to take your own drink and get back to your friends who most likely would taunt you for getting rejected.

"Wait" In-ho said making you stop. He knew it was a bad idea but he could not help himself.

"What type of Man would let a girl pay? Let me buy you a drink" He finally said giving you a small smirk. "Im In-ho" He introduced himself when you took the seat besides him again.

"In-ho" You repeated, teasting his name in your tongue. It sent a shiver down his spine that he tried to ignore. "Well, im (Y/N) as you probably hear, pleasure to meet you, visting the town?"

In-ho signal for the barman bring two more drinks while he nodded at you. "You can say that..."

"And? Are you liking it so far?" You asked taking a sip from your drink keeping eye contact.

"The views are...quiet splendid" He responded not taking his eyes off from you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○

One drink made him feel more relaxed, he could talk without having to take his words under much consideration, the next one made his body feel hotter, specially when you would touch his arm or shoulder and laught at something he commented.

Most likely it was not that funny.

And drink after drink, it got you two closer, talking quietly like you two were exchanging deep secrets. Faces red, eyes open looking for something more.

"Do you wanna leave with me In-ho?" You asked in a whisper one hand on his chest.

Oh, he really wanted to. He wanted to end this night with you screaming his name over and over again. Maybe he would fuck you so good you would not even be able to forget about him.

"Aren't you too drunk?" He asked, always the gentlemen.

You just scoffed at him but did smile, feeling warm because of his worry, most men would jump at the offer.

But he was not like most men.

"Im fine, im sure about this. I want to leave this place with you"

In-ho payed for the drinks and left with you that night.

And just as he had planned he got you screaming his name till no end. Till you cried that it was too much but kept pulling him closer.

It was messy, it was long, sweat fell from your tangled bodies. It was as it you two were made for each other.

The next morning In-ho woke up first, he could not help but let out a soft smile, seeing your sleepy face, hair a mess, and the marks from last night.

He was temped for another round...

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned taking it already expecting problems.

"Sir..."

And just like that the dream ended. He had to leave you like that. Not a goodbye or a phone to call. You weren't his first night stand but you were the only one he felt bad leaving behind.

If he had time...he would have loved to take you to a proper date.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Part of you had hoped he would stay, at least to have breakfast with you. You had said you made the best in town.

But no, the bed was empy only his marks stood behind and the cum between your legs.

You tried to move on from it. Telling yourself it was good sex at the end. And that he would not even stay at the small town for much time.

Did it hurt ?

Like a knife passing your arm.

And things were going to get much, much worse.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Hey (Y/N) are you alright in there?" The voice of your worried coworker called from outside the bathroom stall.

You went to respond but feel another gag coming making you unable to.

"Im fine, just morning sickness" You finally said, breathing hard and sweating while getting out from the stall.

"Oh be honest, I have a sister you know? Who was pregnant recently" You coworker insisted getting close and gently giving your shoulder a squish. "You are not alone in this" She smiled gently.

You wanted to believe her, but the reality was not on your side.

Yes, everything is fine, you just have a baby whos father left after one night stand. The man never tried to contact you again or leave a fucking note. And you were so wasted you forgot the after day pill.

Fuck it all.

On top of that, you had to leave the small town after load sharks came looking for your brother who being an amazing brother left a debt, and since your parents were long dead and you were the only family left, the debt fell on you.

Which made you have to move from the small and calm town to Seoul, under the threats of the fuckers on making the town suffer if you did not pay.

Part of you believed they were too lazy to travel between the town and Seoul. But you did not want to put the place at risk so you left.

And now here you were, in a shit job in a hole that dared to call itself "bar", alone, with debt and barely doing any money for you. All went to pay the debt, part for the rent and other part to get the healthiest food you could get for you and your baby.

"Why dont you move in with me?" Your coworker suddendly asked, "We can divide the rent, you would get more money for you and the baby"

"Are you sure? I dont want to be a burden"

"Its fine, I would not offer it to you if I was not sure"

And you found yourself crying, over happines for the first time.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

In-ho had to get back to the Island for the next games. Things were moving in their place, getting players and new games. The classic "red light green light" needed to stay since it did clean off most players, the most weak ones in his opinion.

His mind would wonder to you. He had no idea why, after all you two did not know each other on a deep level. And yet he found himself repeating that night. Not only the sex, it was amazing, maybe the best he had in a long time. But also your confidence, how you had approach him first, then respectfully you tried to get away once he gave you a negative response at first.

He had a fair amount of insisting women and it made his skin crawl in disgust, but no. You were not like that.

And your eyes, and smile. In-ho thought he could let lost in these, he could stare at your eyes all day and night, watch you in the dark and just feel happy because he was with you.

Him, a respected and feared man, who had everything when it came to power. He found himself wanting you, by his side. Maybe he could get back to that town and look for you. Date you like a proper Man and maybe, just maybe you would return with him.

He knew he was being selfish, being with him would mean saying goodbye to a normal life. A quiet life you most likely had.

It was a inner battle, the wish to keep tabs on you, so he could properly approach you next time and have the upper hand. Also, there was a need to keep you safe. He was not sure why, he just felt it.

However, things were never that easy.

The phone from his office rang, he picked up with his mask on, his voice muffled by it.

"Sir, player 456 its causing problems outside"

In-ho let out a very long breath trying to collect his thoguhts.

"I will deal with him myself"

And like that, the ideas of going after you were pushed aside, he needed to fulfill his task as The Front Man first.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

You held the picture in your hands while you waited for the next train. Your baby, or well it was suppos to be your baby, you could not make much of the shapes but the Doctor had said it was healthy and that was enough for you.

"Hey little one" You whisper passing one finger over the photo not caring about the rest of the world right now.

But life seemed to like taunting you.

"Excusme Miss" A well dress Salesman talked to you his smile gentle yet kind ot intimidating. "Would you like to play a game with me?"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"What happened to you!!" The suprise scream from your coworker and now roomate filled your ears as you entered the small aparment.

"Nothing, dont worry about it" You tried to go pass her but she held you in place.

"Nothing? Your left cheeck its all red! Did someone attack you?"

"No, nothing like that. Please I dont really want to talk about it..."

Honestly you could not understand what had happen. You two played ddakji and you lost. In order to make up for it you got slapped. Lots of times you were about to leave but the Man would say something about money and motion to the photo you had. You were furious but kept playing till you won.

You got a card and a few wones, he said how he felt pity over you and to call the number on the card if you wanted to win more money.

The exchange was strange, bizarre, the only thing telling you it was real was the money you had in your pocket and the card.

"Put some ice on it" Na-eun told you going to get it herself. "Did you get the picture?" She screamed even if she was not that far away

"I did"

"Oh let me see!! I want to see my nephew!"

"Na-eun, i dont know the sex of the baby yet" You responded taking the ice and passing her the picture.

"Its a feeling, I can tell its going to be a boy"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Life was good for a few more weeks, as good as it could be in your current situation.

But saddly it did not last.

"What..."

"Im sorry (Y/N), my sister called me. She needs me at her home. I cant stay any longer in Seoul" She said between cries knowing you would have no one if she went away.

"Hey, dont cry. Its your sister, I understand" You said trying to reassure her that you would be alright but still...it was a hard pain to take.

"I will pay my part of the rent till next month but after that...she trailed off"

"Dont worry, I will find a way" You smiled at her trying not to worry.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

That same night you called the number on the card, knowing your life would just get harder and harder now that you were alone once more.

After saying your name and birth date you were told of a place to be on a specific day and time.

"Stay calm little one, we will be ok" You said caressing your growing belly. "Mom will take care of everything"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The next thing you knew you woke up in what seemed to be a big room with multiple beds. It was cold, your old clothes were replaced by what resembled a sports suit. The number "344" adorned your chest.

The peopel around you seemed as confused and lost as you were. Fear started to creep inside you, maybe you screw up? Maybe this was human traffic? What would happen to you? And your baby?

You saw another female player who seemed just as lost as you and...wait it could not be.

Was she also pregnant?

Thinking you had nothing to lose you went near her. Not too sure what to say at first.

"Hello, you dont happen to know whats going on?" You asked knowing the answer but looking to make small chat.

She looked back at you then at your lower belly, the confliction in her eyes was clear as day.

"No I dont, how..how long are you due?" She asked nervously but also feeling better that there was someone else in the same situation as her.

You smiled, "A few more months, you?" She responded making your smile bigger. "Looks like we are in the same boat, player 222" You said seeing her number "Want to, stick together till we know whats happening?"

And like that, you made your first friend inside the games.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

After the long introduction the pink guards gave to all of you, they guided the group around a maze of colorfull stairs, you looked over player 222 making sure she was alright, you had to make small stops yourself. Behind you stood a player, 456 who seemed to notice your state and did not mention a thing, if nothing his face seemed to pale at it.

The guards finally left all of you in a big area, up front was a doll and a white line. Your mind went to think on the words from the guards, this was a kids game, it should be easy right?

"Hey 222, stick with me" You called a bit worried over her and you. If this game included running then it would be a challenge for you and her.

But you could do it, you had to do it.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The splash of blood on your face made you want to vomit, move and run away. But the screams from player 456 stopped you. Reminding you that if the doll dectected movement then you would be shot.

"It cant see on your blind stops" He screamed moving his hand behind his back to show all of you. "Make a line, short ones behind tall ones, we will move together"

You gulped but did as he said getting behind a player with the number 390, who also noticed your state and looked worried.

"Im fine" You assured him stopping when the doll also stopped singing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Like any other year In-ho stood in his room seeing the first game, a glass of whisky being his only company.

He could not see the faces of all players, too focus in Gi-hun and his attempt to save everybody. However, years of being a detective and watching this game made him have a critical eye, he saw two, two pregnant woman in the game, struggling but not giving up. He felt a tug in his heart, he knew this was to make games more interesting, to have players of all ages and circumstances, but even him, someone who was once part of them could not shake the uncomfortable feeling.

"It cant be" He whispered seeing you move, something from you called him, like he knew you. But that could not be right? You were in that town, safe, living your life.

How wrong he was.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Once the game was over the need to vomit returned stronger, you held it back not wanting to bring attention over you.

Both player 456 (who he presented as Seong Gi-hun, and player 390 (who said his name was Jung-Bae) went to you. Asking if you were alright or needed anything, even if Gi-hun knew he could not get you a single thing.

"Im ok, I will survive, Thanks for your directions during the game Seong" You thanked the Man who nodded

"You can call me Gi-hun"

"344!!, 344!!" The screams of 222 filled your ears, you turned to see her and hugged her.

"Oh I was so worried over you, over both of you" You added quietly

"I lost you in the crowd...You are fine?"

You made a face, honestly the situation was far from fine but you needed to be strong.

"I will make it, will you tell me your name now?"

"Its Jun-hee" she responded in a low tone.

"(Y/N)" You pointed at yourself then at your belly "Little one"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Voting. You could vote to be out and walk with some money. In all honestly it did not cover your debt at all. But you prefer walking out alive, able to raise your baby than getting both dead.

"I will help all of you" The voice of Gi-hun cut off your thoughts, a small circle with him, his friend and Jun-hee was formed "Just help me to stop these games, peopel will keep dying if not"

"Im in" You said to him who nodded back.

The voting was thight, you had to held onto Jun-hee arm to not fall because of how nervous you were. Jung-Bae tried to calm both of you, saying most likely the Xs would win.

But it was a tie, a tie and only one player. Player 001 was going to break off. You did not see his face only his back, he took a moment to decide.

He pressed circle, the games will continue. And when he turned around you felt your soul leave your body.

It was him, In-ho the man who you had one night stand and left you pregnant with no way of contacting him.

The same man who's final vote would force you to continue playing.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

The dinner was....bad. That was the only word for it. You forced yourself to eat thinking in your baby, Jung-Bae was kind enough to give you his milk, you decided to divide it with Jun-hee who was also gratefull.

When circle players came, asking Gi-hun about next game you wanted to pull their eyes out. They were using him, like a secret card to win. But Gi-hun seemed unbothered, he said what the next game was and even told them that he would share it with everybody.

Some walked away angry, and giving Jun-hee and you some nasty looks, guess no one wanted two pregnant woman around.

"Ignore them" Dae-ho another player who had voted X and kind of formed a small friendship with Jung-Bae said to Jun-hee and You.

"Can we talk?" The voice of player 001 came as a suprise to all of you, but the suprise was bigger when they noticed he was talking directly to you.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Both of you walked away from the group needing privacy from them.

"What are you doing here?" In-ho asked taking your arms. The last person he would bet being here was you. You looked fine when he last saw you, not like a person who would be in debt. Besides you were from a small town, the organization moved between big cities.

Just...what had happen?

"Hello (Y/N) How are you doing? Or did you also forget my name too?" You responded too angry, confused and stressed.

He pressed his lips in a thin line to calm himself down. No, he could never forget your name. You filled his dreams every night, he did promise to himself he would go back to you once this games were over.

He never expected or wished that you would came to him, to this place.

"You cant be here" It was more like to negate himslef the fact that you were indeed here. "Its too dangerous for you and your baby" The last was said so softly it almost made you feel bad.

Almost.

"Well, thank you for making all of us play another round" You responded going to get away from him but he held you in place.

"I was not the only one who voted to stay"

"No, you were not" you did give him the reason "But your vote was the one that broke the tie. Sorry if I feel inclined to be angry at you.

In-ho gulped, no you were right to be angry, specially since you were not only fighting for your life but the baby in your belly.

"The baby..." He trailed off, the question clear but he found himself scared to say it out loud.

You took a long deep breath, you had imagined finding him and telling him about the baby, you never pictured it would be like this. But luck was never on your side.

"Yes, its yours. I wanted to tell you, but you ran away and left me no way of contacting you" A small pause to get your words together "Listen, I wont ask anything from you, we had a good time and thats it"

No. No he could not ignore it. First, you plagued his nights and days, making him feel like he was young again and having his first crush. Then you appear here, pregnant with his baby no less.

How could he ignore it? When a family with you was one of the many dreams he had. Even if it was like he was going too quick, thinking too fast when you two only shared a night.

"No, listen. Im sorry for leaving like that, I dont expect you to forgive me or understand me" He could not tell you why he had left, why he never contacted you. "But I promise I will take care of both of you. No harm will be done to you or to our baby"

Hearing him say "our baby" made you want to cry but you did not know he was able to protect you, to you he was just another player.

"Dont make promises you cant keep. And dont worry I have managed fine this last months" You said leaving him behind and returning to the group that were not so casually looking at the exchange.

Once you made it back you went directly to your bed, needing to rest just for a bit.

"Who was he?" Jun-hee asked softly

"No one, he is no one"

Jun-hee had a feeling about who he was but decided to be silent out of respect.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

In-ho saw you go, his hand moving to fists by his side. He wanted nothing but to have you moved out from the games. Maybe you could stay in his room till all ended. You would be well taken care of, would make sure the most trusted Doctor of the island checked on you and his baby.

A baby, a life. Something he had made on accident but did not mean he did not want it. No, he did. He could see you, him and the baby, the three of you living together, he would teach his kid so much and love you till death.

Was he becoming obsess? Maybe.

Did he care? No.

He would do whateve he could to keep you and his kid safe.

#squid game imagine #squid game imagines #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #in ho x reader #inho x reader

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hanniebaeee · 4 days ago

Text

Clueless: Peek-a-boo?

Felix x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content MDNI

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Felix live on the topmost floor of your buildings - apartments facing each other, with long windows giving a glimpse into each other's lives. And then one day, everything changes.

Clueless Masterlist

Every evening, Felix saw the most beautiful girl in the window opposite to his. You lived in the apartment facing his, in the building opposite to his.

He didn’t know he believed in angels, until you showed up at that damn window, all soft light and effortless grace, and he became a devout believer. But those floor-to-ceiling windows in your bedroom seemed to be your favorite place because he saw you there a lot. Looking so peaceful as the breeze kissed your skin and the city lights illuminated your face.

He told himself to stop. That you were just a stranger. That this window obsession was not normal human behavior. But every time you stretched by your window or gave him a soft smile, Felix felt blessed.

And then, it happened.

It was a normal night. Felix had just finished a shower, steam curling around him as he stepped out, a white towel hanging low on his hips. He was drying his hair with another one.

Completely normal. Until it wasn't.

Because of course, God had favorites and Felix definitely wasn’t one of them, apparently. You were standing by the window as usual. Your eyes met. Felix didn't even know what had happened until it was too late, and the towel around his hips was already on the floor.

For a solid three seconds, you froze. You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But it happened so fast that your poor, innocent eyes bore witness to everything.

A choked sound clawed its way up your throat. Your hands flew to your face as you spun on your heel, bolting so fast from the window that Felix swore you left behind a cartoon dust cloud.

And Felix? Felix quickly covered himself with the towel in his hand, his heart pounding so fast.

"NO. NO, NO, NO, NO"

---

Felix: GUYS I’M MOVING TO ANTARCTICA. IT WAS NICE KNOWING Y’ALL.

Chan: What?

Hyunjin: What did you do?

Minho: Leave your key under the mat.

Jeongin: Wtf happened?

Felix: I FLASHED MY NEIGHBOR.

Felix: MY WINDOW GIRL. MY ANGEL. THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. SHE SAW EVERYTHING.

Seungmin: define everything

Felix: Everything everything.

Changbin: bro what do you mean you flashed your neighbor??

Jisung: Oh Lord 💀💀

Felix: MY TOWEL FELL. SHE WAS RIGHT THERE. OMG.

Hyunjin: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Chan: Oh my god.

Felix: AND NOW I HAVE TO FAKE MY DEATH AND ASSUME A NEW IDENTITY. OMG.

Hyunjin: You just gave your crush an exclusive, VIP, free-of-charge viewing of your whole ass body and you think you're suffering??

Felix: YES I’M SUFFERING??

Jeongin: Nah bro I think she’s the one suffering.

Felix: I AM GOING TO CRY.

Minho: Pack your bags.

Seungmin: It was nice knowing you.

Felix: I’M NEVER SHOWING MY FACE AGAIN.

Hyunjin: Imagine running into her 😁

Felix: SHUT UP.

Changbin: Bro ur gonna have to move.

Felix: I KNOW.

Jisung: Idk man. she might’ve liked what she saw. 👀

Felix: HAN JISUNG I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.

---

You were disintegrating. No. Worse. You were ascending. No. Even worse. You were being violently ejected from the mortal plane.

Because you had just seen your hot, ridiculously beautiful neighbor - on whom you had the biggest crush - completely utterly naked.

Your soul had left your body the moment his towel hit the floor. It was probably somewhere in another dimension, floating through the galaxies, forever lost.

And his eyes - those big, brown, Bambi eyes - had gone so wide, so shocked, so horrified. Oh your heart did weird flips. You were never recovering from this. Ever.

Felix had spent the entire night buried under his blankets, contemplating his life choices while the boys absolutely tore him to shreds over this incident.

He had spent the entire next morning aggressively gaming to forget everything (it didn’t work). He had spent the afternoon avoiding every single window in his apartment.

And yet. And yet.

When the evening rolled around, when the sky turned a dusky shade of orange and the city lights flickered on… he couldn't help it.

He looked. He had walked into his bedroom, and his eyes fell on the window, and he took a peek. His brain told him no. But his dumbass heart said yes.

And there you were. Beautiful as ever. But your face? Murderous. You were arguing.

Your phone was pressed to your ear, your free hand waving wildly as you went off on whoever was on the other end of the call. Your brows were furrowed, your lips moving rapidly, and your whole body was tense.

Felix froze. And Felix was turned on. So damn much.

How did you look this good while yelling at someone? How did you manage to be so breathtakingly hot when you were this angry?

And unfortunately for him, you turned and looked straight at him.

Felix panicked, and flinched. Instead of playing it cool like a normal human being, his reflexes betrayed him in the worst way possible. He was just trying to run, but tripped over his own feet - legs tangled, arms flailing.

His entire body went crashing onto the floor. For a second, he just lay there, praying you didn’t see that.

But of course you did. The phone was off your ear, and you were looking at him with concern on your face and Felix just wanted to die.

---

Felix: I JUST FELL FLAT ON MY FACE.

Felix: IN FRONT OF HER.

Felix: SHE WAS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME.

Felix: I AM NOT OKAY.

Hyunjin: LMAOOOOOOO

Jeongin: HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Jisung: At this point, I don't even know how you do this. Repeatedly.

Seungmin: Hold on. HOLD ON.

Seungmin: You got caught staring at her AGAIN?

Felix: IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE.

Minho: You are an embarrassment.

Felix: I AM IN DISTRESS.

Felix: SHE’S SO HOT WHEN SHE’S ANGRY I WANT HER TO YELL AT ME.

Minho: Yongbok. This is not how I coached you.

Jishng: Oh please. This is exactly how you coached him. Striptease and simping. He did just that.

Hyunjin: Omg, LEE KNOW?!

Minho: 😑

Hyunjin: Do you need me to send an ambulance?

Jeongin: No, he needs a one-way ticket to the underworld at this point.

Seungmin: SHE HAS SEEN YOU BUTT-ASS NAKED AND NOW SHE’S SEEN YOU FACEPLANT INTO THE FLOOR.

Seungmin: Wow. You're even worse than Jeongin at this point.

Jeongin: Excuse me, my girlfriend will Osotogari you into another dimension if I say so.

Seungmin: Try me.

Jeongin: 👊

Felix: Why am I like this 😩 Why does God hate me?!

Minho: He doesn't hate you.

Minho: He’s just trying to humble you.

Felix: I AM HUMBLE ENOUGH.

Jisung: Are you though.

Hyunjin: Just confess at this point bro wtf.

Felix: CONFESS WHAT???

Jisung: THAT YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HER.

Felix: I DON’T EVEN KNOW HER.

Chan: Bro.

Minho: You know the exact times she gets home every day.

Jeongin: You literally talk about her all the time. Jisung: AND YOU JUST ADMITTED YOU THINK SHE’S HOT EVEN WHEN SHE’S ANGRY.

Felix: Bye.

You had resisted Jennie’s invitation at first. Because it's already a trap that your best friend lives in the same building as him. But you were not going to run into him after the two disastrous days you've had.

“No. Absolutely not.” You said, shaking your head.

Jennie's face was so close to the camera, you could literally smell her through the screen.

“Why?” Jennie asked. "Why are we on video call? I live right next door!"

“Because the hottest man I’ve ever seen lives there, and I -”

Jennie squinted. “Uh huh. It's never stopped you from visiting before. You’re lying.”

“Am not.”

“You are. Spill.”

“I might have accidentally seen him naked -”

“EXCUSE ME?” Jennie shrieked.

You waved frantically, trying to talk over her shrieking, “NOT ON PURPOSE!”

“WAIT, WAIT -” She pointed at herself. “You saw a naked hot guy and you didn't tell ME?!”

You sighed. “Yes.”

Jennie’s jaw dropped.

“WHY HAVE I NEVER MET THIS GUY?!?”

“I'm hanging up!”

“Oh my God, chill! SO VIOLENT.”

“I am not running into him. You can come over anytime you know.” You said, glaring at her.

Jennie rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, come on. What are the odds you’d run into him?”

You hesitated.

Jennie had a point. You wouldn’t randomly see him, right?

---

Fast forward to now:

You sprinted for the elevator just as the doors were closing, because you weren't going to climb ten floors to Jennie's apartment.

You barely made it. And the second you stepped inside, you locked eyes with him.

HIM.

You felt every single one of your brain cells exit your body. And he didn't look any better. In fact he looked seconds away from climbing the walls like a feral animal. You had never seen a man so close to death before.

But your mind? Your first thought? Oh. He actually looks nice in clothes. Like you've always seen him in pyjamas, or hoodies (or absolutely nothing). But he actually looked so good in his jeans and black t-shirt and the leather jacket.

Ok, you needed to leave. Immediately. So you turned, trying to make it out before the doors closed. It was funny how they slid shut right on your face.

The silence was even worse. Crippling and suffocating.

---

The doors slid open on Jennie's floor, and you were about to step out, but there stood Jennie.

Why the hell was she standing there?

Her eyes immediately landed on you. Then on Felix. Then back to you. You don't know what she saw on your face, because her eyes narrowed.

“IS THAT HIM?!”

You jumped and slapped your hand over her mouth.

“SHHHHHHHH.”

Jennie’s eyes screamed, as if to say, “OH MY GOD IT’S HIM”

The elevator doors closed again, and Jennie said, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE WAS THAT HOT?!”

“JENNIE WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Oooohh, you like him!” Jennie smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You swung you bag at her and she escaped narrowly with a squeal.

---

Felix: I WAS IN AN ELEVATOR WITH WINDOW GIRL.

Jeongin: OH. MY. GOD.

Hyunjin: LOL

Minho: WHAT ARE THE ODDS????

Felix: ZERO. THE ODDS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ZERO.

Chan: LMAO

Jisung: Felix, this is destiny

Hyunjin: Did you talk?

Felix: NO. I WAS TOO BUSY MALFUNCTIONING

Changbin: Did she say anything?

Felix: NO. She tried to escape but the doors won that round.

Jisung: STOPPPP

Hyunjin: NOT THE ELEVATOR BETRAYING HER🤣

Minho: So much potential

Jisung: Ask her out, you coward.

Felix: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

You felt bad. Because the poor guy has been repeatedly traumatized for no reason, and it felt absolutely unfair. So you decided to be mature about it.

Your knees wobbled at the thought of talking to him face to face. So you had another idea.

---

Later that evening, you sat by your window as usual (waiting).

There he was. Felix walked into his room, stretching, and then froze when his eyes landed on you. You quickly picked up the little white board you'd ordered just for this (dramatic yes, but this was a dramatic situation).

He watched curiously as you wrote something on it quickly, and held it up for him.

I’M SORRY FOR WHAT HAPPENED.

Felix blinked, completely surprised. And his face turned a cute pink. And then he did something that made your heart flutter. He smiled. A soft shy one.

Felix watched, his heart pounding so fast as you started writing again. Then, you held it up.

DO YOU WANT TO GET COFFEE WITH ME?

Felix.exe has crashed. His crush, his dream girl, just asked him out.

Felix scrambled. He looked around his room for something and came running back with a book and a marker.

YES. YES. HOLY SHIT YES.

You snorted as you saw his reply. Then he wrote again.

I’M FELIX.

You grinned, quickly scribbling back.

I’M Y/N. NICE TO MEET YOU FELIX!

You watched as he smiled softly, his cheeks still pink.

AND YOU. CAN I PICK YOU UP TOMORROW?

Your stomach flipped. This was actually happening. Really really happening. You bit your lip, then quickly scribbled.

7PM?

Felix beamed and nodded, with the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face.

---

Felix: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

Hyunjin: WHAT WHAT WHAT?!

Jisung: HE’S HAVING A STROKE I CAN FEEL IT.

Felix: SHE JUST ASKED ME OUT.

Changbin: YOU’RE LYING.

Seungmin: LMAO

Jeongin: And and and?!?

Minho: SHE WHAT.

Chan: SAY YES. SCREAM IT.

Felix: WE HAVE A DATE. I’M DYING. OMG.

Felix: SHE JUST ASKED ME OUT THROUGH A FUCKING WHITEBOARD.

Jisung: WHY IS THAT SO STUPIDLY CUTE!

Hyunjin: NOT THE WHITEBOARD CONFESSION!

Jisung: EVERYONE SHUT UP. LIXIE HAS A DATE!

Hyunjin: Gotta say, you have the best story to tell among us

Minho: And here I thought Hyunjin was the most embarrassing among us

Hyunjin: Obviously it was Jeongin for being thrown around by his girl

Jeongin: Well excuse you, Jisung nearly peed his pants when he wanted to ask HIS girl out

Jisung: Please. Guess who stripped for forgiveness? Um, not me?

Minho: I DID NOT STRIP FOR FORGIVENESS!

Chan: Amatures. All of you.

Changbin: You didn't even know that your fiancee was literally carrying your child and ran around wailing that she didn't love you anymore. Oh my God.

Chan: CHANGBIN!

Seungmin: He's got a point, ya know

---

Felix was obviously so stressed. Because he wanted this to be perfect. And suddenly, everyone was giving him dating advice. And none of it was remotely useful. What's new.

---

Changbin: Bro you gotta flex. Show her those arms.

Felix: WHAT.

Chan: Yeah, mate. Roll up your sleeves, make the veins pop.

Felix: Omg

Hyunjin: He'd literally pop a vein and then we'll actually have to send an ambulance.

Jisung: Accidentally brush fingers when you pass her the coffee. Totally innocent.

Minho: ALPHA MALE STARE. Look her in the eye. Don't blink.

Felix: I’M GONNA GET ARRESTED.

Jeongin: Drop something, and pick it up slowly so she sees your back muscles.

Felix: She has unfortunately seen way too much muscle to last a while 😵‍💫

Hyunjin: OK. SHUT UP EVERYONE. FELIX. JUST BE YOURSELF.

Jisung: YEAH. BE YOURSELF. BUT HOTTER.

Felix: 🙄🙄🙄

The date was in an hour. And Felix was barely keeping it together. His entire apartment looked like a crime scene, with outfits thrown everywhere, his hair was still wet from the shower.

---

Felix: I'm so nervous, my stomach hurts

Jisung: It's a good nervous though?

Hyunjin: You can do it, Lix

Changbin: REMEMBER. SHOW HER THE VEINS.

Felix: OMG

Chan: Don't worry, she likes you. You like her. It'll be OK!

Seungmin: Just be yourself, make her laugh.

Jeongin: If you're nervous, just sit there and look pretty 🤷‍♂️

Jisung: NOOOO HE NEEDS TO DO BOTH. LOOK PRETTY AND BE CHARMING.

Felix : I’M SWEATING. I’M ACTUALLY SWEATING.

Hyunjin: GO WASH YOUR FACE RN. AND FIX YOUR HAIR.

Felix: I LOOK LIKE A DROWNED RAT.

Minho: Great. You're ready.

Felix: I AM GONNA THROW UP.

---

But he does go and get you some flowers and meet you at the entrance to your building. He was fidgeting, checking his reflection in his phone camera for the 100th time when you walked out.

Felix froze for a second because you looked like a dream. And for once Felix felt like the universe did love him. Because it gave him you.

You grinned and held your hand out.

“Hey, Felix.” you said, and Felix quickly shook your hand, before giving you the flowers.

“Thank you,” You said, and his entire brain short-circuited.

He was so fucked.

---

Felix: WE SHOOK HANDS. I’M DEAD. BURY ME.

Jisung: A HANDSHAKE??? YOU FORMAL ASS IDIOT.

Changbin: BRO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HUG HER NOT INTERVIEW HER.

Felix: I’M IN LOVE.

Hyunjin: OMG DON’T BE A SIMP.

Minho: TOO LATE.

---

The date was perfect. Felix had never been this happy in his entire life. You were amazing - you laughed at his jokes, teased him mercilessly, and your eyes? It was on him the whole time.

Felix was literally in heaven.

You even let him walk you home. Stood side by side in the elevator, unable to hide the smiles on your faces. And then you stopped at your door and glanced at him, eyes sparkling with something mischievous.

“Maybe next time,” you mused with a smile, “I’ll invite you in.”

Felix nodded dumbly - he would have nodded to anything you said to be honest - his entire body heating up.

Next time. You said next time. You wanted a next time.

You laughed softly at how dazed he looked, and then leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. A little too close to his mouth. A soft lingering kiss.

And when you pulled back a little bit, Felix chased your lips with his - it was almost involuntary, like he had no choice but to close the small gap.

And then his lips caught yours in the most perfect kiss of his life. Just long enough to drive him insane, but not long enough to satisfy the absolute hunger suddenly roaring inside of him.

When you pulled away, your breath fanned against his lips and your eyes flickered with mischief. You were both grinning like idiots, blushing so hard.

You bit your lip, taking a step back and whispered, “Good night, Felix.”

He barely managed a choked, “Good night,” before you disappeared into your apartment.

The second your door clicked shut, Felix sprinted.

---

Hyunjin: WHERE TF IS HE.

Jisung: DID SHE KILL HIM?

Changbin: FELIX ANSWER US RIGHT NOW.

Minho: I'm so curious

Chan: OMG LET HIM BREATHE!

Jeongin: I BET HE'S HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE.

Seungmin: He's probably just walking home.

Hyunjin: WELL HE CAN TEXT AND WALK.

Jisung: WHAT IF HE PASSED OUT. LIXIE!!

---

Felix stumbled into his apartment, collapsed onto his bed, and with trembling hands, grabbed his phone.

---

Felix: GUYS.

Jisung: HOLY FUCK HE’S ALIVE.

Hyunjin: REPORT. IMMEDIATELY.

Changbin: Spill.

Felix: IT WAS AMAZING. WE KISSED. SHE SAID WANTED A NEXT TIME. WITH ME. OMG.

Chan: Go Felix!!

Minho: Details. Now.

Jeongin: We need a play-by-play.

Felix: She kissed me on the cheek first. But then, I kinda kissed her on the lips.

Felix: It was so soft and sweet

Felix: Wait. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS.

Changbin: Because we are your emotional support animals.

Jisung: You what.

Hyunjin: You chased her lips didn't you?

Felix: HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT?!

Chan: How are you so weirdly accurate all the damn time Hyunjin?!

Hyunjin: It's a talent Christopher 😎

Minho: You're ignoring the fact that your little boy chased her lips like a starving animal.

Felix: I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IT JUST HAPPENED.

Seungmin: OUR BOY IS HUNGRY.

Chan: Felix, do you realize what this means?

Felix: WHAT.

Minho: YOU’RE GONNA GET LAID.

Chan: NO NO! OH MY GOD! I MEANT YOU SHOULD INVITE HER TO MY WEDDING AS YOUR PLUS ONE! MINHO!!

Felix: I AM GOING TO PASS OUT.

Felix: GOOD NIGHT.

Jisung: Bro’s gonna have good dreams tonight.

Hyunjin: Spicy ones for sure.

Felix: LEAVE ME ALONE.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @hanadulsetaad

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