#when the sun came up you were looking at me!!!!

[pricesprincess]

t. fushiguro x fem reader x s. kong | 8.3k wc

smut mdni | repost | monsterfucking | knotting

running away is never a good idea, but in this case, it was.

you needed a moment to get away from everything before it drove you crazy. 

your job was the one doing most of it with the hours you had to work keeping you busy and more than tired, so tired you didn't realize your heat was upcoming very soon. 

it would be one of the worst ones yet since haven’t had it in such a long time and without the suppressant that would get you through it, you were royally fucked, being in heat and being single was hell on earth and you hated it so you kept it at bay but at least your feelings and heart were left intact. 

your eyes twitched as you hunched over the desk staring at the computer screen scrolling through the cabins for rent, the place where you could walk around naked and enjoy the peace and quiet by yourself. 

people milled about the work area getting ready for their weekend off but you had put in the request a month ago to take a whole week and a half off. your heats could be tracked thank goodness so you knew the time frame and since you haven’t had one in a while you knew this could last a bit and be intense. 

after enough mindless scrolling you finally found the perfect place, nestled deep in the lush mountainside next to a running river, the description said the sun set and rose through the stained bay window that cast an array of colors over the hardwood floor and had a clawfoot tub with a beautiful view. 

it was a one-bedroom that faced the mountainside with a balcony to enjoy the view and nature next to a dead forest this time of the year, with no neighbors to hear you get off like a nymphomanic. 

the thin walls of your studio apartment didn’t muffle a thing. 

“what are you doing?” your friend and coworker ami asked when she came over to your station leaning against the counter, thrumming her fingers on the marble top. 

you let your eyes drift over to her then back to the computer looking at the pictures, the click sound was something that you were able to drown out since it was something you listened to daily. “getting away.” you replied flatly. 

ami understood all too well as an omega and had enough heats to know what it was like, especially when you have suppressed it for a while, the feeling of when it came on was like nothing else and you needed to be alone for it. 

she leaned forward taking the mouse from your hand to click on another tab with different cabins. “i rented this one for two weeks, it was so nice but the people are close and like to visit.” you looked at it and shook your head. 

your lips drew into a pout as you took the mouse back from her and went back to the one you wanted and filled out the form quickly hoping you could get the slot.

“i don't want to be near anyone, there are woods close by for me to enjoy and the closest neighbor is two miles or more away, which is perfect.” you hummed clicking submit making sure that it went through before exiting the homepage. 

ami stood straight and patted the top of your hand. “you should find someone to help you through the heat, it’s going to be awful since you’ve been suppressing it for so long.” she sing-songed further irritating you. 

you wanted to snap at her, instead, you sighed and leaned back in your chair. “not interested, i don’t need anyone to help me through this plus being mated with someone sounds like hell.” 

it was a scenario that you’ve seen too many times. 

before ami could say anything her phone began to ring on her desk pulling her away from yours to hurry up and answer it. your eyes shifted to the clock again, ten minutes and counting down until you were free for two weeks. 

even though it’s been less than five minutes you opened up your email in hopes of seeing whether or not you got the cabin, every three seconds you hit the refresh button hoping it would be there but nothing but more spam. 

with a sigh, you logged out and started cleaning up your desk stuffing everything in your bag not caring before shutting the computer off. “i’ll see you later!” you called out to your co-workers and made a beeline for the door shouldering it open to hurry up and make it to the parking lot before it rained. 

before work in the mornings, you’d watch the weather channel to keep up with it because more times than not it was always changing. as soon as you got inside the clouds opened dumping rain in heavy sheets coating your car. 

by the time you made it home, the sun had begun dipping below the horizon turning the sky into a burnt orange with streaks of red and yellows that would make a beautiful picture but you had no time for that, with your bag in hand you scurried to your front door thankful for the awning that kept you dry. 

once inside you dropped everything with a soft thud and kicked your shoes off hoping soon that you’d get an email about the cabin, however, seeing that it was almost six p.m. and it was a friday no one would be there to answer the emails but you were excited and ready for a change of scenery. 

standing in front of your wall calendar dressed in nothing but panties while eating ice cream from the small carton you were able to figure out the last heat you experienced was seven months ago and this one was going to be rough, all the built-up hormones were suppressed waiting to be spilled. 

they started to ooze from the cracks and chips leaving you on edge which only irritated you further because you didn’t even want to feel how hot you burned up or how long it’s been since you’ve been laid, almost two years. 

but it wasn’t like you were counting or anything. 

with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the wall and shuffled toward the living room looking down at the faded slippers you wore, the ones that have seen all of your teenage years, now you were pushing almost thirty and still single. 

plopping down on the equally ratty couch that you picked up free from the internet once you were sure it wasn’t bug-infested, the owners at the time just wanted to get rid of it, trash turned into treasure. 

your eyes tried to stay glued on the tv but it was a fight you could no longer win and ended up falling asleep with your head leaning back and mouth open. 

hours later you jerked awake from the slam of the door that rattled the walls. 

“fuck.” you groaned when you saw the ice cream you had in your hand had melted and dripped down on the floor making a creamy mess, the vanilla looked like cum almost, and perhaps that was just because you wanted a load shot deep inside you, it made your blood run hot but you pushed that back to stand up and gathered your bearings before cleaning the mess up. 

your phone vibrated on the corner of the coffee table alerting you to an email, forgetting the rag and melted ice cream in front of you, you snatched it up and unlocked the screen to read your email for the cabin, the one you wanted was now yours for the entire week, all you had to do was get through was two days. 

the smile that made your cheeks ache couldn’t be wiped from your face no matter what, the place you picked was perfect, and the woods were somewhere you could gather food and you could bathe in the river, connecting with nature would help a lot to get through this heat. 

after the mess was cleaned up there was a pep in your step as you started to pack your bags before heading out to your car stepping in a puddle which usually upsets you, but even that couldn’t bring your day down. 

going back inside you changed your socks and shoes then you made it to your car and pulled out of the parking lot. 

even though it was just two weeks you couldn’t wait to get out of the apartment building you lived in, the too-thin walls sure didn’t help when your neighbor's headboard banged in a creaky rhythm or the couple upstairs who yelled daily. 

you twitched in excitement as you pulled up to the sex shop, you needed a few toys to help get off and you had saved up enough money for a sex doll, well it was only just the abs and the removable cock to fit whatever fit your desire. 

walking inside you looked around and then made a beeline for the other side, the back wall was lined with an array of styles, sizes, and colors. 

you scanned the plastic boxes wondering what attachment to change out for something new when your eyes landed on a werewolf cock, complete with the tapered end and a knot that was already inflated. you grabbed it along with a few more toys then paid for it and left the store counting down until you left. 

with everything put in your trunk, you headed to the store next and bought all your favorite things to eat and drink, along with a few books from the bookstore down the street and some cheap wine to help sweeten the deal. 

it was two weeks of self-care that you’ve been neglecting over the last few months and it was building until it was close to exploding and before you let that happen the cabin was your getaway from your problems that have piling up and you’ve been pushing aside until now. 

excitement filled your veins as you drove back to your apartment. 

once inside with all the bags you packed everything and looked at the clock counting down the milliseconds when you could leave and since you still had a day and a half you caught up on some work, sending emails and making phone calls to regular customers who even caught on to your rare good mood. 

“am i that grumpy?” you muttered when you hung up the phone and leaned back in your home office chair, the damn thing was creaky and soon you’d need a new one but with your current pay that would have to wait. 

another glance at the clock and it was nearing dinner time. 

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monday morning before the sun had a chance to come to the horizon you were already in your car, fingers twitching as you pulled out of the parking lot ready to leave behind your life for two weeks, and thankfully the ride wasn’t long. 

with your windows down the cool autumn breeze filled the car as you passed by knotty trees with bare branches with thick wet leaves of different colors at the base of the trunk, when daybreak happened it filled the sky with a beautiful orange mixed in with purples and reds that was picture worthy. 

which is usually what you would do, but the only thing on your mind was getting to the cabin and settled in before your heat hit which was supposed to be on tuesday and last until saturday or even longer, but you had worked enough overtime to cover a few more days if needed be. 

you had everything set in stone, this trip was important to you for many reasons. a way to get back into tune with yourself, plus this way no one would bother you or call the landlord when you bounced yourself stupid on a fake cock to quell the burning need for an orgasm. 

the radio played the local station at a low volume as the gps voiced the way to get to where you wanted to be the most, only five miles away from your destination your foot pressed on the gas pedal before turning right. 

your tires crunched under gravel as you drove slowly now to take in the scenery, it was breathtaking and it looked like something someone painted where it hung up for millions to see and oh and awe at it, pulling over you stopped and got out of your car to take a few pictures of the place. 

it didn’t take very long for you to pull up in the driveway, your jaw going slack at the beauty of the log cabin, the pictures did not do it justice, the backdrop for it was lush mountains with a few waterfalls splitting them apart that ended in a stream following the path toward the huge lake no doubt for fishing. 

climbing out of your car you left the bags in the trunk and walked around the place taking note of the firepit and the grill with a few chairs that looked comfortable, your feet crunched over the rocks as you peered into the thick of the woods on the edge of the property when the door opened scaring you. 

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you. you ok?” a tired voice asked before revealing themselves, a woman who appeared to be in her seventies came out with a kettle hanging from her thin fingers as she eyed you. 

despite your heart beating louder than a bag of cans rattling around you nodded. “yes, i didn’t think anyone was going to be here…there’s not another vehicle around.” you answered confused about who she was and why she was here, when you got here you thought the owner would be gone.

you sent the payment directly from your bank account so you didn’t have to worry about this, you didn’t want to deal with anyone.  

the woman waved you in and shut the door once you were inside taking in the beautiful interior, almost everything was soaked in a deep red and muted browns, tan leather couches were in front of a large tv and the kitchen was small but it held everything you needed and the hallway only had two doors. 

it was an open floor plan with a large kitchen with modern time appliances. 

you followed her further to the kitchen where she sat the kettle back on the stovetop. “my name is may, i’m the owner. i like to greet people and tell them a few rules, or i suppose it’s to keep you safe.” she explained and poured a cup. 

“it’s nice to meet you. rules?” you asked wondering why it couldn’t be put in the email. 

“i’m glad you made it soundly and yes, rules. you don’t want to go out into the woods after ten p.m. the werewolves come over the mountains and a lot of them aren’t very friendly, they’d eat you up.” 

her voice rattled at the end as may turned to you with a chipped teacup. “thank you for the information, i didn’t plan on going in there unless it was daylight anyway, thank you for accepting my application. it’s very pretty.” 

may smiled taking the compliment. “you’re welcome, this property has been in my family for generations but i can’t live out here, my son will be picking me up,” as if on cue there was a car horn outside, “take care, honey, see you.” 

you followed her to the front door and hurried to check the kitchen windows making sure she got inside and watched as the truck kicked up dust leaving you alone finally for the first time in a very long time. 

after checking for cameras because you could never be sure you went outside in the cool october air inhaling the scent of nature, pine trees, and the dirt which never smelled so good. with your bags in your hands, you brought them inside before settling on the couch with the tea. 

the tv didn’t have much to offer so you shut it off and headed outside to the balcony that overlooked the lake with the sun glinting off the surface it was serene, this was what you needed. it was beautiful and for a moment you thought about moving out there, then thoughts of when you had to leave made you frown but that was two weeks away. 

turning back you headed inside and decided to check out the rooms, the bedroom was first. the walls were painted in that same deep red, with a four-poster bed and a mattress that looked like pure heaven, and a heavy oak dresser with a mirror shaped into a cloud on the other side. 

unpacking everything you double-checked to make sure there were no cameras before moving to the bathroom, it was small but still doable. the shower was a combination, and the sink was big enough to hold your stuff. 

ten minutes later you lay on the couch stretching your legs and looking up at the ceiling letting your eyes close shut eventually falling asleep until evening, when the crickets woke you up and for a moment you forgot where you were, in a panic you looked around and sighed plopping back down. 

after another five minutes, you finally got up to look out the windows only to be met with pitch dark until the outside lights were switched on flooding the front and back lighting the area up. you looked at the clock, it was only seven. 

may said don’t go in the woods after ten, there were still three hours to look. 

grabbing a jacket you pulled it on, shoving your arms through the sleeves before making your way outside, the crickets chirped louder creating a beautiful symphony of nature as the moon shone down casting a soft glow over the woods barely lighting up the mouth which made you nervous. 

broken-off branches from the storm that came through the other night snagged on your pant legs and crumbled beneath your feet as you wrapped your arms around yourself coming closer, a sudden painful howl that ripped through the night air that caused you to stop midstep and listen to it. 

it was a mournful cry tinged with a pain you never felt but you could tell it was a cry for something, may’s words of werewolves living close by rattled your brain, enough to make you turn around and head back inside making sure all the windows and doors were locked before turning the outside lights off. 

after sleeping you opted to make a quick dinner knowing that you’d be awake for a while, once everything was cleaned up you settled in the hot water in the tub watching the steam rise from the milky water, your body wash swirled in with it creating bubbles that lapped at your tingly flesh from the heat. 

seeping in the silence you felt your muscles relax, letting go of the tension you’ve been holding onto for longer than you should. stretching your legs out you used the new and very expensive body scrub that promised it would leave your skin feeling soft and supple, something you needed. 

a lot of your time was going to be spent in bed masturbating until your arm or fingers fell off from overuse and your legs would be spent humping the toy like a brainless horn dog until it was somewhat out of your system. 

you watched the water drain before rinsing yourself off and getting out of the tub with a towel wrapped around you, you stuffed your feet back into your trusty slippers and trudged through the house to grab some wine and settle back on the couch turning the tv on to let it play as background music. 

drowsiness set in again and you curled up in the corner pulling the heavy quilt over you and sat your wine glass down before eventually falling asleep again with the tv on casting a glow over the living room until morning. 

sunlight spilled in from the french doors and the stained glass of the bay window bathing the place in an array of beautiful colors that you stared at when you woke up still lounging on the couch enjoying the sounds of nature. 

pulling yourself off the couch you folded the quilt up putting it where you found it before shuffling into the kitchen to make breakfast quickly and enjoy the bowl of fruit out on the backdoor balcony watching the sun glitter off the water. 

you wondered if it was safe enough to swim in. 

with the bowl cleaned and put away, you stripped naked right in the kitchen and walked out to the balcony letting the sun warm your bare skin feeling the cool breeze harden your nipples, tightening them into hard pebbles. 

after a few moments, you headed back inside and got dressed before pulling a book off the bookshelf you brought from home and making something to drink before heading back outside on the balcony sitting down when you heard them. two male voices talking in hushed whispers not far away. 

your ears twitched as you stood up leaning against the railing watching them as they stayed at the mouth of the forest. they were both tall, one with black shaggy hair and broad shoulders, the other had dark short, and fluffy hair with the same stature as the other but he wasn’t as big as the other man. 

he was the same height although. you watched them with curiosity sniffing the air picking up their scent. werewolves. slowly you stepped back not wanting to catch their attention and retreated inside with a sigh. 

may wasn’t lying. 

you weren’t sure what they were doing until there was a knock several minutes later as you sat on the couch. putting your book down on the side table you headed over to the door looking out the small curtain and seeing the werewolves standing there, looking dead at you. 

“we know you’re in there.” one spoke, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. 

keeping the chain on you opened the door so they couldn’t step inside. toji’s eyes widened for a brief second seeing you standing there looking confused as your eyes shifted between them both, intrigued by their presence.  

he wasn’t expecting any omegas to come this far, especially one like you then his nose picked up your scent. shiu glanced at him and then at you. “we didn’t think may still rented the cabin, sorry for disturbing you,” shiu said. 

“do you need anything?” you asked curiously wondering why they would be here for may anyway, but it was no mistake what they were, the smell undeniable, potent and heavy and musky fur. 

they shared a glance then looked back at you. “no, thank you. have a good day.” shiu told you with a warm smile walking away first as toji lingered for a moment looking at you before following after his friend down the driveway. 

you shut the door and watched them from the window with the curtain lifted to see toji looking back at you with a smile that felt dangerous, his teeth sharp when he pulled his teeth back to show off, his scar splitting in half.

ignoring the interaction you looked at the clock, it was only late afternoon, and after making sure they weren’t in sight, you stepped out onto the balcony with a glass of wine and your book settling in the padded chaise lounge. 

everything felt almost like a dream as you read with one leg propped up letting the sun wash over like bath water when you jostled, rippling it. 

four chapters in and you could hear their voices again, murmuring back and forth about something catching your attention. after marking your page you set the book down and stood up to walk over to the railing looking down. 

“you’re ruining my reading time.” you called down resting your arms to lean over more meeting both their gazes, their lips tugged back in a smirk. 

toji chuckled and slid his hands into his pockets, his thumbs sticking out. “well, we wanted to come and ask if we could have dinner with you.” 

your jaw dropped looking at him with a stunned expression blinking fast as you shut your mouth so hard your teeth rattled. “uh, i don’t think so. i don’t even know you, also i’ve heard of the big bad wolf but just add another one.” 

“my name is toji,” he pressed his hand to his chest then jerked his thumb to his friend, “this is shiu.” you looked at him like that was supposed to magically make you all friends. 

they shared a glance and then turned their attention to you. “we could huff and puff and blow your house down or you could tell us your name.” toji teased with a chuckle that made your blood simmer, his gaze was predatory making you nervous. 

shiu shook his head. “we’re not going to do anything like that, don’t worry.” 

“i sure hope not, it’s not like you could anyway.” you murmured and gave them your name while thrumming your fingers against the railing debating on letting them inside, there was no telling what could happen if you got close. 

but it would be rude not to feed them. 

they watched you walk inside and then out the front door, around the corner to wave them in. “dinner then it’s my bedtime.” you called out and headed back inside heading to the kitchen to pull out a meal you brought from home. 

it was easy to heat up and you didn’t need to cook while here, you could focus on yourself when the time came. toji and shiu followed like it was the millionth time they’d been inside, immediately taking a seat at the table. 

“make yourself at home.” you murmured and put the food in the oven before joining them at the table sitting across from them. 

shiu was curious as to what brought you here and so was toji who asked first unable to help himself. “what’s a pretty little thing doing all the way out here?” he asked leaning back as he held your gaze with a waiting smile. 

you supposed that him calling you pretty would flatter you somehow. “i’m on vacation.” it was the truth, but they didn’t need to know the other reason. 

“or are you running away from something? someone?” shiu prompted. 

this time heat flooded your face as the timer dinged saving your ass. you got up to quickly dish out the plates before taking your seat again to eat. 

for a good while there was a silence that stretched between the three of you as the meal came to an end you collected the dishes and washed them. “thanks for the food,” shiu murmured as he attempted to help you. 

you let him help for a moment enjoying the quiet moment and charged air, something was lingering like a string daring you to play with it and see what happens when you tug on it, pulling open a whole new world for you three. 

once they were gone you finished cleaning up and opted for a warm bath before curling up in bed. the water felt good as you planned your day for tomorrow deciding to go down to the edge of the water with some wine. 

with your chair and a book you could easily spend all day down there, the thought of seeing toji and shiu again made your tummy prickle with heat and something else that ached between your legs like a soft pulse of want. 

shaking the thought from your head you washed up and got out to get dried off and dressed, sleep eluded you for the moment so you ended up on the couch again snuggled up under the quilt as you settled on a horror movie. 

it was nearing halloween and you always enjoyed the thrill of a good flick. 

you sunk into the couch as the movie played out putting you on edge which is what you wanted at first, regret trickled in knowing it was too late to turn it off now and go to bed, there was no way you could go to sleep now. 

changing the channel you settled on some reruns of a reality tv show until your eyes fluttered shut and you fell asleep on the couch again until the morning sun woke you up. 

sitting up you looked around and rubbed your eyes before getting up to get ready for the day, breakfast, shower, and a change of clothes later you ended up at the edge of the lake with your chair, blanket, book, and a glass of wine. 

it was a perfect way to relax which lasted for a few hours until shiu and toji emerged again from the mouth of the trees seeing you lounging there. 

you saw them and raised an eyebrow. “i’m not offering you dinner again.” 

toji chuckled and came closer, stopping a few feet away. “what if we offered you dinner?” he asked with a smile that made your blood thicken and bubble. 

going to their place when you didn’t know the woods wasn’t a good idea, you liked having the upper hand. “i appreciate the offer, but i don’t think i should go into your den.” you hummed and marked your spot with your bookmark. 

last night wasn’t too bad and they weren’t awful company you thought. 

“i did bring a lot of food so if you don’t mind helping me.” you murmured and stood up letting shiu grab your chair as they followed you back to the cabin. 

twenty minutes later the three of you were settled at the table again laughing about exchanged stories, weaving together past and present. toji was a heavy flirt while shiu was subtle about his, both of them making your head feel hazy and warm. 

their smells have been affecting you from your heightened sense of smell, your pulse was racing catching their attention. liquid desire started to simmer in your veins like honey, viscous and sweet producing a potent smell for them. 

the beginning of their rut kickstarted your heat. 

toji’s eyes darkened as he inhaled the scent, rich and heady. 

“you both need to leave right now.” you told them pointing to the door, the sudden change had you snippy. shiu had to push his friend out letting you slam the door behind them quickly in such a rush forgetting to lock it. 

your heat started sending a signal to your brain as slick pooled in your panties that felt drenched as you moved to the bedroom pulling open the box you stuffed with the sex toys feeling a soft throbbing in your womb. 

sleeping with two strangers isn’t what you had planned, especially werewolves when you haven’t mated before and you know what would happen if you let them stay even a second later you’d belong to them.

everything happened so fast as you grasped the first toy, a vibrator. ripping the package open you hurried to the bathroom and cleaned it quickly before crossing the hall into the bedroom to shuck your shorts and panties. 

sitting on the bed you leaned back and spread your legs feeling a deep ache as your pussy fluttered in response to the toy that rubbed against your clit, the ache grew like a vine, your body jolting when you turned it on, the feeling pulling a deep moan from you as you humped the vibrator with little care. 

every wave of pleasure brought erotic images of toji and shiu, taking them both at the same time and then letting one watch while the other jerked off before taking their turn. you wanted them to take turns with you like a toy. 

with a cry, you curled your toes feeling an intense heat bloom between your legs melting into your veins and pooling in your cheeks as you tilted your head back squeezing your eyes shut thinking of all the possibilities with them. 

the wet sound of you pleasuring yourself was loud and lewd as your slick pooled between your asscheeks no doubt dripping to the floor, every time you entered a heat especially one like this your arousal always left a huge mess, and oh how bad you wanted toji and shiu to clean you with their tongues. 

your brain was becoming mush rather quickly with each stroke of your wrist, the vibrator wasn’t doing its job which only frustrated you more than anything. 

with a soft growl, you pulled the toy out sighing, and let it drop to the floor before moving to grab the boyfriend replacer feeling your fingers slide against the material as you tossed it on the bed to straddle the fake thighs while you held the craved abs down flexing your fingers into the soft silicone. 

your head was hazy, filled with lust and the need to cum however you could. 

rubbing against the bulbous head you caught it on the soft opening of your wet cunt pushing it in easily with a soft mewl as you sat down on it with a wet squelch, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

for a moment you wondered if they had strayed far but little did you know that they were at your door, huffing and puffing smelling your slick and heat. shiu fought against everything inside him to kick the door down, but he knew that you hadn’t been claimed and that made his blood run hot with desire. 

toji decided to knock earning a look from shiu who raised his eyebrow. 

you stopped despite your brain telling you not to when you heard the interruption. it happened again and you knew who it was. “come in!” 

maybe that was a mistake but you had hoped that they could alleviate you of this, your brain could only come up with a weak whimper when you heard the door open followed by heavy footsteps and sniffing then they were in the room, the scent of testosterone wafted around them strongly. 

toji was the first one to touch you, his open palm felt hot as he caressed your back then your ass, gripping and groping the flesh. “what was that about us leaving?” he teased with a grin while shiu stepped next to you taking hold of your chin to turn your head to face toji who leaned in with a dark grin. 

you moaned as you ground against the toy staring at toji with a fucked out- look, your eyes glassy with bliss. leaning in you kissed him, your tongue parting the seam of his lips licking into his mouth tasting him whole. 

here you were making out with a stranger. well, the more you think about it you did know a little bit about them, but enough to fuck and take their knots? 

he growled into the kiss and kneeled on the bed to wrap his arm around your waist halting your movements so shiu could reach under you to remove the toy slowly hearing you gasp and cry out from the loss of it. “shh, we got you.” 

your head was hazy from their combined touches and kisses, all rational thought leaked from your ears as you allowed them to lay you on your back, shiu followed you down lying between your legs and inhaling your scent. 

“wait! i haven’t shaved!” you protested with a soft squeal and kept your thighs squeezed shut, albeit it’s been a long time since you’ve been with someone you always remembered them liking you being soft and shaved. 

shiu looked up at you from his spot cocking an eyebrow while sharing a glance with toji. “and do you think that’s going to bother us?” he husked drawing his thumb around your clit watching it throb and swell more in size. 

he leaned in pressing kisses against your hairy slick pussy, his thumbs glided against your lips as he spread you open to swirl his tongue around your swollen clit eliciting a moan from you while toji watched from the side. 

“toji..” you glanced at him reaching your hands up to grab him and pull him down, your fingers running through his hair tugging on it as you brought him closer, clinging to him for dear life as shiu slowly thrusted two fingers in you. 

you gasped into toji’s mouth rocking your hips against shiu’s mouth as you reached down to slide your hand into his pants, brushing your hand against his cock that was already lubed with a thick copious amount of pre-cum. 

toji was thick, the knot was huge even when it wasn’t inflated and you couldn’t wait to feel it. you glided your fingers up to the tapered end, rubbing your thumb over the slit before tugging his pants and boxers down revealing his throbbing cock, the girth was incredible and it was beautiful. 

a deep purple with a few veins on the sides and one prominent one that pulsed and led down to a heavy and tight sack that you cupped gently. 

the room was filled with pants and soft growls as you pulled away from toji to focus on shiu now, your hands buried in his hair as you rode his face letting toji suckle on your nipples only adding to the pleasure simmering in your veins. 

you felt warm and tingly all over as shiu stroked his tongue up and down between the lips of your cunt as his fingers brushed against your sensitive spot making you howl and arch your back off the bed while toji kept his mouth busy on your breasts bringing forth a wave of intense pleasure. 

your first orgasm was almost violent, stealing the air from your lungs. 

after denying yourself heat after heat it built up and you were soaking the bed and shiu’s face who lapped up the mess with a satisfied growl sliding his free hand under your ass to hold you close as he devoured you whole moaning. 

it was wet and so loud causing you to cover your face as you squealed and pushed him away. “give me a second!” you cried in between ragged pants. 

toji chuckled and palmed your tit as he jerked himself over your chest. “such a good girl for us. we want to make you our little omega.” he whispered darkly watching you come down from your high with a smug grin. 

agreeing to that idea wasn’t smart but you found yourself nodding anyway. 

“please!” you begged tilting your head back for them while gripping the bedsheets in excitement at the prospect of it all, you didn’t think about the future, just now and how good they were going to make you feel. 

so much was going on and you couldn’t keep it all together as you weathered the storm of bliss they put you in the middle of, thick fingers danced their way across your skin pulling and groping to bring forth more of your sweet sighs. 

shiu moved to kneel between your legs spreading them wider to reveal your glistening cunt causing his cock to twitch. he was the first one to get naked, revealing a hairy body with a full bush of soft pubic hair. “see?” he murmured and jerked himself off with no shame as you watched with a cute little pout. 

toji was next, both men were full of hair, curly and thick. instantly you sat up and buried your face in shiu’s chest then toji’s brushing your cheeks against them. “i don’t care who fucks me first just please do something before i die.” 

your voice was high-pitched and whiny but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care much when all you wanted was to feel their knots and cum a few more times. toji chuckled and slid his arm under your knees to push them back further. 

he pinned you down to let shiu rut his dick against the lips of your pussy, his tip gliding against your clit making you sigh and growl as you gripped toji’s hand feeling tears sting your eyes before coming down in fat salty drops. 

“oh, poor baby. she’s crying.” toji chuckled watching your eyes widen and jaw go slack when shiu pushed the tapered head inside the first ring of muscle as his hands moved to the back of your thighs gripping the flesh. 

you could see him gritting his teeth, grinding the pearly nubs together feeling the way your cunt swallowed him, wet and oh so fucking warm. the velveteen ridges of his cock felt incredible throbbing deep inside the drenched clutch of your pussy that looked so pretty wrapped around him. 

his head hung low to watch himself slide in and out slowly gathering your cream until it formed a ring that dripped down shiu’s knot that grew with each frantic thrust of his hips, he fucked you wildly as toji held you in place for him. 

the bed creaked as shiu dropped more of his weight down pressing into you more. “fuck!” you cried out when he slipped his knot inside, each pulse of your cunt sent him into a tizzy as he fucked you slow and with short and deep thrusts that left you gasping and clinging to him for dear life while sobbing. 

shiu knew how to have you gripping his bicep looking at him with wet eyes before his cock was spurting thick ropes of cum that matted between your pubic hair making a white mess in both of your hair. 

pulling back a little they helped you straighten your legs before wrapping them around shiu kissing him as you and he came down from your highs enjoying the afterglow of such an intimate moment before you looked at toji. 

“was wondering when it was going to be my turn sweetheart.” he murmured and twisted his body to grab your bullet vibrator with a wicked grin as he pet your hair kissing your forehead as shiu held you close to him, his knot now deflated enough to pull out making you whine with the loss of him. 

toji took his spot and turned the toy on. “sure you can even handle me?” he teased looking down at your gaping cunt that was covered in shiu’s essence. 

you narrowed your eyes at him and nodded pushing out another thick glob and sat up to grab his hips pulling him forward with a burst of strength before plopping on your back again. “stop teasing me…i need you so bad, toj!” 

that’s all it took for him to press the end of the vibrator against your clit making you gasp and jerk as he rubbed the tapered tip of his cock against the cum collection wanting to add his own. it was easy for him to glide in you. 

his hand found yours, linking your fingers with his as he leaned down to kiss you forgetting shiu who was kneeling next to you both, his eyes trained on you intently. it should be shameful to let this be happening but you didn’t care. 

not when it felt this good. 

you grasped his shoulders feeling hot white pleasure sizzle before blowing up like fireworks with each stroke, with the way he was filling you your head was so hazy, all you could do was babble about how good he felt inside you as you clawed at his shoulders desperately trying to stay tethered to the bed. 

there was now an even bigger and wetter mess between your legs, a thick frothy mixture of cum webbed between toji’s hairy thighs and the back of your legs that were warm and sticky from sweat as you rocked against him. 

his teeth nipped your bottom lip as he kissed you deeply, inhaling you like you were the air he needed to breathe, one big hand squished your cheeks together as he teased you with the vibrator making you cry out for him. 

toji wanted to feel you coming around him, he needed you again and again. 

before you could warm him your cunt spasmed around him drawing the tip of his cock deeper, nestling it right against your cervix. your eyes locked and you swore that your hearts beat in tandem as he thrust in and then came, filling you with a thick and hot load that seeped from the knot that plugged his cum. 

you clung to him panting and sobbing from the sheer ecstasy that washed over you as your vision cleared to see shiu smirking. “you two forgot about me, how are you feeling doll?” he asked bending down to pat your forehead with a cool rag making you sigh and moan from it as you kissed him gently. 

“hard to forget you.” you murmured against his mouth with a drunken giggle as you slid your hand up to the back of his neck to keep him there for a moment as you peppered his face in kisses and laughs as toji held you. 

the three of you stayed like that for a while until you were able to move on your own to get in the shower where they washed you in tandem. toji took to the top half as shiu took the bottom making sure to rinse the cum splatter off. 

they washed you with great care kissing you. “how does this work?” you asked squeezed in between their firm and hairy pecs grasping at the curly roots with a grin. 

toji held your hips as he kissed the top of your head while shiu brushed the sides of your breasts with his fingers. “hope your place is big enough for the three of us,” toji murmured with a chuckle making you warm at the thought. 

no way that would happen. you’d need a bigger place. 

“i live in a studio apartment, it’s just one room with a small restroom. we’d be cramped.” you murmured and turned around to face toji holding his arms. 

he moved his hands to your waist pulling you closer to him. “on top of each other all the time.” his voice dropped down to a husky whisper as the warm water cascaded over you, with with wet lashes you met his heated gaze. 

“something like that.” you murmured feeling shiu grope your ass now. their ruts were kicking in again and there was no denying the connection anymore. 

64.media.tumblr.com

three days in and you were sure there wasn’t a single inch inside and outside of the cabin you didn’t get fucked on. 

it was hard to pick your favorite. 

when you rode toji outside on the lounge late in the evening with the sounds of the waterfall in the background along with the wildlife and that night he was in his full werewolf form, his fur was soft and a good tether as you fucked him. 

you felt so full with him in this form and connected in a way you never felt with anyone else. in between all the fucking you three talked a lot and spent time together cooking and sleeping in the same bed. 

he nosed at your neck holding you close with thick arms, his claws close to digging in when you clenched your cunt tightly around him. “you feel so good, want you to cum in me please please toji i need it.” you begged softly crying. 

toji licked your tears as he pushed you all the way down on his knot that swelled once it was nestled deep inside, snug and tight keeping you plugged with his cum that he fucked deeper as he ground against you quickly. 

you clung to him and let him knot you again unable to count the many times he has claimed you, in his human form and this one. when he was like this, toji was hulking and beyond huge, able to bend you this way and that way. 

so was shiu. 

that’s how he had you the next morning with your face buried in the couch cushions as he mounted you in his werewolf form panting loud and wet in your ear fucking into you like a rabid animal chasing his high ramming into you with short choppy thrusts that took away your breath with each rut. 

he loved to hear you squeal so while he pulled out he enjoyed using the nipple clamps you brought. shiu tugged on the metal chain feeling your cunt squeeze as you squirmed and gasped pushing back against him with a grunt. 

they both had to have their noses buried between your legs, even at dinner one of them was under the table lapping at your pussy while the other attempted to hand-feed you, their fingers grazing your tongue making it hard to focus on anything else. “you’ve been so good for us, you’re ours now.” 

one time they were both able to slip inside your cunt stretching and filling you to the brim. “you’re taking us so well, and big stretch coming. you got this.” shiu murmured in your ear as kissed you shushing your cries and pants. 

it was an addicting feeling to have them both fucking you, and after training your ass with the toys you brought shiu fucked you from behind as toji thrust in and out of your cunt lazily feeling himself rub against shiu. 

by day six your cunt was sticky no matter how many showers you took, it was gaping with cum, dripping from the parted seam of your cunt. shiu and toji took turns cleaning you with their tongues until you nested against them. 

at the end of the trip, they had brought their belongings stuffing them into your car along with your bag, and went home with you unable to break the connection that they created in the matter of a single night that led to this. 

feedback such as comments and reblogs are highly appreciated, those kind words mean a lot and encourage me to do more writing this thing is my baby! i took my time reading and rereading it to make it extra good jkfrt ♡

[planetkiimchi-rbs]

i wish i didn't have to go to school today so i could curl up in my room and read all your fics like a christmas fic binge :(( but !! i'm so glad that it's FINALLY HERE (i've been waiting for this since june you don't even know)

full fic analysis under cut bc i rambled again :( but i finished reading this and i just. i love it so much??? the idea was so good and it was so well executed i can't imagine a better writer to write minghao this specific way. <33

For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

hell-O what happened to good morning ?? y/n really came into this fic like an ethereal being

"Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

this sentence set the stage for such a beautiful analogy of people being like flowers... also minghao's SO insightful ugh 😩😩

You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now.

aww that's so cute!! love how y/n slowly gets more comfortable w hao ☹️☹️

the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

people who stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when they concentrate >>> it's such a lovable trait

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

no why is this the PERFECT fic for hao and his patient, transcending calm???? 

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with.

THIS LINE !!

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

i love how he doesn't deny comparing people to flowers in general cuz somehow that is exactly what minghao is? like a guy who sometimes is a little on the sidelines simply because he enjoys perceiving other people a bit too much

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders

NOO THIS SENTENCE 😭😭 absolute poetry how do people even come up with these ??

I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

this is an amazing choice honestly the lotus is soo beautiful & strong (also i like the way lotus roots taste) and it's so minghao!!!

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

if someone said this to me i'd be folding on the spot bro like just confess already??

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

rania and her lovely writing style of putting unsaid words in italics in between 🤩🤩 i love how distinctive it makes your writing 

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

oh GOSH the sorrow? so beautifully portrayed

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning. "I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

this fic is my other roman empire (this and moni's "finger trapped (ripped to its seams)")

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

this whole paragraph healed me.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

holy shit. this line touched a part of me so raw that i didn't even know existed

caught in bloom, caught on you | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you find yourself becoming a regular𑁋or perhaps more than that𑁋at minghao's flower shop. PAIRING. florist!xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, a pinch of angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers WARNINGS. hao basically falls in love at first sight HAHA, mild cursing, implied that yn lost someone close to them, a lot of yearning n pining, kissing WORD COUNT. 8.3k

notes: wheeboo is NOT in their short-ish fic era anymore and is in their long-ish fic era rn 😭 anyway,, i didnt have a title for the fic until hao posted his song on his birthday so... I hope u all enjoy?? this might be one of my faves haha

Minghao likes these kinds of days.

Thin, irregular shapes of cotton drift lazily across the endless blue embrace of the skies. The afternoon sun carries warmth in its hands that he could feel right through the glass windows of his flower shop. It's almost as if the season of summer itself is breathing through his shop, softly encouraging his little garden to reach for the light.

Minghao runs his slender fingers through the cool edges of a hydrangea, its soft petals a deep shade of prismarine.

Ever since he was younger, his mother had told him that flowers weren't just things to be cared for. They were companions, your friends if you'd let them be, each blooming with all different kinds of personalities.

He likes how the flowers didn't ask for much; they simply needed patience and care, and in return, they gave him a sense of peace that he couldn't find anywhere else.

The sudden chime of the bell pulls him from his thoughts. He straightens up, wiping his hands on the apron tied loosely around his waist, and glances toward the door.

The figure the walks through the door is unfamiliar, yet it's easy to catch the way the sunlight highlights the edges of your silhouette, almost like a halo as you step inside the shop. For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

Your gaze circles around the shop, taking in the rows of flowers with a soft curiosity. There's some sort of quiet hesitation in your movements when you take a few more tentative steps inside, as if you're trying to find the right place to be in this space, just as much as you're trying to find the right flower.

Minghao finds himself clearing his throat, drawing a polite smile across his lips and catching your attention right away.

"Good afternoon," he greets calmly. "Can I help you with something today?"

You glance up at him, a slight surprise in your eyes before they soften.

"Hi, um... Yeah, I was actually looking to see if I could buy some flowers. The shop I went to before closed down, so I've been searching for a new place. It was a bit of a drive." Then you hesitate briefly, before continuing, "I'm not sure what to look for exactly, but something for a first date would be nice."

Minghao's heart stirs a bit disappointingly at that, though he quickly suppresses the feeling away. After all, it's just flowers, and you're simply here to buy them for someone else.

He nods thoughtfully, giving a soft, understanding look.

"Ah, well. Congratulations first of all on the date," he says calmly, though the nerves itches his fingers. "A first date is always special, isn't it?"

"They are," You reply sheepishly, and the hint of a blush to your cheeks nearly resembles the colour of the roses displayed near the window.

"Is there a specific kind of vibe you're going for?" Minghao asks. "I can help you pick something that feels right."

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering on a beautifully-painted vase. "Hmm, I think... something romantic, but not too traditional, if that makes sense? Not something too cliché, you know, but I also want it to feel special."

Minghao simply hums in response, his mind sifting through the variety of options he could think of. There's this odd sense of responsibility within him to make your choice is beyond perfect.

"Roses are always a classic," he begins. "but they're quite conventional, so..."

He can sense you following closely to him as he walks toward another part of the shop.

"These are tulips," Minghao explains, gesturing to a row of soft, voluminous blooms in shades of pale pink and coral. "They're not commonly picked like roses, but there's a nice charm about it. They're meant to represent long-lasting love."

You take a good look of the flowers, and you're amazed by how bright they appear.

"Wow, they're so beautiful." Then you take a small glance up at Minghao, before back down at the flowers. "You must really take care of these flowers to make them look this vibrant."

"I try my best," he mutters quietly, watching as you continue to take in their beauty. "Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

Your eyes flicker back up at him, and for a moment, there's a quiet stillness between you, as if the space between you two is holding its breath. Then you let out a warm, somewhat nervous chuckle.

"I think I understand," You say, taking a step closer towards the tulips  and carefully running a finger over its petals. "It's about giving them space to grow, right? Not forcing them to be something they're not."

There's something about the way you speak, something thoughtful, almost as if you also understand the language of patience he's grown so accustomed to.

"Exactly." He smiles faintly. "That's what I like about flowers𑁋they don't rush. They just exist, and somehow, they slowly become what they're meant to be."

You lift your gaze to meet his, and in your eyes, Minghao sees something more than just curiosity. There's a softness there, a sincerity that draws him in. At his sides, he feels his fingers twitch slightly, but he quickly smooths his hands down his apron.

It's strange how a simple conversation about flowers can make him feel so... connected to someone.

"I think these are perfect," You tell him, eyes brightening with confidence.

A wave of satisfaction washes over Minghao, who nods in agreement.

"Would you like me to wrap them up for you?" he asks.

"That would be great, thank you," You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now. The thought makes his heart flutter.

Minghao begins to wrap the delicate stems with some brown wrapping paper, carefully arranging them so they're secure. As he ties a ribbon around the bouquet, he can't help but sneak up a glance at you. You're wandering around the shop with your hands clasped in front of you, looking at the other arrangements on display, and he smiles to himself.

He finishes the bouquet and smooths out any remaining creases with his fingertips. When you make your way back over to him, he offers it to you.

"Do you want to write your name on a gift tag?" Minghao asks, holding up a small card and a pen. He doesn’t know why his heart's beating faster𑁋perhaps it's the subtle hopefulness in his voice that will make your name linger longer, even after you leave.

You glance at the pen in his hand, considering it for a moment before nodding.

"Sure, I'd love to," You tell him with a faint smile, snatching the pen from his grasp, giving it a quick click before writing something down, the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

When you finish, you hand the card back to him. He takes it from you carefully, inspecting your neat, intricate handwriting. It's simple, yet there's a certain elegance to it it. Minghao reads it under his breath: For someone special, who I hope feels the same - Y/N.

Y/N, he repeats in his mind.

"I'll finish it up for you now," he says, placing the card with the bouquet. He arranges the flowers once more, making sure everything is perfect before handing it to you.

You find yourself fishing into your bag for your wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Minghao hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over the register, but there's something about the way your features soften and how your eyes meet his that makes him pause.

"It's on the house."

You stop your hands, peering back up at him with a surprised look. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course," he assures calmly. "It's the least I can do."

You just blink at him a few times, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

"Thank you," You let out sheepishly as you take the bouquet in your hands, the ribbon slipping through your fingers as you carefully adjust it. There's a split second that passes where you sneak a glance at the nametag on his chest. "I really appreciate it. I'm sure they'll love them."

Something in his chest tightens at that𑁋they'll love them. Minghao tries not to overthink it, tries to ignore the brief twinge of something unsettling in his chest.

But you're smiling, so he smiles back.

"I hope so," he replies gently, and with a polite bow of his head, he adds, "I'm sure they'll appreciate the thought behind it."

As you walk towards the exit, you take a final look around the shop, eyes lingering on the shelves of flowers, before turning back to Minghao.

"I'll be sure to come back," You say brightly, and the way the afternoon sunlight pours down all around you in the doorway makes you appear almost angelic. "Thank you for everything."

"I'll be here," Minghao responds, offering a small, timid wave of his hand. "Take care."

The chime of the bell above the door announces your departure, and a sigh leaves him.

It's just flowers, he tells himself again. Just flowers.

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

Minghao finds himself wiping away some spilled soil on the counter, the soft hum of piano music drifting throughout the quiet flower shop. He had just gotten done cleaning up after a busy morning of rearranging a few displays around the shop to tie into the slow seasonal changes that were beginning to take shape outside.

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with. Chrysanthemums, petunias, dahlias, and marigolds were beginning to make their way into the shop, taking their place next to the peonies and roses that had been so meticulously cared for.

When the last bits of soil are wiped away, Minghao steps back to admire the beauty of the shop around him, he takes in a deep inhale, letting in the earthy scent of the fresh blooms fill his lungs.

After storing away a few extra vases in the backroom, the chime of the door hits his ears, and Minghao finds himself straightening back up to greet whoever had come inside.

When looks up, however, he freezes for a moment. He catches you standing in the doorway, and Minghao has to blink a few times to make sure his mind wasn't playing any tricks on him.

"Hi, again," You're the first to greet this time, and then that grin spreads across your face once again, one that seems all-too familiar.

Minghao leans against the counter. "Back so soon?"

"I was just in the area, couldn't help myself, you know..." You drawl with a playful shrug. "I actually just officially moved into the city just last week, hopefully to be closer for this new job and well... The drive here isn't as long as before."

Minghao smiles softly. It's an unexpected but pleasant surprise for you to admit all that to him, and for some reason, it makes him feel a little lighter.

"That's great," he responds, pushing himself off the counter as he straightens up. "I imagine that must be a relief. How do you like it so far?"

You step further into the shop, your eyes eagerly scanning the new arrangements he's set up.

"It's been great, actually," You say with a relieved look. "Life has been... good, honestly. I think the city suits me. It's different, but in a positive way, and I'm already surrounded by a lot of nice people."

This warm and genuine feeling tugs at Minghao's lips as he listens to you, adjusting the stems of a vase full of a plethora of zinnias.

"I'm assuming that date from before went well then?"

His words makes the smile on your face flicker, and the change is subtle but noticeable enough for Minghao to catch it, even when he's not directly looking at you. You shift your weight between your two feet, and the way you glance around the shop seems almost like you're trying to distract yourself from something.

"The date didn't go well at all, actually."

Minghao's fingertips pause on the cold surface of the vase, brows furrowing in a bit of surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he apologises gently, regretting for the sudden change in mood. "I didn't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable."

You let out a small, rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no, it's okay. Really."

The air seems to thicken a little. You could only stand and watch for a few long moments as Minghao moves gracefully around, tending to all the flowers with his usual care.

After a long pause, you finally break the silence.

"It was good at first, I think, then it just became... awkward. Like really awkward. I thought I had everything planned out𑁋good place, nice flowers, all that jazz... but I guess it just didn't click. I think we both kind of felt it." You feel your shoulders deflate in a pit of defeat, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you run a hand through your hair. "I don't know why I just rambled all that. Sorry about that."

Minghao doesn't say anything at first, simply giving you some space, but he feels his heart tighten in his chest. He casts his eyes on you, also unsure why you're telling him this or why it feels important to him, but he knows it's a moment of vulnerability𑁋a rare one𑁋and he wants to handle it with care.

"No need to say sorry," he reaffirms, tone soothing. "Sometimes things don't go as expected, and that's okay. It doesn't mean it wasn't meaningful."

You glance towards him, catching the sincerity dripping down from his words. It catches you by surprise at how almost... comfortable it feels to be open right now, with him. The atmosphere here doesn't demand anything of you.

"As people, we try so hard to make things go right that we forget to just... let them unfold naturally," he says softly, as if thinking aloud. "I think sometimes things don't work out because we're not ready for them yet, or maybe they're not the right kind of flower at the right time. You can spend so much time trying to arrange them, placing them in the perfect spot, hoping they'll just fit… but sometimes they don't. And that's okay."

You can't help but quirk a playful lip at that, but you can't resist the way his words appear to tug right at your heartstrings. "Are you comparing me to a flower?"

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

The thought about being a flower𑁋in another life, perhaps𑁋is a bit silly. But you also wonder about other things too𑁋if you're being treated with the same care and attention that Minghao gives to his flowers, or if you're wilting like one that hasn't found the right light yet. And as you gaze around the shop, taking in the beauty of the blooms around you, you find yourself smiling.

"I think I'd like to try and take care of a flower," You announce, determination weaving around your voice and words. "I'm not sure if I'd be good at it, but I'd like to try."

Minghao crosses his arms together, letting out a thoughtful hum while studying you for a few seconds. "I think you'd do well."

For some reason, those few words were enough to send heat crawling up your body and into your face.

"Thank you," You breathe out sheepishly, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "Can you give me a few recommendations?"

Minghao just nods. "Sure."

From there, he leads you toward a small display near the front of the shop where a few different pots and seedlings are carefully arranged. He describes a few of them to you. You're immediately drawn to the passion dripping from his tone, and the way he appears to light up when he speaks.

"These might be a good start," he suggests, gesturing to a small seedling. "Marigolds are pretty low maintenance. They need light, of course, but they're easy to grow and care for."

You take a moment to study over the baby plant with sweet curiosity.

"I think I'll start with these, then," You say, glancing back at Minghao. "Something easy."

Minghao's eyes don't stray away from how you admire the tiny plant, how you cradle the pot in your hands to take a closer look at it as if you're already imagining yourself taking care of it.

"Taking care of them can be a good reminder to take care of yourself too," he points out. "They need patience, consistency… and a little bit of trust, just like people do."

You look up at him, a smile tugging at your lips once more, feeling something warm bloom in your chest. His words settle into you in a way that's hard to describe, but they feel right𑁋like they're exactly what you need to hear.

"That's true," You reply, the weight of the sentiment settling comfortably within you. "I guess I could use a reminder like that."

"Shall I wrap it up for you?" he offers.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

After mulling over some options, he chooses the perfect wrapping paper and adds a small note about caring for marigolds. You watch him, mesmerised by the ease in his movements, the care he pours into something so simple. For a moment, you forget about all the bustling noise outside the shop, and all that exists is Minghao and the flowers, his flowers.

As Minghao ties the final knot around the marigold pot, he hands it to you, and his fingertips briefly brush against yours.

"Thank you," You tell him softly. "For everything, really. It's very calming in here."

Minghao's smile widens, almost like he's heard those same words before, and perhaps he has; maybe many people find themselves drawn to his calm presence and the haven he's created in this little shop.

There's a strange warmth that spreads throughout your chest as you cradle the small plant in your hands. "I'll be sure to take good care of it."

A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you both stand there, your eyes drifting around the shop to take in the palette of autumn that colours the space. Yet it's almost instinctive in the way your gaze finds Minghao.

"I hope you won't mind me coming back, you know... to make sure I'm doing a good job with this little one." You gesture to the plant in your hands, a playful tone to your words.

Minghao chuckles, a sound as gentle as the petals surrounding him. "Of course. I'll be here."

"Do you mind if I take another look around with the place? It looks great, by the way."

"Take all the time you need."

And for the first time in a long while, Minghao felt like he wasn't just waiting for the next flower to bloom.

He was blooming, too.

"Do you have a favourite flower?"

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders while he waters a cluster of orchids in the back corner of the shop. You're hovering near him, aimlessly trudging your fingertips over, but instead lets the question settle in between the quiet moments.

"I imagine it's hard to pick as a florist, right?" You let out a meek laugh. "It's kind of like asking a painter to pick their favourite colour."

The corners of Minghao's lips curl up slightly, his eyes fixed on the glistening leaves under the faint droplets of water. You can tell he's contemplating the question from the quiet hums leaving his mouth, and for some reason, you find comfort in his patience.

"Not exactly," he says after a pause, his voice steady, thoughtful. "A painter might have a favourite colour, but they don't use it all the time. It's about balance. Knowing when to bring it forward and when to hold it back."

"Ah, so you do have a favourite flower," You tease lightly, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "You just don't want to admit it."

The brief touch seems to linger in the air, a soft warmth that you both let pass without acknowledging. Minghao gently sets the watering can down and looks at you for a moment, his gaze a little deeper than before.

"In China, we have a lot of flowers that hold meaning," Minghao continues. "It's hard to pick one specifically, but... I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

You tilt your head as you take in his words. You already knew yourself that you didn't know much about flowers, but there's a certain curiosity that washes over you from how Minghao speaks so fondly about them. Even something as simple as a flower has layers of meaning for him.

"That's really beautiful, I..." You trail off, trying to find the right words. "I've always looked at things really surface-level, you know, like I've always found daisies beautiful because they're so simple and bright, but I never really thought much about their deeper meanings. It's kind of like... I never thought about why I liked them. It's just easy to see them and appreciate them, I guess."

Minghao blinks at you, before lowering his gaze down to the floor. "Daisies suit you."

You turn to him, dazed. "Really?"

Minghao takes a contemplative pause. "Well, they're not only... beautiful to look at, but they brighten up any space they're in."

You feel your feet seep into the floor, sinking deeper as your cheeks warm, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were standing next to him. And it's the way he acts like he didn't fucking say anything out of the ordinary almost makes you lose it.

"Are you flirting with me right now?"

However, Minghao doesn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, his lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and then a few seconds later, your phone rings.

Minghao just offers you a little wave of his soil-painted hand. "Have fun at work, Y/N."

"Minghao! Can you teach me how to wrap these flowers?"

Minghao casts his attention up from displaying a new set of hyacinths, catching you behind the counter with a bouquet in your hands, along with a small old lady on the other side with a cheerful grin.

There's a subtle tug at the corners of his mouth when he hears you holler for him again, and he brushes his hands against his apron, before marching his way toward you. He steps up to you, taking the flowers from your hand while you beam happily towards the old lady.

"What's the occasion for the flowers, ma'am?" You ask curiously. Th elderly woman lets out a soft laugh, resting her wrinkled hands on the counter.

"It's for my grandson! He's graduating from high school today. Time flies by, doesn't it?"

"Wow, that's such a milestone! Congratulations to him," You exclaim enthusiastically, softly clapping your hands together as Minghao deftly arranges the flowers within the wrapping paper, before sliding it over to you.

He leans in a bit more, almost too close you feel the way his arm brushes against yours and the way his breath fans against your skin.

"Fold the edges like this," Minghao instructs softly, his hands hovering right over yours. "Make sure the paper covers the stems. Too much pressure could break them; too loose could make them fall apart."

You watch as his hands follow yours while you nervously, yet carefully trace the frail edge of the paper, showing you how to make each fold with a care that's almost tender. His close proximity sends strange flutters to your stomach, but you do your best to ignore it.

"Okay, like this?" You question, pulling the paper slightly tighter around the bouquet.

Minghao hums approvingly, letting you hold the flowers while he circles a ribbon around it with ease. His hands brush against yours as he neatly ties it, and the two of you pull back to watch how it delicately falls over the bouquet.

The old lady glances between the two of you with a knowing smile.

"The two of you make such a cute couple! Do you run the shop together?"

You feel your face fire up at that, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Then you instinctively glance over at Minghao, who surprisingly doesn't seem as flustered as you are.

"Oh, um, we're not𑁋"

"They like to help out here once in a while," Minghao adds in smoothly, though you aren't sure if that entirely helps or not. However you know what he's saying is true, because whenever your break for work comes or on your free time, you find yourself naturally walking towards the flower shop to help out at times.

The lady just beams up even more, scooping up the bouquet in her grasp. "Well, it's nice to see young faces working together! You two sure do have a lot of chemistry."

You offer a wave of your hand. "I hope your grandson enjoys the flowers. Congratulations to him once again!"

With that, the old woman offers a small wink before turning to head out of the shop. "Thank you, dear! Take care, both of you." Her delighted steps echo off the walls as she exits the shop.

The shop grows quiet again. You let out a sigh, cracking your knuckles as you turn to Minghao, who was already wiping over the surface of the counter, making quick work of putting things back in order, and for some reason, it still doesn't wipe away the pit of awkwardness you're feeling. You wonder if he feels the same too.

"So," Minghao starts, still continuing to clean without batting a glance at you. "You're taking over my shop, it seems."

You let out a haughty scoff. "I just wanted to try wrapping some flowers for someone. Don't let it get to your head."

Minghao only chuckles lightly, though he keeps his focus on the counter, yet you could only focus on him. You can't help but admire the way his hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, the slight endearing tilt of his head as he works, and how his movements are so meticulously unique to only him. There's a certain aura he exudes that makes you feel strangely at peace, a magic that only seems to reside within the walls of the shop.

"Why didn't you say no?" You suddenly ask, the question slipping out before you could shut your mouth.

Minghao pauses mid-swipe, looking back up at you. "Say no to what?"

"To, uh... the lady back there," You stammer, feeling the heat creep back at your neck. "About us, you know... being a couple."

Minghao remains silent as he tosses the dirty wipe away. For a moment, he seems to be contemplating something𑁋whether the question, the idea, or something more.

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

Your mind goes completely blank at his question. Does it bother you? The simple truth is that you didn't expect him to answer so casually. You were expecting him to probably correct her humbly, in all honesty. After all, it was just a passing comment from a lady who didn't mean any harm behind it.

But... does it bother you?

"No, it... it doesn't bother me. Really," You respond after a pause, voice coming out a bit forced. Your heart is beating super fast right now. "I guess I just didn't expect you to go along with it since we're not𑁋"

"𑁋not a couple," Minghao finishes for you. "I know."

You feel like you're melting into a pile of goo, your thoughts scattering like ants running out of their pile.

"I'm sorry, I'm overthinking," You mumble out, trying to brush everything off with an airy laugh.

Minghao shakes his head. "I should be sorry. I made you uncomfortable."

"You-You didn't, trust me!" You wave your hands dismissively, albeit a bit dramatic. "I was just caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond."

This seems to relax Minghao's shoulders a bit, but not entirely.

"Okay," he says, and his voice is as light as a  wisp getting caught in the wind. "But you'd tell me if you were uncomfortable, right?"

You give him an easy nod, maybe even confident. "I would. I promise. And you'd... tell me too?"

Minghao meets your eyes with a steady gaze, his expression soft but thoughtful. For a moment, there's a subtle shift in the air, and you can feel the weight of his words before he speaks again.

"Yeah," he answers firmly, sincerely. "I would."

When you open your mouth to speak again, your phone dings in your pocket. You squint your eyes to read over the message in your notifications, before closing up your phone.

"My meeting got cancelled." Then you blink up towards Minghao, as if trying to convey an unspoken question to him.

As if the answer wasn't already obvious, Minghao gives you a small, almost teasing smile.

"I don't mind the company," he tells you, then quirks up a brow. "Unless you do."

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

Flowers bloom when the time is right. And you don't mind waiting for it.

When a flower dies, there's a certain routine that comes after it. Trim away the wilted petals, dispose of the stems, recycle them as compost, and plant the next set of blooms.

Minghao hates seeing flowers die.

The sound of crumbling petals tie a knot in his chest, the stillness that follows afterwards is almost deafening. But he knows it's an inevitable part of life. Every flower has its chance to bloom and thrive, and eventually, it will fade.

The flowers don't belong to him, after all𑁋they are simply passing through his care briefly before going to someone else or withering away, like everything else in life. Minghao knows it's unnecessary to hold onto these flowers so tightly, but after being surrounded by them his entire life, it's merely impossible to let go.

The bell chimes as he's composting a few camellias that had sadly wilted, and he gazes up to find a gust of snow following your footsteps as you step inside. A large, black fluffy coat hugs your body and a scarf is wrapped snugly around your neck. However this time, Minghao doesn't notice any ounce of a smile to your face.

He sets the compost bin down and wipes his hands on his apron.

"Y/N?"

There's a very subtle twitch to your expression when he calls out your name.

"Hey," You croak out, voice a bit strained. "Um... is it fine if I buy some flowers?"

Minghao feels something in his chest clench at your tone, but he pushes the feeling away with his usual calm composure, masking away any concern simmering on the surface.

"Sure," he replies, focusing on the shadows that plague over your features. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

Your eyes drift away from to look around the flower shop, taking note of the bright, usual blooms that surround you, yet none of them appear are what you're looking for.

"Do you have, um..." You feel like you're already going to regret this. "...anything for a funeral?"

The words float in the air between you both. Minghao's expression falters for just a moment, the calmness that he usually carries slipping as his eyes soften toward you.

"Of course," he says softly. "I have a few options."

With that, he leads you to a particular spot in the shop, where it houses all sorts of flowers with muted colours𑁋white roses and lilies, pale chrysanthemums, and pink and purple orchids all arranged neatly. Minghao watches as you gaze over each flower, but he doesn't speak yet, simply allowing you the moment to breathe.

"These are the traditional flowers for a funeral," he explains finally. "White roses for remembrance, lilies for peace, chrysanthemums for mourning, and orchids for everlasting love."

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

It's bit a different when it's you though, and he doesn't exactly know how to explain it.

You plod slowly throughout the display, picking up a stem here and there, but each time, you set it back down as if it didn't feel right. But when you come across the orchids, you linger a little longer on them, tenderly caressing the petals as if you were scared to break them.

"I think I'll choose these ones. The orchids," You murmur, picking up a few stems and showing it to him.

Minghao just nods, taking the ones from your hands and grabbing a few more to finish the rest of the bouquet, moving with careful precision.

"I'll handle the rest, don't worry," he assures you as he gracefully works to arrange the orchids.

None of you choose to say anything more, only letting the diffident silence stretch. For some reason, the shop feels a little more cooler, the air heavier than usual. The only sound is the rustling of Minghao's hands moving carefully over the flowers, the quiet snap of a stem as he trims it with his shears. Outside, the snow continues to fall.

Minghao doesn't press for any details, yet even in the quiet, you have a feeling that he knows. Maybe that's why he's just letting his hands speak for him.

"Here you go." He offers you a neat bouquet of pale lavender orchids.

You step up to him to retrieve it from his grasp, bringing it close to your chest. "Thank you."

Minghao knows he shouldn't let his feelings get in the way, but as he takes note of the slight glassiness to your eyes and small tremble of your hands holding the bouquet, he isn't sure how much longer he can hold it in. He feels guilty when he lets his eyes drift down to your lips for a second, before averting it back up quickly.

The smile you give him is nothing short of fragile, faint, but it's there. And then, with a sudden leap, you find yourself leaning into Minghao's embrace without thinking, wrapping your arms around his body as if he was the only thing in the world that was preventing you from falling down. And in a way, he is.

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

You don't cry𑁋not entirely. A single tear slips past your lashes, landing silently against his shoulder. He feels it, but he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and just lets you... be.

"I'm sorry," You mumble into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to𑁋"

"Don't be," Minghao interrupts softly. "It's okay."

You pull away for a moment to look up at him. He's still holding you. His hands have fallen down to your sides, resting there as if he's held you like this before. The way you're looking at him has Minghao nearly forgetting how to breathe; it nearly urges to him to lean down and close the distance between the two of you.

His gaze lingers on your lips, and for a split second, Minghao almost allows himself to follow the instinct to lean in.

But then he stops himself.

He's not sure what this is, what the right thing to do is. His thoughts are tangled mess of roots𑁋he's always been careful with holding himself back, with promising to wait, yet something about the way you look at him makes it feel like the only right thing to do is to give in.

But he can't. Not yet. Not when you're so fragile and baring yourself raw to him.

Yet he sees the way your eyes flutter at him, the way a crease of question forms in between your brows as if you're also unsure of what this moment is, but there's a longing there too. It's almost pleading. And you lean in a little more towards him.

"Y/N," he breathes out your name, and it's the first time you ever heard his voice shake like that. "We... We shouldn't."

You don't say anything at first, your eyes searching his face like you're trying to read something. You open your mouth, close it, and then, with a slight exhale, you step back, only a little, but enough to let the cool air seep in between you.

"I'm sorry, I..." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, letting out a sniffle. "Fuck, I'm sorry..."

Minghao feels his chest tighten. "It's okay𑁋"

"I-I just wanted to feel something for a moment, you know? Everything is such a mess right now and the first person I thought of was you, because I like... the way you make me feel. I like it way more than I should. And that... that it's okay if you don't feel that way too."

Minghao's heart stutters at that, and perhaps the world even pauses too. All words that want to leave him become stuck in his throat, because he knows deep down𑁋from as far back as the moment you walked into the flower shop𑁋that he's felt the same way for far too long.

So, he settles with taking one hand from your side and slowly reaching up to trace your warm cheek with his thumb, his touch delicate as if he's afraid he might cause your petals to fall down. He brushes away a lingering tear that had been drying up on your skin and lets his hand stay there.

"You... deserve way more than just comfort in a moment like this," Minghao starts quietly. "But you're grieving right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want to just be someone who's here for a moment, because... you mean so much to me more than that."

Your lips form into a tight, thin line, and you flicker your gaze towards the floor, the heaviness in the air still weighing down on your shoulders.

"Minghao..."

"And if I act on what I feel, it wouldn't be fair to you," Minghao continues, voice trembling slightly as he speaks. "I want it to be because you know what you want. And if you ever give me that chance, I promise I'll be here for you. Not just now, not just in this moment, but... for everything. When you're ready; when you're healed; when it feels right, I'll be here𑁋I always have been."

There's a lump in your throat that you swallow down. For a while, you could only simply stand there, feeling as if you're teetering on the edge of something you can't quite reach. But even as you stand in this stillness, there's something in his words that echoes off the walls of your mind𑁋it's understanding, and it's care, and it feels like a promise.

"I... I know. I just... I'm sorry for putting all this on you. I think I need space to... heal and think." Then you look back up at him, wonder tainting your features. "Will you wait for me?"

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning.

"I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

The chuckle that leaves you isn't forced; in fact, it's quite relieving. It feels like the start of something, and Minghao feels a flicker of hope at the sound.

You reluctantly separate yourself away from him, cradling the bouquet of orchids to your chest, and let out an exhale you hardly realise you were holding in.

"I'll be okay, you know," You tell him, even if it's a bit of lie, or half the truth. You can't tell which.

Minghao glances down to your hands, as if you're holding a piece of your heart wrapped up within the petals, before back up to your eyes.

"I know," is all he says.

The world doesn't stop for grief, but it's okay to pause for a little while.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

You haven't stepped foot in the flower shop in a while. At least, not as often as you used to come.

The absence is especially daunting, and Minghao can't help but feel it every time the bell chimes and it isn't you that walks through the door. On rare occasion you'd swing by to say hello during your breaks at work and sometimes, a pretty, shy smile from you before you disappear back into the world outside.

It's strange how easily your presence had come to be a part of the rhythm of his days. He used to wonder how someone like you would be drawn to the boring stillness of a flower shop. But now the place feels more emptier than before you came into his life, the petals around him somehow less vibrant, the air colder, even when the sun streams through the windows.

He tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help the nagging feeling that maybe you've drifted away, maybe things have changed. Maybe he was just a moment for you. And now, that moment has passed.

So he simply spends his days in the shop, moving between shelves of blossoms and arranging bouquets, but his thoughts always return to you. To the quiet moments when your voice would fill the space between the flowers, to the way you cared and tended the blooms even when you had no reason to.

It makes him think that if flowers could speak for us, then what might they say about you? Would they say you were someone who saw beauty in the smallest things? Minghao often found himself wishing that flowers could speak just so he can hear what they would say about you.

But flowers don't speak, of course. They just bloom and stretch toward the light, growing in places where they are tended to, and even in those that have been forgotten.

Maybe that's what Minghao was𑁋a forgotten flower of his own waiting to be seen, to be noticed.

Luckily, he was able to distract himself a bit today with a few deliveries for a couple of upcoming weddings and a new arrangement for the store he was preparing to do in the next few days, along with piles of orders for days. But it still wasn't enough.

As he flips the sign on the window to display Closed, he fumbles for his keys to lock the door. However, the sound of the bell rings through the shop, stopping him mid-motion. Minghao lifts a brow up, not expecting for anyone to show up right as he's about to close up.

And when he looks up, he freezes.

"I'm not late, aren't I?"

It's you.

The way your voice comes out all shaky like you're out of breath, yet soft has Minghao feeling as if he's sinking into quicksand. The sight of you standing at the doorway is a dream he never dares to wake up from.

"You're not," Minghao manages to say, somehow. "You're just in time."

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click.

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click. You take in the familiar, fresh scent of all the blooms and greenery around you, and it hits you in the heart just how much you've missed this place.

"I had, uh… a late shift at work," You explain unsurely. "so I thought about stopping by, but I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

Minghao just shakes his head, watching as you brush your fingertips over some lilies and baby's breaths that were displayed on a small table near the window. Gosh, he'd do anything to flat out say how much he missed you, how much he'd been thinking about you, but he doesn't.

"Have you been busy?" You ask him.

"A little," he responds. "but manageable, I would say."

"Ah… that's good," You mumble, voice trailing off as you start to make your way in his direction, catching eye on a particular bouquet sitting on the counter behind him. "No-show again?"

Minghao lets out a sigh, and he feels you following behind as he walks towards the counter. He picks up the bouquet in his hand, letting his gaze fall over it.

"Mhm," he hums. "But it's alright, really. Happens more often than you think."

You quirk a brow as your eyes roam over the bouquet, and a particular, almost knowing look stretches across your lips.

"That's funny," You huff, taking the bouquet from his grasp. It held a colourful variety of hydrangeas. "It looks a lot like an order I placed a few days ago."

Minghao's heart skips a beat as he watches you carefully examine the bouquet, his breath caught in his throat.

"This… was yours?" he questions in surprise.

"Yeah, I…" You bite your lips sheepishly. "It was sort of an impulsive thing, I guess."

Minghao only continues to watch as you admire the bouquet, caressing over the delicate wrapping paper and the all-too familiar bow that he would tie all of his other arrangements.

"Impulsive, huh?" Minghao teases lightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Well, you certainly picked a good one."

You look up at him, a small, tentative smile forming on your face. "I guess I just wanted to get something special. For someone."

Minghao feels his heart sink at that, a flutter of hope and uncertainty colliding in his chest. Someone.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get caught in his throat, unsure if it's his place to ask, or if he even wants to hear the answer.

"I see," he says instead, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though there's a hint of sadness to his voice that he silently hopes you don't notice.

You take note of his unreadable expression, over the way his eyes appear downcast and a subtle tension to his posture.

However, this doesn't make you stop from gripping the bouquet tighter in your grasp, and then in the next moment, you're stepping closer and offering it over to him.

"I hope you like them," You state, holding out the bouquet thing as if was the most natural thing in the world.

Minghao glances at the bouquet quizzically, the same one he had just been holding, then back at you. His face shifts between a million different expressions𑁋confusion, surprise, hope, and everything in between𑁋before the tension in his chest eases just slightly as he finally registers what you're doing.

He's a florist, for crying out loud. He's usually the one to be giving flowers to people. Never in his years of practically living in the shop has anyone offered flowers to him. The gesture is practically foreign, yet in this moment, it feels so right.

His fingers graze against yours as he hesitantly takes it from your hands, but you fully let go. Instead, you cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading between you as you gently press your palm against his. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears, everywhere in his body, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

"I missed you," You declare softly, yet a pinch of urgency behind your words. "I missed you so fucking much."

His chest tightens, and it's as if the weight of everything crushes him in the best possible way. All the time he had spent wondering if you had forgotten about him, if maybe you had moved on, it all melts away in an instant. Because you're here. And you're saying everything he's been craving to hear.

And gosh, does he want to kiss you right now.

This time, Minghao doesn't waste a second. He brings a hand up to cradle the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. It's perhaps a bit desperate first, making him swallow down a faint sigh you let out but it quickly settles into something softer, deeper, like two people who've been waiting for this moment for far too long.

He can feel the slight tremble in your breath as your lips move against his, and he pulls back slightly, just to make sure you were still with him.

Minghao lets his thumb lightly caress over your cheek as if trying to memorise the feeling of your skin under his touch, as if he'd been starved for this closeness.

"I missed you too," he whispers, a breath away from your lips. "The flowers did too."

A light, airy chuckle escapes from you. "Oh, did they?"

"Of course," Minghao murmurs, his lips curling upwards against your skin. "They've been waiting for you to come back."

"Well, I better not keep them waiting anymore then, right?" You jest playfully, leaning in back once again.

Minghao doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. "Nope," he says firmly against your mouth. "I think they've waited long enough."

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[makethatelevenrings]

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child. 

But Hanno was different. 

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name. 

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them. 

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man. 

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin. 

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

 “Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 1)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2000+

Summary:  A new mysterious girl appears in the Westview, capturing Agatha's attention.

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Agatha Harkness leaned against her kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee as the morning sun painted the room in soft, golden hues. The house was quiet, save for the faint buzz of magic beneath her skin. It was always there now, a faint hum that had taken root since Wanda’s Hex wrapped itself around the town of Westview.

Agatha didn’t mind the quiet—she thrived in it. It gave her time to think, to observe, and, most importantly, to plan. The game Wanda was playing fascinated her, the raw chaos magic that maintained this picture-perfect suburban paradise a symphony only she seemed to hear. But Agatha wasn’t content to be a spectator.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, sharp and deliberate. Agatha frowned, setting down her mug. Few people in Westview came calling without reason. The nosy neighbors usually knocked too loudly, their voices pitched with exaggerated cheer. This knock was… tentative.

Agatha adjusted her cardigan and opened the door, her curiosity immediately piqued by the girl standing on her porch.

She was young, with an almost ethereal quality to her—a soft, doll-like beauty wrapped in a modest sundress and wide-brimmed hat. Her hands were clasped in front of her, clutching a basket of baked goods, and she looked up at Agatha with a shy, hesitant smile.

“Hi,” the girl said, her voice light and airy. “I’m Y/N. Wanda mentioned I should… introduce myself?”

Wanda. Of course.

Agatha smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, aren’t you the polite one?” she said, stepping aside to let the girl in. “Come on in, sweetie. Don’t just stand there looking like a lost kitten.”

Y/N giggled softly, the sound almost musical, and stepped inside. She looked around the living room with wide eyes, as though taking in every detail with nervous curiosity. Agatha followed her gaze, watching the way her fingers brushed the edge of a throw pillow, the faint catch in her breath as she noticed the clutter of books and trinkets on the coffee table.

“You’re new in town?” Agatha asked, her voice casual as she gestured for Y/N to sit.

Y/N perched on the edge of the couch, smoothing her dress over her knees. “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Very new. Wanda’s been so kind—helping me settle in, introducing me to everyone…”

Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as if embarrassed by her own rambling. Agatha studied her, intrigued by the girl’s bashful demeanor. Wanda had mentioned her in passing—a "sweet little thing who could use a friend." But there was something about Y/N that didn’t quite fit the mold of Wanda’s usual creations.

“Wanda’s good at that,” Agatha said, her tone light. “She loves playing the perfect hostess. But don’t let her fool you—she’s got a bit of a wild side, that one.”

Y/N giggled again, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of her yet.”

“Oh, stick around, honey. You will.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she observed the girl with casual interest. There was something almost too perfect about Y/N—the way her smile wavered just enough to seem genuine, the slight tremor in her hands as she picked up the cup of tea Agatha had poured.

“So, what brings you to Westview?” Agatha asked, keeping her tone light.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. “I guess… I wanted a fresh start,” she said softly. “Somewhere quiet, where I could figure things out.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And you picked Westview? Not exactly the first place people think of when they’re looking for a fresh start.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “Wanda said it was… special. And it is. It feels… safe here.”

Safe. Agatha’s smirk widened, though she quickly hid it behind her cup. If only the girl knew the half of it.

“Well, you’re certainly in good hands with Wanda,” Agatha said, her voice warm and reassuring. “And the neighbors will eat you up. They love a sweet, innocent new face.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up, her eyes meeting Agatha’s for the briefest moment before darting away again.

The girl’s shyness was endearing, almost painfully so. But Agatha had spent centuries honing her instincts, and something about Y/N didn’t quite add up. She didn’t press, though. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gave Y/N a conspiratorial smile. “Wanda matchmaking again, huh?”

Y/N’s blush deepened, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s not like that. She just thought I could… learn a thing or two from you.”

Agatha chuckled, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I can be quite the teacher when I want to be.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft, nervous, and she ducked her head again, hiding her face behind the rim of her teacup. Agatha watched her for a moment longer, the faintest prickle of curiosity tugging at her thoughts.

Whatever Y/N’s story was, it wasn’t as simple as she made it seem. But Agatha could wait.

“Welcome to Westview, sweetheart,” she said finally, her tone warm but laced with subtle intent. “Something tells me you’re going to fit in just fine.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes glinting with a fleeting emotion Agatha couldn’t quite place. For now, the girl was an enigma—a puzzle wrapped in sweetness and blushes. But Agatha would figure her out.

Agatha Harkness prided herself on reading people like open books, but Y/N was proving to be an unexpectedly complex chapter. The girl had a way of weaving herself seamlessly into Wanda’s narrative, her every action a perfect blend of naivety and charm. The neighbors adored her, each interaction reinforcing her role as the sweet newcomer.

Agatha wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something there, lurking beneath Y/N’s soft demeanor. Something that kept her watching.

The afternoon sun bathed Wanda’s backyard in golden light as she bustled about, her hands full of gardening tools. The scent of freshly clipped grass mingled with the sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Agatha leaned against the fence, watching as Y/N knelt beside Wanda, carefully arranging a row of daisies in the freshly turned soil.

"You’re a natural at this!" Wanda exclaimed, her bright smile aimed at Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I’m just following your lead."

Agatha arched an eyebrow, sipping from the thermos of tea she’d brought over. The girl’s humility was textbook charming, her every move designed to blend in perfectly with Wanda’s carefully constructed suburban dream.

But there was more to it. Agatha could feel the faintest ripple in the Hex whenever Y/N was near. It wasn’t enough to break Wanda’s illusion, but it was there—a subtle distortion, like a melody slightly out of tune.

"Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N," Agatha called, her voice light and teasing. "You’ve got a knack for fitting right in, don’t you?"

Y/N looked up, her smile shy as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I just want to do my part," she said.

Wanda beamed at her, clearly pleased. "You’re more than doing your part," she said, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "You’re already a part of this little family."

Agatha’s smirk softened, though her thoughts remained sharp. Wanda’s maternal instincts were in full swing, and Y/N seemed to thrive under her attention. But was it genuine, or was the girl playing her own game?

Later that evening, Agatha found herself on her front porch, nursing a glass of wine as the stars blinked into view. The hum of the Hex was quieter here, its magic settling into a steady rhythm as the town went to sleep.

She was about to head inside when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Y/N emerged from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off the chill.

"Agnes?" she called softly, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Agatha straightened, her brows lifting in surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing out here so late?"

Y/N hesitated at the foot of the porch steps, her green eyes wide and uncertain. "I… I didn’t want to bother Wanda," she said. "I just… I couldn’t sleep."

Agatha gestured for her to come closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, come on up, then. No sense standing out there in the cold."

Y/N climbed the steps, her movements careful and deliberate. She perched on the edge of the porch swing, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"Trouble on your mind, sweetie?" Agatha asked, her tone casual as she leaned back in her chair.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I don’t know. I guess… it’s just a lot, you know? Starting over, trying to fit in…"

Her voice was soft, almost fragile, and Agatha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. She studied the girl in the dim light, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.

"Fitting in isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Agatha said finally, her voice tinged with dry humor. "Trust me, I’ve been trying for centuries."

Y/N looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You make it look easy."

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. "Oh, honey, if only you knew."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. Agatha found herself relaxing, the usual edge of her thoughts softening as she watched Y/N.

The girl was good—she had to admit that. Whatever she was hiding, she played the innocent act perfectly. But Agatha wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not yet.

"So," Agatha said, breaking the silence. "What are you really running from, Y/N?"

Y/N blinked, her expression startled. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, come on, sweetie. Nobody ends up in a place like Westview without a reason. Fresh start, sure, but fresh starts usually mean there’s something you’re leaving behind."

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening in her lap. For a moment, Agatha thought she might deflect, but then the girl sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I guess… I’ve always been looking for somewhere I belong," she said quietly. "Somewhere I can just… be."

Her voice was so earnest, so raw, that for a moment, Agatha believed her. But there was a flicker of something in Y/N’s eyes—a shadow, fleeting and elusive—that reminded Agatha to stay sharp.

"Well," Agatha said finally, her tone softening. "You’ve got a knack for making people like you. That’s half the battle right there."

Y/N smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha watched her for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. The girl was a mystery, no doubt about it. But if there was one thing Agatha loved, it was solving puzzles.

"Goodnight, Y/N," she said, standing and draining the last of her wine.

"Goodnight, Agnes," Y/N replied, her smile shy as she rose to leave.

As Agatha watched her disappear into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something big. Something dangerous.

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[gummysharklover]

OBVIOUSLY !

summary: ᯓ˚࿔ you've been dating schlatt for two years; his daughter eliza calls you mommy for the first time

notes: ᯓ˚࿔ single dad!schlatt ᯓ˚࿔ fem!reader ᯓ˚࿔ fluff :3 ᯓ˚࿔ this is actually so cute i am going to pass out ᯓ˚࿔ thank you guys for being so patient with me while i get my life back together <3 ᯓ˚࿔ not proofread!

wc: ᯓ˚࿔ 878

It's past midnight when Schlatt feels a gentle tug on his shirt, pulling him from the depths of sleep. With heavy eyelids, he groggily blinks his eyes open to find his five-year-old daughter, Eliza, standing beside his bed. Her small figure shakes slightly as she softly cries, clutching her well-worn stuffed rabbit.

Her lower lip quivers, "Daddy, I had a bad dream," She whispers, her voice trembling.

Schlatt yawns, sitting up and rubbing his face, "Alright, kid," He softly croons, "Whaddya wanna do?"

As she stands on her tippy toes, Eliza's eyes dart to the other side of the bed where you lie, "Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?" She sniffs, harshly wiping at her tears.

"Of course," Schlatt reaches down to pick her up and places her snugly between you and him.

Eliza snuggles between you and Schlatt, whispering, "Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mommy," Before quickly drifting back to sleep.

Eliza was three when you first met her. At the time, she was a wide-eyed toddler, full of curiosity and innocence, who clung to Schlatt like her life depended on it. She would shyly hide behind him whenever you came over, little fingers grasping at his shirt, seeking refuge. She would peek out cautiously, big eyes filled with uncertainty as she contemplated whether it was safe to let you into her world. And during those early encounters where Schlatt would momentarily step away, Eliza would watch you closely with wide eyes. Her expression was always a mix of wariness and curiosity.

You, on the other hand, felt an instant connection to her. Your heart would swell with affection each time she slowly came out of her shell. And the first time she threw her tiny arms around you in a hug, you knew she was far more than your boyfriend's daughter—she was your daughter as well. And with more bedtime stories, more kissing her scrapes better, and more quiet moments where she would curl up next to you on the couch, her trust in you slowly solidified.

However, you always took great care with how you approached the situation, particularly when it came to labels. You understand the significance a title can hold, and you’re deeply aware of the emotional weight they carry. Your priority was to take care of her—to love her unconditionally, and you never wanted her to feel pressured to see you in a certain light if she wasn’t comfortable with it. You were on a unique journey together, and she would need time to find her feelings towards you.

The next morning, the sun pours in through the window, casting a warm glow across the dining room table. Schlatt sips in a coffee watching in delight as you sit at the dining room table next to Eliza as she hunches over her paper. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she scribbles with her crayons.

"What're you drawing, sweetheart?" You ask, trying to catch a glimpse of the drawing. But as you lean over, she covers the paper.

"No peeking, yet," She whispers.

You sit patiently with a smile as you wait for her to finish her artistic endeavor, and you're elated when she turns to you with a smile and holds up her creation with pride. It's a drawing of three stick figures: a tall figure with Schlatt's unmistakable chops, a smaller figure with messy brown hair, and a thirds figure with features strikingly similar to yours. Each figure is labelled. The tall one says "Daddy," the shorter one says "Me," and the last one says "Mommy."

Your breath catches in your throat as you read the innocent word Mommy.

"Eliza, sweetheart?" You ask, heart racing.

She looks worried that you're not smiling, providing a coy, "Yes?"

"Who's Mommy?" You manage to ask.

Her expression turns into one of confusion, "You, obviously."

Tears well in your eyes as understanding dawns on you, "Oh, Eliza," You whisper, beckoning her over.

Carefully placing her drawing down, she hops off her chair and walks over to yours. You scoop her up, placing her on your lap, and hug her so tight she whispers, "Mommy, I can't breathe."

You let out a wet laugh as your heart squeezes at her new declaration.

Schlatt walks into the room, footsteps quiet against the wooden floor, and glances between you two, "What's goin' on here?"

You shakily hold up the drawing with a smile breaking through your tears. He squints at it, corners of his mouth twitching upward as his gaze softens, Looks like we have a little artist on our hands," He says, ruffling Eliza's hair, causing her to errupt into giggles.

Eliza beams with pride, her laughter ringing like music in the air, "I made it for you and Mommy."

Schlatt's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you fades away. His eyes sparkle with a depth of emotion unspoken yet undeniable as he walks over to you and envelops his two girls in a tight hug. You lean into him with Eliza nestles between you, and in this perfect moment, you realize you're more than just a figure in Eliza and Schlatt's life—you're woven in the tapestry of love and belonging, a truth you hadn't fully grasped until now.

You're home.

thank you so much for reading. reblogs are hashtag appreciated so very much <333

[rafeskai]

Opposite — Rafe Cameron

Part Two

She looks nothing like me So why do you look so happy?

Summary: After seeing her ex-boyfriend Rafe Cameron happily flirting with his new girlfriend Sofia at a party, the reader confronts the painful reality that Sofia is everything she’s not—quiet, effortless, and seemingly perfect for him.

Pairings: ExBF!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Y'all really wanted part two, I had to deliver :)

First Part Here

It had been six months since that night at the Kook party, six months since you’d finally walked away from Rafe Cameron. It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found something you didn’t think you’d feel again: peace. Or at least, something close to it.

Your new boyfriend, Noah, had been a big part of that. He was different from Rafe in every way—kind, steady, and, most importantly, honest. He never made you feel like you weren’t enough, never looked at you like he was waiting for someone better to come along.

So when he invited you to dinner at a cozy waterfront restaurant, you thought it would be another perfect evening. The two of you sat at a table on the deck, the ocean breeze sweeping through your hair as the sun dipped below the horizon. You were mid-laugh at one of Noah’s terrible jokes when your eyes caught movement across the patio.

And then you saw him.

Rafe.

He was sitting at a nearby table with Sofia. Her laughter rang out, soft and melodic, as she reached across the table to touch his hand. Rafe leaned back in his chair, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You hadn’t seen him since that night, and now, here he was, looking as infuriatingly perfect as ever. His gaze shifted, almost like he could sense you staring, and for a brief, agonizing moment, your eyes locked.

He froze, his smirk faltering as recognition flickered across his face.

“Hey, you okay?” Noah’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You tore your eyes away, forcing a smile as you turned to him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you weren’t. Not when you could feel Rafe’s gaze lingering, not when you could still hear Sofia’s laugh cutting through the air like a knife.

The rest of dinner was a blur. Noah kept the conversation light, unaware of the storm raging inside you, but you couldn’t focus. When the check came, you excused yourself to the bathroom, desperate for a moment to breathe.

You had barely made it to the hallway when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N.”

You turned slowly, your heart pounding. Rafe was standing there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his expression unreadable.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

He hesitated, his blue eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” you said, folding your arms across your chest.

Rafe took a step closer, and you instinctively took one back. He frowned at the distance. “You look... good.”

“Save it,” you snapped. “I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing a game,” he said quickly, his voice low but urgent. “I just... I needed to say something.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms tighter. “What could you possibly have to say to me, Rafe? We’ve already been down this road.”

“I screwed up,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I screwed up,” he repeated, louder this time. “I pushed you away because I was too much of a coward to deal with my own crap. I thought... I thought being with someone easy would fix things. But it didn’t. It doesn’t.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the raw honesty in his voice throwing you off balance.

“Rafe...” you began, but he cut you off.

“I see you with him,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “And I can’t stand it. I hate that he gets to make you laugh like that, that he gets to hold you, to love you. It should’ve been me.”

You shook your head, the tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come here and say these things after everything.”

“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer again. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I... I miss you, Y/N. Every day.”

The sound of footsteps behind you made you turn. Noah was standing at the end of the hallway, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Everything okay here?” he asked, his gaze flicking between you and Rafe.

You wiped at your eyes, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

You brushed past Rafe without another word, grabbing Noah’s hand as you walked back to the table. But as you left the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Rafe’s eyes on you, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest.

Even as Noah laced his fingers with yours, offering the kind of steady warmth you knew you deserved, part of you couldn’t help but look back.

————————————

 The drive home with Noah was quiet, the silence in the car thicker than usual. You stared out the window, the streetlights flashing by in a blur, but your mind was stuck in that hallway, with Rafe’s words looping endlessly in your head.

“I miss you. Every day.”

Noah must have noticed your distraction. He reached over, placing a comforting hand on your thigh. “You’ve been quiet since we left. You sure you’re okay?”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I’m fine,” you said softly, though the words felt hollow.

When Noah dropped you off, he kissed your forehead and promised to call you in the morning. As his car pulled away, you stood on your porch, staring at the empty street. The quiet of the night pressed in, but your thoughts were anything but calm.

Rafe’s voice haunted you. His confession had cracked something open inside you, something you’d buried deep to protect yourself.

It wasn’t fair. You were happy now. Weren’t you?

But deep down, you knew the truth. You hadn’t been happy—not completely—since Rafe.

With a shaky breath, you unlocked your door and stepped inside. You barely made it to the couch before your phone buzzed. For a moment, you thought it might be Noah, checking in again. But when you looked at the screen, your heart dropped.

Rafe: I know I shouldn’t have said anything. I just needed you to know.

You stared at the message, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. You knew responding would only complicate things, but your heart had other plans.

You: Rafe, I can’t do this right now.

His reply came almost instantly.

Rafe: Please. Just give me five minutes. If you don’t want to talk after that, I’ll leave you alone.

You closed your eyes, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

You: Fine. Five minutes.

————————————

Rafe was on your doorstep less than fifteen minutes later. He looked hesitant, his usual confidence replaced with something you rarely saw in him: vulnerability.

“You really don’t waste time, do you?” you said, your arms crossed as you leaned against the doorframe.

He gave a weak smile. “Didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.”

You stepped aside, letting him in. The air in the room was heavy as you sat down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap between you.

“Talk,” you said, your tone guarded.

Rafe leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor. For a moment, you thought he might not say anything at all. But then, he took a deep breath.

“I’ve been an idiot,” he began, his voice low. “I thought I could move on, that being with Sofia would make me forget you. But it didn’t. Nothing does. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you for months, but every time I tried, I just... froze.”

You stayed silent, your arms tightening around yourself.

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “And I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I’m asking for one anyway.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the raw emotion in his eyes. “Why now, Rafe? Why wait until I finally moved on?”

“Because I’m a coward,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “I was scared of how much I needed you. But seeing you tonight, with him... it made me realize I can’t keep pretending. I love you, Y/N. I never stopped.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and overwhelming. You felt tears prick at your eyes, but you fought them back. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered. “You don’t get to break me and then come back like this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it. I’ll wait as long as you need. Just tell me there’s a chance.”

The tears finally spilled over, and you turned away, wiping at your face. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to let you go? To try and move on?”

“I do,” he said softly. “And I hate myself for putting you through that. But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

You looked back at him, your chest tightening as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. You wanted to stay strong, to protect yourself from the pain he’d caused. But the truth was, you still loved him.

You always had.

With a shaky breath, you closed the gap between you, your hands trembling as you reached for his. “If you hurt me again, Rafe... I won’t survive it.”

His hands enveloped yours, warm and steady. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips finally met yours, it felt like coming home. The kiss was soft and full of unspoken promises, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile, something precious.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, letting the words wash over you. For the first time in months, the ache in your chest began to ease.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe in a future where love didn’t have to hurt.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[writingredrose]

for a good cause | Rollo x reader

summary : While having fun at the festival with your friends, you're oblivious to your own guilt and grudge. Luckily, he's here to show you the truth.

warnings : reader is Yuu and she's implied to be a girl ; swearing

a / n : HAD LOTS OF FUN WITH THIS ONE Y'ALL WO!!! Yuu betraying the NRC my beloved. Also I was definitely NOT writing this AND watching the event at the same time and that's definitely NOT why is it so short haha...

A TOAST TO @pomefioredove FOR INSPIRING ME!! Hope you like it <3 🫶🏻🩷

P.S : maybe some grammatical mistakes or weird wording, sorry, English ain't my first language :')

The horrors, the stress, the neglect about every single thing involving your mentality and your body... all of these curses that came upon you when you first set foot in the halls of Night Raven Collage could never be cured, could they? That's what you thought before you met him. He said he can save you...

Can he? Please, you have to let him save you...

The beautiful scenery in the main hall of Nobel Bell Collage never failed to catch your eye. The way the light of the sun illuminated the beautiful stained windows could never not be pretty. Compared to the dark halls of NRC, this school was twice as pretty, that's what you thought since coming here, but you'd never dare tell anyone, you didn't need another reason for people to look down on you as they always do.

“Something must've caught your eye for you to stop in your tracks like that, no?” The voice coming from behind you was as calm and neutral as ever. You caught with the corner of your eye the figure stopping right next to you, looking where your eyes did just a moment ago. “Well, you're never wrong are you?” You let out a silent laugh, at which the figure moved his eyes in you. “The glass...is beautiful. It never fails to amaze me. You don't see this at Night Raven” Your eyes went up to look at the glass again, the one next to you looking in the same place you were. “Hm, your comments make me think that Night Raven Collage isn't that amazing of a school that everyone would die to go in” You snorted at his snarky remark right before covering your mouth. You'd think he hates everyone from that school, but again, maybe he is, at how is looking at them, who can say he doesn't? “Didn't take you for the humorous type, Rollo„

Ah there it is again. Ever since you came here, Rollo can't seem to get tired of the way his name rolls off your tongue. He's heard about you, the magicless prefect who's came from another world. And goodness, you're... perfect. Everything about you, is absolutely perfect. Your face, your voice, your silhouette, everything about you... and on top of all you're so... pure. So pure, he can sense it, the essence of it right in your soul, he wishes to keep it to himself forever, he'd never let anyone touch something so pure and beautiful. Stain it with their dirty magic.

He looked at you again, your form snickering oh so close to his body. “Was it really that funny? I was simply saying what is on my mind...” Your laughing came to a stop, now having your attention fully on him. “I know, it's just the way you said it is all. It was funny. And I mean, you are kind of right. Sure Night Raven is a big school, no denying that. But! I guess you could say the inside is a bit... boring” At your words Rollo let out a laugh himself. “Hmph! Boring? I've known you for a day and I'm sure you can find a better word than boring„ “Meh, I don't wanna be mean is all” Your kindness was also something Rollo adored about you. He can see who you are under all that fake kindness you put on for your little friends at NRC. Right under all of that, the essence of your soul is naked under his praying eyes. He knows you're tired, tired of that school. Maybe he can use that for himself.

The songs and happy voices of the many people surrounding you were loud but not entirely unwelcome. After each group that was made earlier today finished their stroll through the busy streets, it was now time for everyone to gather in one place for the big show. You were currently sitting next to Rollo, watching from far away the boys who were having fun creating fireworks for the townfolk.

You couldn't help but scowl at the sight. It was so irritating, but why exactly...? “Are you alright?” Rollo's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Judging by that scowl on your face, I'd say you're ready to rip everyone's heads off” You looked at him, he was looking at you from the corner of his eye, and just for a second, you caught a glint of amusement in them. He was joking. How is it that he only does it when he's with you? You've been observing his actions ever since you came here and he seems to be a totally different person when he's with you. The handkerchief that always seems to be present when he speaks with other people, he never has it when he's with you.

Isn't it weird?

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I'm ok. I just...well...” The silver haired boy turns his head to fully look at you, waiting for an answer “I just... don't like the loud music, at all. It always gives me the biggest headache” Rollo let out an almost silent hm, and looked in front of him again. A minute passed before he spoke again.

“Who are you trying to lie to? Me or yourself?”

...what?

The weight of his glace almost crushes you. You could feel his sharp emerald eyes looking at you, no... looking through you, you knew damn well that right now the one called Rollo Flamme was looking straight into your soul, ready to burn it to ashes at any moment.

You turned your head away from him, unable to return the gaze. “I... don't know what you're talking about, Rollo. I'm not lying to myself at all. I told you the truth” He didn't stop looking through you. “Is that so? Because when your eyes are directed exactly to your little friends over there, it's hard to think that it's just the music that's bothering you” You were at a loss of words.

He was right wasn't he?

He knew

Of course he did

After all why bother hide it anymore?

You hated their guts...

You HATED that school

You hate THEM

YOU HATE IT

YOU HATE THIS DAMNED WORLD.

This time, you looked him straight in the eyes. And he knew, Rollo finally realized he got it. He was almost shocked at how easy it was to crack your fake facade. You were like him weren't you? You hated magic just like he hated it. You loathed the evil-doers of this world, the magic users. He knew he was right, he knew he was right to fall in love with you.

He couldn't help but smirk when he saw your eyes. So much hatred. My, how he loved that look of yours. “And what do you plan on doing now?” Your voice took a much more serious tone than earlier. He simply let out a laugh. “Me? Why nothing at all. All I need you to do — Rollo fully turned his body to you, slowly leaning to look into your eyes — is to listen to what I have to say”

The music of the festival could be heard even from the depths of the wall of the waterway tunnels. Rollo was guiding you, with a lantern in his hand, through what seemed like an endless darkness. And after what seemed like an eternity, you were the first one who spoke. “So what exactly do you plan on doing? You haven't explained anything to me at all Rollo” He kept walking, not saying a word. More minutes passed and you were getting more and more annoyed, when was he going to- “Why is it that you hate your friends so much? When I first saw you I could hardly tell you hated their guts” You fell silent at his question, why is it that you hate them? After all ever since you came here- ...oh, that's right. You know don't you? “You want the truth? I'll tell you. I simply hate their guts. Ever since I came here I have been nothing but an obedient little dog to them. Cleaning all the mess they did after every overblot I was the one to clean the mess. Trouble? That idiot Crowley has me going to solve it. Students fighting? Of course, I'm the one to blame. I'm fucking tired, I'm so damn tired of all of them. No one, not a single one at that school has ever cared to check on me, because who cares?!? I'm a magicless student aren't I? I don't have feelings or anything right? I'm just a damn MAGICLESS HUMAN WHO LISTEN LIKE A FUCKING DOG!”

Rollo didn't flinch at the sudden punch you landed on the wall next to you. You stopped walking a while ago, fully turned to you, Rollo watched your actions carefully, seeming to enjoy how you slowly became a victim to your own hatred, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark hole you made for yourself ever since stepping into this world. Stepping closer to you, Rollo raised your chin to look him in the eyes, the light of the lamp allowing you to see his beautiful yet empty emerald eyes. “See now? That's exactly why I guided you here. Your hatred for them is exactly what I need. So beautiful and so dangerous it is” Moving closer, he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him, burying his face in your hair. “What are you?-„ “So pure and so beautiful you are” You widened your eyes, your face growing warmer at his somewhat bold statement. He let go of you, grabbing your face once again, this time his being closer than it was before, the lamp illuminating half of his face as you saw the look in his eyes.

Predatory admiration. You could see it in the way he looked at you. Eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Raw hunger that felt almost otherworldly.

“Tell me now, Y/N. I can save you, get rid of all those dark thoughts from your head, give you a better life. I can protect you. All you need to do, is give me your word. Let me be your sanctuary” Your breathing became heavy...can he? Can he truly save you? You'd wished to escape this for so long, you're so tired. You'd let him-

“Please, Rollo... — you grabbed onto his clothes, afraid that if you'd let go he'd abandon you just like the others — I'll- I'll let you. Please, be my sanctuary” Rollo's eyes flickered with raw desire. “Very well then”

The lamp in Rollo's hands dropped on the floor as his hand held your chin so you could look in his eyes. His other hand entangled into your hair, finally pulling you for a long awaited kiss. The moment his lips touched yours, every ounce of self control disappeared. He'd been waiting for this longer than he dared to admit. If only you knew what you were doing to him. You eagerly returned the kiss, your hands diving into his hair, careful to not let his hat slip off his head, lips moving in perfect harmony as you've done this hundreds of times before. And when you parted for the first time, your panting echoed through the dark halls.

You looked at him with red cheeks, and before you could stop it you let the words “I love you„ spill from your mouth. You knew your confession came out in a trembling voice, even if you didn't know why. Rollo looked at you and once again he kissed you, this time harder and urgent. He knew you knew he was telling you the same, that what he can't put into words he'll put into this kiss.

A long while passed until you two parted. Damned oxigen, you thought. The silver haired in front of you brought you closer to his face so that your foreheads touched. “How can you be magicless when I can swear that you bewitched me somehow. I'm not myself when I'm with you, did you know that? The things you do to me...” You giggled at his remark, kissing him once more which he happily returned. “Yeah? Well, I'm glad it's me. I'm glad you chose me Rollo” He smiled softly at you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

Picking up the lamp from the floor, he took your hand and guided you now towards the light that shot up at the end of the tunnel. “Come now my dear, I'm sure you'll like what you're going to see”

The many candles in the Nobel Bell Collage hall illuminated brightly. The students who came for the symposium were all gathered in the hall, waiting for whatever was to come. Suddenly, the loud sound of the bell echoed through the whole school. “The Bell of Salvation? At this time of the night?” Silver looked around him surprised by the tolls of the bell. “If I recall, we were told that the bell tolled there times a day no? Once in the morning, then evening and night. And I'm pretty sure we heard the toll for the night some hours ago. So what could the reason for this one be? Riddle's face twisted in confusion, his brows furrowing trying to figure out what's going on. “U-uhm, am I the only one who's seeing t-that?” Upon hearing Idia's voice, everyone looked in his direction.“What's that? A flower??” In front of them, growing from the ground, there was a beautiful crimson flower, one that had its petals beautifully colored just like wild flames. “What's a flower doing in the middle of the-” *crack* Another one made its way through the floor, cracking the tiles in the process. And then another, followed by thousands slowly covering the whole hall. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Sebek's voice echoed through the hall now full of crimson flowers. “Evreyone! They-they passed out!” In the blink of an eye, every single student who got close to the flowers had passed out cold and they couldn't be woken up.

Fire Lotuses. Dangerous yet beautiful flowers that supposedly went extinct centuries ago. These flowers grew by feeding themselves with magic, sucking it out of people leaving them with no ounce of magic to live with. The methods of extinction were not revealed, therefore there was no way to stop them.

“Standing in this hall while everyone else is passed at your feet is quite pitiful. Don't you think?”

Fighting and fighting, the students tried but there was no end to those flowers, if they can't use magic then they can't do anything. “Y/N! Make sure you stay beh-...what?” Deuce had called for you, but he now realized...you were nowhere to be found. “Y/N?!? NO! SHIT! WHERE ARE YOU?!” Hearing his calls, the others looked around them, you were nowhere in sight. “GRIM! Did you not see where she went?!?” Sebek picked up the panicked cat, who had thought you came back with him, your quietness being a normal thing at school so he didn't bother checking if you were truly there, blaming himself for your disappearance. “I-I don't know! I thought she was behind me I swear!” On the verge of crying he started shaking in Sebek's arms, the boy putting him down taking pity on him. “WE NEED TO FIND THE PREFECT NOW! AND SEE TO WHAT CAUSED THESE FLOWERS TO APPEAR!” Next to the loud green haired boy, Malleus was looking up the stairs in the hall. “Hm, perhaps, we should ask him” Sniffling, Grim looked in the direction of Malleus' eyes. “Him? Him who?” And just after, steps could be heard on top of the stairs, indicating who was watching from afar.

And there he was. The students looked at the stop for the stairs that now revealed Rollo's steady figure stepping out of the shadows. “YOU HUMAN! DID YOU DO THIS?” Sebek's voice boomed once again in the halls, at which Rollo merely laughed. “Why? Well it's quite simple. I did so I can rid this world from this magic of course” “Riding the world of magic? THAT'S ABSURD!! You damn wicked villain!” “SHUT IT! — the first time Rollo's voice was raised, the halls trembled at the sound — ME?! I'M THE WICKED VILLAIN?? What about you? You mages tricking the world with your stupid little magic tricks?! You mean nothing but trouble! But I!- I will rid this world of your kind, making it a better place!” He laughed as he talked, the looks of the ones amongst the flowers now flaming with anger. “You're a coward! Come the fuck down and face us if you're so determined of getting rid of us!” “No time for that Deuce! — Riddle grabbed the first year's shoulder — we need to find a way to get rid of these flowers before their thorns find a way into the soil” Another laugh from Rollo could be heard. “Too late for that! Just as we're speaking, the whole city is getting covered in flowers, and soon enough the whole island! You've got nothing left to do!” The flowers slowly started getting closer to them, leaving them helpless, just then, Deuce had realized what was missing from Rollo's speech. “You- WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO Y/N?!” Rollo's calm and collected eyes met Deuce's angry ones, smiling at his expression he let out a silent laugh. “Hah! Ask her that yourself won't you?”

Step step step

One by one, the expression of the students went from anger to shock. You. It was you who was now next to Rollo standing straight and looking down on them from the stairs, the same flowers that were now surrounding them, was present in your hair. “Y-... Prefect...?” Deuce couldn't believe it, what were you doing, what-what are you doing with him? “Prefect?! What do you think you're doing?!” Sebek's voice boomed once again. “You're with the enemy you filthy traitor?!” Looking right back into Deuce's eyes seeing his despair, that didn't sit right with you, Deuce has never done anything wrong, but again, did he really care...?

“I truly am so sorry Deuce. You did nothing wrong, really. But I'm so tired you know?” “W-what is that even supposed to mean Y/N? Is it me? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I did I'm sorry! But why would you do such a thing?” “Because I can't take it anymore. I'm done, Deuce. I've been treated like a damn dog every second I stayed at that school. No one, not a single person has ever thought of checking up on me, seeing if I'm ok, not even you did. I needed to be saved, Deuce, and Rollo, Rollo told me he'd save me. And he did! I feel so much better now that he did” Empty eyes were staring into scared blue ones. Deuce understood, in a way. And the fact that he hadn't even thought about checking on you earlier... maybe if he did none of this would've happened. “Grim. I really am sorry. This time I can't accompany you anymore. Seems like you'll have to become a great mage without me” Shaking next to Deuce's legs, was a crying Grim. “Hench-human...”

This time, the looks you gave to the ones left was boiling through them. “You all deserve this. You all are some egoistic monsters you know that?” Malleus' steeped forward trying to reason. “Child of man this is not the-” “QUIET! You don't get to talk Malleus. You're just like them after all, you've always been haven't you?” Rollo was enjoying this too much. The expressions those idiots Night Raven Collage students had on their faces was priceless. But as much as he'd love to stay more, you both had work to do. “Now now Y/N. I'm afraid we have to go. We have work to do, remember” He put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, which you responded by putting one of yours in his. “Enjoy your last moments”

And with that, the floor around them was gone, leaving them to fall in complete darkness.

[frosttbitessam]

‘MY SAVIOR’

s1 sam x fem! angel reader

warnings: no particular warnings! pure fluff, s1 sam brainrot, mentions of studying, motel, on the road!! use of y/n !! comfort!

After what seemed like ages, the two boys entered the shitty motel room, the demon that they had banished back to hell was a tough one, winding even dean himself, who usually proclaimed arrogantly that he could ‘never be taken down’ found himself panting like a dog left out in the summer sun, grabbing a towel and immediately hitting the showers.

while he heard his brother in the shower, the water running, he sat on the edge of the motel’s bed, breathing in, looking down at the small cuts, and such, he fucking hated demons, but he hated putting them down too, cause they were so much work.

“sam?” a voice rang out, one he recognizes, almost instantly, that sweet yet monotone symphony that hits his ears, and finds kindness in hearing, he looks up, only to see an all too familiar angel at his side.

“hey… y/n..” he looked up, seeing her face, it made all the hell he went through better. it’s as if she was a balm to his open wound, healing him of any or all injuries, her eyebrows furrowed like a concerned guard dog, her lips slightly agape, worry and concern crossed her mind, and upon seeing the mortal she was employed with watching over for the time being hurt, she cautiously came over, studying him.

“you’re hurt- allow me to-“ she couldn’t even finish her sentence, her hand extended, ready to heal him at her own will, and yet, he persevered.

“it’s fine… just… c’mere..” he muttered, extending his arms out, beckoning her like a hurt animal and she his savior (in a way she was) and almost immediately, she obliged. she walked toward him, the air thick, and sticky, cause the damn AC was broken in the room, so it made all the more memorable for the both of them. Looking down at him, she tilted her head, her lips pursed, ones he wanted to kiss so badly..

“what is this?” she asked, cautious and unsure, as if one wrong move would mean having an angel blade to her throat. sam almost wanted to laugh at her obliviousness, how- strangely unaware she was of human mannerisms, but that’s what you get when you’ve only just come to earth after god knows how many eons..

“it’s a hug.. angel.” he responded, looking at her, a tired expression across his face, eyes half lidded, wanting to just fall asleep but still considering the angels actions, waiting for her, like a saint would from a god.

“a hug?” she asks, and he nods, moving his legs apart so she could move in between them, no other kind of intention needed, he just wanted her.

“it’s what humans do when- when they need to recharge… or maybe just when they need to rest.” sam puts it that way because it really does help to hug someone when stressed, or even tired, it gives him comfort, being touch starved and all.

“oh..” she responded, almost like a whisper, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, observing his cuts and abrasions. she gives in, wrapping her arms cautiously around his shoulders, his head against her stomach. this is what he wanted, soft love, tender.. and all from her nonetheless.

she was his, and he was hers. two beings intertwined in the fate of their worlds. she was his savior, and he was her lifeline.

credits to willow on pintrest for the banner!! ❄️🫧

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 3: ROYALTY/AHARCHY

CW: Corpses

When Zam finally finds him, everything is already over – the Prince stands, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over again, illuminated only by a narrow moonbeam coming through the stained glass window. Around him lie people – torn, maimed, crumbled. Every one of them is dead. The Prince is covered in blood. A sword rests in his hand.

– I'm sorry, – Zam says, because he must always be there for him, and he had no right to lose him, – I-

– Imagine, – the Prince says nonchalantly, wiping his sword, – they found me before I found them. They wanted to end me as they ended my father and mother. Fucking idiots, aren't they?

– Absolutely, Your Highness, – he agrees. There had never been any doubt in him about the Prince's ability to stand up for himself, but it was his responsibility to ensure safety, – they were very naive to think they could just kill you.

There is something nauseating about the number of corpses. He knew there might be double agents in the palace, but something about it left him with the impression that everyone who came to hand had been killed, guilty and innocent. Only now does he notice the horns that are peeking out from under the Prince's crown.

The demonic principle. Zam is embarrassed by the fact that he is not even a bit surprised. After all, he had been at the Prince's right hand since he was quite young.

– They know what you look like now, – he says...

– It's not that important, Zam, – the Prince waves almost lazily. He steps over the corpses, stepping on someone's limbs a couple of times, and turns out to be In front of Zam, – what a hassle, – he grumbles, finding that the blood is tightly embedded in his clothes now, – your cloak? – Zam carefully drapes it over the Prince's shoulders, at least partially covering the ugliness.

– But what now? – Zam bows his head, – the coronation awaits you, – he recollects, – since both the emperor and the empress are dead...

The Prince shakes his head. Those who had lost their rulers needed a friendly, confident and listening king. Not a half-demon who just caused a massacre. He easily came to terms with it, but he was raised as a prince, and he was always thinking about people.

– Zam, – the Prince says at last.

– Yes, Your Highness? – Zam responds. He checks all the passages over and over again to be ready if someone turns up on the approaches, but when the Prince calls out to him, he instantly switches over, staring at him.

– Zam, the people don't know what the heir looks like.

– It's true, – Zam shrugs, – but it won't last long now since the privacy perimeter has been violated. It'll make sense to get ahead of them and make a public statement-

– Zam. – The Prince interrupts him, and he breaks off, for some reason looking at him in confusion. There is always something special in his view of him - attention, dedication, devotion.

He waits for him to continue, but instead, the Prince takes off his crown. Without it, his protruding red-maroon horns are even more noticeable, making it unable to confuse them with anything.

– Zam, – he repeats, holding the crown in his hands, – the empire needs a symbol of hope, and it's not me. Demon-maniac is an image for a pocket killer, not for the ruler of them all. Will you become the new emperor?

Zam looks very similar to the deceased emperor and empress – blond and tan, with elegant features that do not correspond to his training in any way. He was not a simple man and was barely a year older than the Prince, but he had a kind face. They looked like two opposites – light and shadow, sun and moon.

And... He starts talking, but stutters and stops. Thousands of thoughts and questions swarm in his head, but as soon as he stops himself, he understands everything. This is a sophisticated puzzle that comes together in a single movement. He falls to one knee.

– Yes, Your Highness. – he answers, bowing his head, and still warm metal touches the top of his head. He looks up and notices that Mapicc is smiling.

– Welcome, my prince.

[beqitos]

⠀⠀⠀ ─── 𝒜𝐫𝐞 𝒴𝐨𝐮 ℛ𝐞𝐚𝐥

✷ ─── 엔하이픈 WHICH IN . . enha blinded by your LETHAL face card . . ✷ : hyungline!enha x fem!reader . . ✷ : fluff fluffy fluff, smooches, petnames, lowercase intended, tell me if im missing anything!! . . 𝒥AZ 𝒩OTES : I'm too hyper rn, and it's 2 am, atp ima take requests, i need to burn myself out . . DRABBLE + NOT PROOF READ . . 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 . .

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

you are currently checking yourself out in your body mirror, reapplying lip gloss, and checking to see if you forgot something from your outfit. you finally finished up some mistakes from your outfit, to turn around and see heeseung not so subtly checking you out.

"hee, does this necklace go with this bag, or does this one?", you decided to test him to see if he was even listening. "huh?, mhm? yeah, I think that goes with it..", he shamelessly said. he did not care if you caught him in the act of eyeing you. "baby, yk, you're just so pretty..", heeseung got up from the bed and smoothly turned you around by the waist.

"seung, not now—", you were cut off by heeseungs smooth, plump lips meeting your cherry lips. after what felt like forever, you heard a beeping sound outside and your phone dinging in your pocket. "seung— let go! I have to go now—", heeseung brought you back in, a more passionate and aggressive kiss, "they can wait."

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘

you just had gotten out the shower and is ready to do your skincare.. that's until your boyfriend, jay, came into the bathroom. he was always the clingy type more than you, so you always dreaded (but excitedly), seeing him enter.

"hey baby, I was wondering what was taking you so long," he grabbed your chin, making you look towards him, and kissed your forehead. "hii, I'm just doing my skincare!" you smiled at him, then continued what you were doing. after a couple minutes of putting your head down in the sink, you looked up and saw jay. admiring you from head to toe, and when you looked up, his eyes went immediate lovesick.

"baby.. yk, do I ever tell you, you're so—" he squished your cheeks and pressed sloppy kisses all over your face. you giggled and smiled nonstop, which just made him have even more cuteness aggression. "jay! stop! let me do my skincare first!" you tried pulling away, but jay just pulled you back in stronger, "hmm.. no!"

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

it's currently 8 am, your alarm had just gone off, and you have found yourself stuck in jakes strong hold. you tried many things to get out. you've wiggled, stretched, tried shimmering down. yet nothing worked to get out of jakes hold.

"jake.. jake.. let me go...", you tried getting up, just to be pulled back into jakes chest. "5 more minutes", he yawned, putting two arms around you. "YOU SAID THAT 10 MINUTES AGO" it was indeed 10 minutes ago, you looked at the clock and it was 8:10 am. "shhh, baby, don't look at the clock—" he had finally opened his eyes, to nonetheless, see a goddesses face.

the way the sun shined against your hair, the glow you had, the magnificent aura. "woah..", seeing jake distracted by who knows what (YOU), you had rolled over onto the floor, making a loud thud sound. "OWWWW", that's when jake snapped back to reality.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

you and sunghoon right now are currently laughing your butt's off, at the park. sunghoon thought it'd be a great idea to have a get away at the most calmest place he knew. the park. not a playground park, a nice grassy, field where kids and their parents, and dog owners came. "yk, this is the nicest place, you've tooken me so far," sunghoon was shocked by your backhanded compliment. "UH— WHAT. HAS OUR LATE NIGHT DATES MEANT NOTHING TO YOU—" that's when he shut up. seeing the sun behind you glow like a misty, cleansing aura. he just sat there on the blanket yall set up. "sunghoon?? hoon?? helloo?," you snapped your fingers at him. "earth to sunghoon?" sunghoon immediately snapped out of it and pulled you for a deep kiss. of course you were shocked but didn't think anything of it, sunghoon was always weird. "damn, you're a goddess for real.."

[yuyuyunnie]

Beyond Bag End | C.JH

pairings: hobbit! jongho x hobbit! reader (fem)

summary: Before heading on an adventure to rid of the ring that was meant to be ruined years ago, Jongho has some choice words, and actions, before you take off on your once-in-a-lifetime journey.

warnings: literally soft sex with jongho, unprotected sex (pls wrap up!), slight name calling from other characters and jongho, talks of dying but not crazy

word count: 5.2k

Author's note: If you are into The Hobbit or LOTR franchise at all, please—I beg of you—DO NOT imagine Jongho's feet as normal hobbit feet! That will be the one thing I don't do right 😭.

p.s. i also shamelessly listened to I Don't Understand But I Luv U by Seventeen and it changed me.

⁂𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽⁂

Your finger twirled the golden ring, the wind blowing your hair as you sat on the hill leading to the Shire. The ancient writing on the ring glowed, your eyes studying the small script. To your dismay, you came upon this ring after sifting through your cousin's home. Ironically, you were related to the Baggins, and you came from the Took side of the family. 

Frodo left plenty of items in his home when he left with Bilbo for the Undying Lands. You were shocked to see the ring fall out of the book that Frodo had completed. The leather was worn, the edges ruffled as if Bilbo clung to the book for dear life. In the back few pages where Frodo had filled the rest of the book out of his adventures with Samwise, Merry, and Pippin, you came across a little hole, the perfect size of a ring carved with a small blade. 

Everyone knew of the story. Bilbo went on his adventures with the dwarves and Gandalf. Years later Frodo went on a journey himself to destroy the ring that Bilbo stole from Gollum, and from what you heard, as years have passed, Frodo supposedly tossed the ring into the fires of Mount Doom, along with Gollum, but, here you were, sitting on the grassy fields with the ring sitting heavily in your hand. 

You huffed, shoving the ring back into the pocket of your skirt. Why did Frodo keep the ring? You had so many questions and the one person to ask was miles away in the Undying Lands. You never knew if Bilbo passed—or even Frodo for that matter—but you had to figure out why the ring continues to haunt your family. 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you trek back into the small town. The chatter was nonstop; Hobbits tending to their gardens, smoking pipes, having their second breakfasts, and living peaceful lives. You were tired of this mundane life; living the same day every single day and nothing new happening. You admired the stories of Bilbo and Frodo growing up, wishing you could experience what they did—and by that, you mean leaving the Shire. 

You made your way back up to your home, your garden looking terrible compared to everyone around you. Your tulips were sulking, your daisies thirsty, and your vines curling into themselves. In all honesty, you needed to come out here and tend to the poor things but you had no motivation. Ever since finding the ring a month ago, your mind has stayed on the golden piece. 

‘And there the ring went, down into the flaming mouth and Gollum along with it. I have done it, for now, we are safe and sound.’

“Gone down the mouth my butt,” You grumbled, pushing your door open. 

The sun was hitting your stained windows perfectly, and your floors were different shades of color. Your home was quiet, the plants inside needing just as much tender care as the ones outside. Your eyes drifted to your kitchen, the thick red leather book on your table. If your mother knew that you had this book—had the ring at that—she would personally throw you into the flames of Mount Doom. Your mother was never too fond of the Baggins side of her family. She said all they did was cause trouble and bring bad luck with them wherever they went. 

You thought differently. 

You yearned for the life that Bilbo and Frodo endured. You longed for an adventure outside of the Shire and you yearned for friendship as they had. You have friends, just one to be exact. Jongho has been your friend since you were children and has never left your side. You two were inseparable and still are to this day. 

You did have a slight crush on him, but only you knew.

Jongho was taller than the average Hobbit, his broad body towering over many. You’re not too sure what his mother fed him when he was young, but he definitely stood out from everyone else. However, with his larger frame, Jongho was the most tenderest Hobbit you have ever come across. He was sweet, helped in your garden, was by your side 24/7 when your mother passed, and helped you stay afloat. He was truly the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

Tearing up at the thought, you plopped down in front of the book. Your fingers traced over the lettering, ‘Red Book of Westmarch’ trembles going through you. Flicking to the back of the book, your eyes bore into the perfectly cut circle before a loud BANG interrupted your thoughts. 

“You know, you really need to tend to your garden or else everything will die,”

Jongho’s voice rang throughout your home. You let out a quiet squeal, dropping the ring back into the book before slamming it shut. Jongho walked into your dining room, his eyebrow flicked up, his eyes falling onto the book. 

“How many more times are you going to read that book?”

“As many—“

“Honestly, you could probably relive everything that Bilbo and Frodo did with how many times you’ve read the book. Better yet, you could probably—“

“Jongho,” You cut him off, your eyes glaring at him as he plopped down in the chair beside you, “I feel very connected with my family when reading this,” 

“A family line that ended,” He said quietly, his hand laying on top of yours gently. 

Your heart fluttered at the contact. You and Jongho have held hands, hugged, and cuddled, your body should be used to his touch, but here recently sparks keep shooting throughout, making you feel warm. 

“What’s so wrong with me reading up on my family history?” You retorted. 

He shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into his chair, taking his warm hand with him.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but you know how the Shire feels about your family. Especially Bilbo and Frodo. You know, sweet Mary-Ann is afraid that you’ll take off on an adventure yourself,” He chuckled. 

If only, you thought to yourself. Letting out a loud huff, you prop your chin up on your hand, your eyes gazing at the book once more. Your hand itched where the ring sat for so long. Is this how Frodo felt when Bilbo left the ring for him after disappearing at his 111th birthday party? You were a mere child then, not too aware of who Bilbo and Frodo were. Your family kept their disappearances a secret, never telling you of the great adventures. 

“Would it be so bad?” You mumbled, cutting your eyes to him. 

He scoffed, “You? Going off frolicking in the fields, killings orcs and riding off with a wizard in the sunset? Yeah, no.” He shook his head, letting out a sweet laugh, “You’re much safer here, in the Shire, staying in Bag End with me,” He whispered the last part, his hand falling on top of yours again. 

Your eyes fell onto your hands, your hand fitting so perfectly underneath his. Jongho was right but you would never let him know. You’ve longed for an adventure for so long, but could you do it? Could you manage leaving Bag End and going off to do god knows what? 

“Jongho,” You whispered, turning your eyes back to him, “There something I have to show you.” 

“Oh,” He quipped, “What is it?” 

Your heart started pounding, your ears feeling like they’re on fire. You gently remove your hand from under his and grip the leather book. Your finger tips burned; pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you peeled the book back open and landed on the page where the ring sat comfortably, snug. 

“A ring?” He quirked his eyebrow once again, “And I assume this is…”

“It’s the ring, Jongho,”

“The ring?” He sounded confused, dumb even. You wanted to smack your hand against your forehead, but you saved the dramatics. 

“Jongho, the ring that Frodo supposedly tossed into the flames of Mount Doom and destroyed. This,” You grabbed the ring., “is the ring.” 

Jongho gulped, his eyes enlarged at the sight of the ring. He knew of the stories, knew of Bilbo fighting off the dragon and Frodo riding Samwise’s back up to the top of Mount Doom. Everyone in the Shire knew of the tales in some shape or form. Could he believe that the ring was right here, in front of him? No, but here it was, twinkling in-between your little fingers. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered, tugging at his shirt. 

You nodded, eyes falling back onto the lettering that was now glowing a red shade. Your mind tingled, begging for you to slip the ring on and see what Bilbo and Frodo seen so many years ago, but you grunted, dropping the ring back into the book before shutting it closed. 

“I thought Frodo tossed it into the fires of Mount Doom?” He gulped, eyeing the leather bound book. 

You sighed, leaning back into your chair, “I thought so too, but clearly he didn’t.” 

You both stared at the book, all you could hear were the birds chirping outside and the slight shuffling of Jongho as his mind went a thousand miles per hour.

Weeks have passed since you showed Jongho the ring. He left your place in a panic, stumbling over his words as he stumbled out. You've never seen Jongho so flustered, not since that one time he glanced at your naked body behind your home, but that was years ago! Jongho was your only person and now it feels like you have no one. 

You pulled harshly at the weeds that flourished in your garden over the few weeks you neglected it—due to the Jongho incident of course—and small mutters left your mouth. 

“This is why I stay to myself,” You grumbled, ripping another weed from the soil, “Mind my own business! That’s what I’ll do from here on out—“

“I'm afraid that won’t be happening,” 

Your eyes widened, your head slowly turning around. A tall elder gentleman stood behind you, his body blocking the warm sun from your body. You cocked your head to the side, your eyes taking in his figure before everything clicked.

Oh, fuck me.

“And you are?” You could barely get that question out, your throat closing at the realization. 

“I believe there is no reason for any introduction, but if I must, I am Gandalf the White.” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Of course Gandalf would be here, at your doorstep; probably here to send you on a god forsaken quest, but that’s what you wanted right? 

You huffed, pushing yourself up off the ground, wiping your hands off on your apron. 

“YN Took,” You sent him a curt smile.

He smiled, “I know who you are. May I come in?” 

Gandalf took it upon himself to let himself in your home, whether you wanted him in there or not. Your mouth gaped open, awed at the audacity of the older man. You rolled your eyes, followed behind, and shut the door, watching Gandalf take in his surroundings. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t know what to say. What if he unleashes some sort of spell on you for having the ring? It’s not like you went out and sought for the damned thing. 

“I assume you know why I’m here,” His gaze fell onto you, his eyebrow quirked up. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” 

Before Gandalf could retaliate, your door flung open and Jongho stood there, panting and red in the face. Anger completely took over your body, wanting to cuss him out for ignoring you for weeks. 

“YN you won’t believe it! There’s a weird, taller older man here that looks just like—oh,”

Jongho’s eyes laid on Gandalf who sent him a smile, a deep rumble of laughter leaving his chest. Jongho’s ears turned a deep shade of red, a small ‘sorry’ leaving his lips as he shut the door. 

“Now where was I,” Gandalf hummed, “Don’t act stupid, YN Took, you know exactly why I’m here. Where is it? Where’s the ring?” 

You fidgeted, your fingers picking at each other as you weighed out your options. If you give the ring to Gandalf, all your troubles will be gone! If you refuse to tell Gandalf, then what if he cast a spell on you? Or, what if he knows where the ring is but is seeing if you will cooperate? What if—

“It’s in that red book over there,” Jongho quipped, pointing over to your kitchen table. 

“Jongho,” You hissed, swatting at him. 

Gandalf turned swiftly, taking three large steps, grabbing the book, flipping through the pages before coming to a halt. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling as he pulled the ring out from its hiding spot. You gulped, your eyes frantically watching as Gandalf studied the gold piece. The air was thick with silence, nobody said anything, who could? 

You took a tiny step forward, the feeling of Jongho’s eyes boring into your back. A wave of possessiveness overcame you, your body aching for the gold ring to stay here, with you, safe in Bag End. 

“Alright,” Gandalf huffed, shutting the leather book and tucking the ring into his pocket, “I will be heading out now,” 

With no goodbyes, Gandalf shoved past you and Jongho and made his way down your stone path. A low growl emitted through your throat, with clenched fist you followed behind Gandalf, faint calls of your name following behind you. 

“You can’t just take that!” You erupted, “Frodo left that here with me for a reason!” 

Gandalf came to a halt, his white hair flowing faintly in the wind. The air was thick with tension, your body growing hotter with the thought of Gandalf taking the ring away from you. Frodo left this ring for a reason and you’ve been taking care of it for months, not letting anyone know of the secret hidden inside your hobbit hole. 

“You Took’s are quite bold at times,” He chuckled, turning around to face you, “Do you know what dangers you have had tucked away in your home, YN? Frodo was dumb to not let this go into the fires of Mount Doom. The journey itself almost killed Frodo. He’s a fool for leaving this in the hands of another family member. You Took’s are a fool,” 

You were fuming, your nails digging into your palm as you bit your tongue. The faint touch of Jongho’s hand on the small of your back sent waves of calmness throughout your body. His thumb rubbed at your lower back gently.

Here we go, you thought. 

“Let me go with you then, to Mount Doom, or wherever you plan on taking the ring,” 

Your sentence felt rushed, and eager, and all this brought was a low chuckle from Gandalf and a quick shake of his head. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of another trip, another journey with the same family. It’s like he couldn’t get rid of you hobbits. Gandalf has kept a keen eye on you, your family, and your surroundings for years. He knew Frodo didn’t toss the ring into the fire. He knew the dangers that Frodo brought along to his family, but he didn’t expect to see a feisty, young hobbit like yourself be the new bearer of the ring. 

His fingers gripped his cane, “I’m sure you know of the dangers?”

You quickly nodded, stepping forward, the feeling of Jongho’s fingers leaving your back. 

“YN,” He mumbled, taking a step forward, wrapping his hand around your wrist. 

“I think you two need to do some talking,” Gandalf sent a small smile, “If you decide to come with me on this journey, meet me at the Prancing Pony Inn, and talk to Azo, he will know what to do,” 

Tipping the brim of his hat, Gandalf set off, leaving you there with a fuming Jongho. 

The air was thick, and silence hung between you and Jongho. Your fingers traced the rim of your cup, your eyes boring into the table as Jongho’s bore into you. You’ve never felt this kind of rage from your best friend, this thick tension. You could slice it with a knife, cutting through multiple layers. You’ve been waiting for a chance like this to come your way. You’ve been eager to leave the safety of Bag End to experience what your family did. You knew you made the right choice. 

Jongho’s jaw clenched, his mind going a thousand miles per hour. He couldn’t stand thinking about you walking away to your death. What if you didn’t come back? What if you get caught by an orc and he’s not there to save you? There have been plenty of times when Jongho had to rescue you from some sort of situation that you put yourself in. Jongho felt like your protector whether you knew that or not. 

His fingers twitched, your precious face seemed clueless to the dangers you were putting yourself in. Your cheeks were rosy, your eyes filled with wonder, the gentle waves of your hair cascading down your shoulders, your dress clinging to your chest tightly. How could someone as sweet and perfect as you go to the fiery pits of hell? 

Letting out a slow breath, Jongho finally spoke, “I think this is a bad idea, YN”

Your eyes fell onto him, his brown eyes boring back into yours. His black hair fell messily into his eyes, his plump lips swollen from the constant nibbling while thoughts rampaged through his mind. Your heart fluttered at the sight, blushing at the intense stare-off between you two. If you didn’t know the anger that Jongho had with you right now, you’d pounce on him. You don’t know if the feelings are reciprocated, but something about Jongho being mad at you sends warmth throughout your body. 

“Jongho,” You breathed out, “You know how bad I’ve been wanting to leave the Shire—“

“Not to go to your death, YN!” He yelled causing you to jump at the suddenness, “You’re absolutely stupid if you decide to go with Gandalf!” 

“I’m not though,” You whispered, your feelings shattered at him calling you stupid. “I want to finish my family’s curse once and for all, can’t you understand that?” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes. A soft grunt left his lips as he turned his fixated gaze onto something else in your home. He couldn’t stand hurting your feelings, let alone make you look at him the way you’re looking at him now. It caused his stomach to stir, his dick twitching at the thought of you looking at him like that underneath him, all sprawled out. 

“Jongho, please,” You whispered, your hand resting on top of his.

His eyes jerked over, and his breath hitched in his throat. He felt like his body was going to explode. Taking a deep breath, Jongho finally looked up at you. Your bottom lip was slightly pouted, glistening from the afternoon sunlight. How could he say no? 

“You’re reckless,” He whispered, his eyes twitched as they filled with tears. 

You sighed, pushing yourself up from your chair, your legs taking you over to him. Taking in your body in front of him, Jongho stared up at you, licking his plump lips as he took you in. Fuck, he thought, his dick strained in his pants, your precious eyes not noticing the bulge growing.

“You know you love me,” You smiled at him, reaching your hands out, silently asking for a warm hung from him. 

Jongho hissed, “I can’t,” He mumbled, gripping the side of his pants. 

“What?” 

You cocked your head to the side before your eyes fell down to where his eyes lingered. A small gasp left your lips, your eyes widening at the view before you. 

“Jongho-“

“Fuck, YN,” He growled standing up, “I’ve loved you for years,” He started, his hands came to cup your face, your cheeks filling his hands perfectly, “I can’t sit here and watch the love of my life walk away to her possible death,” He breathed out, tears falling silently. 

You didn’t know what to say, your words caught in the back of your throat. He felt the same way. Jongho felt the same way as you. You brought your hands up, cupping Jongho’s. You studied his face, the tip of his nose turning a slight rose color from him holding in his tears. 

“You love me like that?” You asked quietly, letting a low giggle slip. 

He rolled his eyes, “Please kiss me,” He whispered. 

You couldn’t make the move first if you wanted to, Jongho slammed his lips against yours, moving rhythmically against yours. His plush lips felt so warm against yours, a soft moan rumbling through your throat, Jongho swallowing them. His hands fell down to your waist, pulling you into him, his growing bulge pressing against your tummy. You gasped at the feeling, Jongho took this opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, skimming your mouth. 

“I need you now,” He whimpered, his hands gripping your waist, definitely leaving bruises. 

You nodded swiftly, wrapping your hand with his, dragging him to your all too familiar bedroom. Jongho knew your home like the back of his hand. He’d move in if he could, stay here with you, forever. His body was burning with desire, his fingers tingling at the feeling of your hand wrapped around his. He couldn’t believe that you reciprocated, that you were dragging him to your bedroom, whimpering like that to him. His mind was fuzzy, his heart thumping, his ears loud with the beat. 

Coming to a halt, you quickly kick off your boots, Jongho following right behind. Your body felt relief it was finally getting what it has been yearning for longer than the ring. You were finally making love with the man of your dreams. Granted you would have done this in different circumstances but, due to what has happened, this felt only right because what if he’s right? What if you don’t make it back alive?

“You’re so beautiful,” Jongho mumbled, his fingers untying your corset, your breast slightly falling as the corset came off. 

Pulling your shirt off and tugging your skirt down, you were bare. You stood there, the afternoon sun beaming on your skin, soaking in the warmth. Jongho stopped breathing, his eyes soaking in your naked form. You were beautiful. Your wavy hair falling down to the middle of your back, your peach fuzz glistening in the light, goosebumps rising over your body at the mixture of warmth and cold. 

You glanced back, taking in the shocked expression of Jongho before smirking, laying down on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. 

“Don’t act so shocked, Jongie,” You whispered, “You’ve seen me naked before,”

He blushed, tugging his shirt over his head, his torso coming into full view. You sighed, mesmerized at his form. Jongho helped around town lifting heavy objects, building doors, barns, all the heavy lifting. God did it showed. 

“That was by mistake.” He smirked, climbing onto the bed, his large frame hovering over you, “And I thought about it for months,” He whispered, bringing his lips back down to yours.

Soft kisses were exchanged between you and quiet ‘I love you’s’ mixed in there. Taking his hand, Jongho traced down your body, feeling the smooth skin on his hands, his cock aching at the touch. Pushing his knee back, Jongho placed it between your thighs, wedging it in between the soft skin so his hand could finally find your soaking cunt. 

You slung your head back, the feeling of his fingers tracing your slick folds sending you into oblivion. Jongho traced small circles around your lips, spreading the sticky wetness around. 

“Fuck,” You whimpered, picking your head back up, staring at Jongho who was staring down at your soaking pussy. 

“Fuck is right,” He mumbled, dipping his finger into your cunt. 

A yelp escaped your lips, the feeling of his finger stroking your insides causing your brain to stir. Glancing up at you, Jongho smiled softly, pressing another finger into, scissoring his way in, stretching you out to fit your pretty pussy around his cock. His mouth salivated at the sight of your cunt sucking his fingers back in every time he pulled out. God, you were beautiful, ethereal, and here you were, all spread out for him. 

“Want me to eat you out, baby?” 

Your pussy clenched at the pet name, a quick nod and a soft whimpered followed. Jongho smirked before shuffling himself between your thighs. His nose skimmed your soft thighs, his lips pressing delicate kisses, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. Your nipples hardened at the feeling, your hands coming to rest in his soft, thick locks. 

Jongho nuzzled his nose against your throbbing clit, your body jerking at the sudden touch. 

“Relax, baby,” He whispered, peppering sweet kisses along your drenched lips, “Let me take care of you like I always do, like I was born to do,” 

Your heart fluttered and so did your pussy at the obvious confession. Jongho licked his lips before pressing them against your clit, sucking on the sweet pearl. Gasping, your slightly arched your back, the feeling becoming too intense with Jongho softly fucking you with his fingers. 

“Hold still,” He mumbled against your folds, bringing his arm up to hold your hips down. 

Whimpering, you softly ground your wet pussy against his face, his lips sucking at you, loud slurps filled the room as he finger fucked you to your orgasm. 

Loud moans fill the room, your eyes filled with black dots as you rode out your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby, use my face,” He mumbled, kitten licking your clit as his fingers came to a halt inside you. 

Propping yourself up, you caught Jongho sucking on his fingers. His big, brown eyes gazing back at you as his tongue swirled around them. 

“Oh fuck,” You whispered, in awe at the sight between your legs. 

Pulling his fingers out with a loud pop, Jongho pushed himself off the bed, his dick suffocating in his pants. Smirking at you, Jongho pulled his pants down, his dick smacking against his stomach. Your mouth dropped open, your mouth salivating at the sight of him. His tip was scorching red, precum coating the tip, shining in the light. You sat up, ready to push yourself off the bed but Jongho stopped you, gently pushing you back. 

“That can wait,” He breathed out, his hand gripping his throbbing cock, a faint whimper passing his lips, “I need to feel you around me, baby” 

You licked your lips, nodding before laying back down. Jongho gazed down at you, his eyes filled with love and lust. You looked beautiful underneath him, just as he had imagined. Your breast rose with each breath you took, goosebumps surrounding your perked nipples. Bending down, Jongho took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on the sweet mounds, abandoning his dick to grip at the other breast. A soft moan passed your lips, your legs wrapped around his waist as he took his time with your nipples, switching back and forth from each one. 

His dick twitched at your entrance, your legs wrapped around him bringing your soaking cunt closer to him. He couldn’t wait any longer, not when you were whiny and needy underneath him. Abandoning your breast, Jongho gripped his dick, swiping his dick up and down your folds, coating his tip in your essence. 

“Want me to fuck you, baby?” 

You nodded, wiggling your hips as he continued to circle your clit with his tip. He tsked, smacking the side of your thigh, “I need to hear you, sweet girl.” 

“I-I want you to fuck me, Jongho,” You breathed out, your pussy fluttering at the smack. 

“Good girl,” He whispered. 

Wrapping an arm underneath the bend of your knee, Jongho pressed himself into your sopping entrance, pushing himself in slowly, your warmth surrounding him. A long, drawled out moan left his lips as your pussy swallowed him completely.

“Fuck,” He groaned, pushing himself all the way to your cervix, your pussy clenching at the feeling, “You feel so good around me.” He whined, his hips jerked. 

You couldn’t respond, your body in full bliss at the feeling of being filled to the brim with his dick. As if on cue, Jongho started rocking his hips, slowly, and passionately as he soaked you all in. His eyes hazed, staring down at your body as it jumped with every thrust. He couldn’t handle himself. With the sight of your breast bouncing with each thrust, your lips parted and soft whines tumbling out, Jongho started ramming himself in you. The obscene sound of your pussy squelching around his cock filled the room. 

Your body was overcome with goosebumps, all you could feel was intense pleasure as Jongho made love to you. Panting, Jongho brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing quick but soft circles around your swollen pearl. 

“Jongho,” You drawled out, your back slowly arching, “I’m about to cum,” You whined, gripping  bicep. 

Jongho smirked, leaning over slamming his lips against yours. Wrapping your hands around his neck, lacing your fingers in the hairs that settled in the back, Jongho groaned at the feeling and started speeding up, his thrusts and fingers going the same speed, sending you into a complete spiral. 

“Come on, my sweet girl, cum for me. Cum around my cock and show me how much you love me, please,” He whined the last part, sending you into your orgasm. 

Your back arched into his chest, a long, drawled out moan escaped your lips as Jongho pressed light kisses along your jawline. 

“That’s it baby,” He grunted, trying to hold himself together, “Cum around my cock,” 

With a few more thrust, Jongho moaned, his seed feeling you to the brim as you still rode out your own orgasm. Soft pants filled your room as you both came down from your high, Jongho’s body laid on top of yours, your hand softly caressing his head. 

“Fuck,” You whispered, tucking a few of his longer hairs behind his ear, rubbing your thumb against his cheek. 

“That was amazing,” He mumbled, staring up at you. 

Jongho pulled out, his cum flowing out after. The sun has finally set, the moon now glowing on Jongho’s naked body. You were in awe of him and what just happened between you two. As if he didn’t notice, Jongho got dressed and headed to your bathroom, bringing a rag back to clean you up. 

“You know,” He mumbled, tossing the rag to the side and folding your blanket onto your naked body, “If you go, I’m coming with you,” 

He flopped down beside you, propping his head up on his hand as he stared down at you. You took in his rosy cheeks, his swollen lips, and messy hair.  God he was beautiful. 

“You sure?” You whispered, caressing his hand that was laying on top of your stomach. 

“Looks like we’re going on an adventure,” 

© yuyuyunnie, 2024.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot Extra #5

Masterpost

This takes place after Elliot has passed away in his sleep, sometime in his 80s

Warnings: Aftermath of major character death, Grieving 

Ambrose stood at the grave, tears running down his cheeks. 

“It isn’t fair,” he sniffled, wiping his eyes. “I thought- I thought we’d have more time.”

“I know,” Janus said, his hand on Ambrose’s shoulder.

“I wish-” Ambrose cut himself off. He looked up at the sky, blinking away more tears. “I’m being selfish.”

“You’re allowed to be. You’re grieving.”

“Why- why didn’t he take it? He didn’t have to die. He should’ve-”

Ambrose sobbed.

Janus pulled him in close, and let him cry. He didn’t say that it was Elliot’s choice to remain mortal, they both knew that, and it wasn’t what his husband needed.

“Can’t you bring him back?” Ambrose choked out. “I miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus said. No one, not even a god, could bring back the dead.

Ambrose curled into Janus’s chest. “It’s not fair,” he repeated. “I loved him so much. We should have had more time. If I had been better-”

“You still love him,” Janus said gently. “It doesn’t stop now that he’s gone.”

Ambrose went quiet.

“And you gave him happiness for nearly sixty years.”

“It wasn’t enough. Not for me.”

___________________

Ambrose stared up at the sky. He lay next to the headstone, watching the clouds. 

Elliot liked the sky. He said blue was his favorite color because it was the sky.

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t moved for three days, and had no intention to. Even if Janus tried to coax him inside with lunch.

A shadow fell over him, blocking the sun. Ambrose opened his eyes again, numb.

“Are you busy?” Janus asked.

“Yes.”

He felt Janus sit beside him in the grass, and his husband placed a hand over his.

“You should eat.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Okay.”

“You can eat out here if you want.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Janus went quiet. “Can I show you something?”

___________________

“Where are we?”

They were standing in a meadow, hand-in-hand. A warm spring breeze gently brushed Ambrose’s face, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly baked bread.

A cottage sat not far away. It had a thatch roof and stone walls, with an overflowing garden laden with ripe berries and ready-to-pull vegetables. An apple tree cast shade over the stone footpath, its fruit fragrant. 

“Go on,” Janus squeezed his hand. “You’ll like it.”

Hesitantly, Ambrose walked up the path. A mew sounded beside him, and he looked down to see a cat step out from behind the tree. A tortoiseshell kitty, black and orange with white socks and white patches around her little pink nose. She yawned before rubbing up against his leg, purring.

“Hello,” he told her, and she blinked up at him with green eyes. He cast a glance back down the path, and Janus gave him an encouraging smile.

He knocked on the door.

It opened, and- and on the other side-

“Ambrose! You came to visit me!”

Ambrose launched himself into Elliot’s arms, sobbing.

Elliot had always been smaller than him, but in that moment, it felt like Ambrose slotted perfectly into his arms.

Then his brain caught up with him.

“I-” he pulled away, sniffling. “How? You’re- You’re dead.”

Not only was Elliot seemingly alive, he was younger. Thirties, maybe, when he had died at eighty.

Elliot smiled at him. “I know I’m dead, Ambrose. It’s okay.”

Ambrose stared at him. Elliot didn’t call him Ambrose, he called him sir. 

“Come in,” Elliot said, stepping aside. “I’ve got pie in the oven. You too, Janus.”

___________________

The cottage was cozy, with a fireplace and open living room that flowed into a breakfast nook and kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and he could smell blackberry pie.

There was a portrait gallery by the stairs, images of people Ambrose recognized. Him and Elliot, Janus and Ambrose, Judy, Katie.

Even a portrait of someone he recognized as a young Molly.

Did Elliot remember her?

The cat mewed, snapping him out of his daze. She hopped up on the round wooden table.

“There you are Ms. Pebbles,” Elliot exclaimed. He rubbed her cheek, and she began to purr. “Were you waiting for my family?”

“You named her Ms. Pebbles?” Ambrose asked. My family my family my family-

Elliot glanced over at him, smiling. “No. I just knew her name is Pebbles. I call her Ms. Pebbles to be respectful.”

“Ah.”

Ambrose cast a look at Janus, who seemed unperturbed.

A timer gently chimed on the counter, and Elliot shut it off before opening the oven. He pulled out the pie, which smelled heavenly.

Elliot looked so happy, and the scene was so surreal that he couldn’t handle it.

He stared down at the table, his vision blurry.

“Ambrose? Are you okay?”

He stood up, chair scraping against the floor.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, and fled outside.

___________________

Ambrose sat underneath the apple tree, arms wrapped around himself.

Janus appeared next to him.

“Is this even real?” Ambrose asked, wiping his tears. “Did you put me in a dream? Why would you-”

“I didn’t,” Janus interrupted. “This is Elliot’s afterlife.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s what his soul wanted. Everything here makes him happy.” Janus ran a hand over the trunk of the apple tree. “It’s designed for him.”

Ambrose sucked in a breath. “If I had known he wanted a cat-”

“Stop that.” Janus told him firmly. “He might not have even known it when he was alive, anyway. Stop trying to be perfect. You’re just a man.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“Come have some pie before Ms. Pebbles eats it.”

Ambrose stood. “Cats can’t eat pie,” he argued, smiling.

“You never know with soul guardians, and I want pie.”

___________________

Ambrose put down his fork. The pie was delicious, and he told Elliot so.

“You taught me how to make it,” Elliot said, smiling into his cup.

“I did?”

“Mhm. When I was twenty-five, I think.”

Ambrose shifted. “That was so long ago.” He glanced at the portrait wall. “What- what else do you remember?”

Elliot looked uncomfortable, his smile dropping. “What do you mean?”

Ambrose stood, wandering to the portraits.

He saw a young Molly, with two adults that definitely weren’t the Fletchers.

“Do you know who these people are?” he asked.

Elliot joined him, looking up at the framed painting. “No,” he admitted. “But…” Elliot chewed his lip, and Ambrose felt guilty that he had ruined Elliot’s perfect afterlife scene.

“I know I love them,” Elliot said finally. “I know they love me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know who they are. But I think it’s enough that they love me.”

Elliot looked at Ambrose, his blue eyes sparkling and happier than Ambrose could ever remember seeing him.

“I know you love me. I love you too, you know.”

“Yeah,” Ambrose said, sniffling. “I know.”

___________________

“When can I see him again?” Ambrose asked, standing at the edge of the grave.

Janus squeezed his hand. “Whenever you want.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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@phoenixpromptsandstuff @haipasa @morning-star-whump

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - Act IV : Villain & Violent

A/N: this chapter is solely focused around Marcus and his deeply rooted trauma that I feel is not only important to his character, but also sets the tone for how he will act for the rest of the story. Before you read, please heed the warnings and remember that I am not responsible for the content that you choose to consume.

word count: 4.8k

Summary: Marcus is unaware at how much time has passed since his first meeting with Aurelia, and in his vulnerable state of mind, memories of his past begin to resurface. Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! This chapter includes SA of a minor, loss of virginity, pedophilia, child murder, child abuse, child prostitution, enslavement, canon typical violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of whores, graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, trauma responses, hazing, minor character death, language, +18 minors dni! series master list

The Ludus Magnus

Marcus had no concept of how much time had passed since the night he first met Aurelia. It could have been days, weeks, months—for all he knew, which wasn’t much to begin with. The only time he was able to gaze upon the sun, and feel its warmth, was when he was in the Colosseum, and the only way he knew it was nightfall was through the sliver of moonlight that would trickle in through the cracks in the ceiling of his cell.

A small solace, a shred of comfort that was snuffed out when the evening hours would manifest clouds to cast shadows over the moon. He was used to the darkness, to the feeling of loneliness consuming him, and then she came into his orbit. And while their acquaintance was brief, he could not tear his thoughts from her even if he tried. 

“Rise and shine, scum,” Cato said from the other side of the iron bars. He wore a sneer on his face, and his tone was anything but kind. 

Marcus gave little regard to Cato and his distaste towards him. His mind was too preoccupied. He wordlessly rose to his feet, ignoring the dull strain in his back from sitting against the stonewall through the night. The lacerations along his shoulders and back had healed significantly, and there was no longer an uncomfortable sting when he would brush against a wall, or endure the weight of his armor. The freshly healed skin was just another testament that Aurelia’s existence wasn’t something he had conjured during his vulnerable hours. Infection did not spread through his body, and she was the reason he was still breathing, after all. 

The next time I am graced in her presence, I will ask her where she learned the ways of a medicus. 

“You look like shit, Acacius,” Cato pointed out with a wry grin. He unlocked the cell door, keys jingling before the door swung open against the wall. 

Marcus only grunted in response, still paying no mind to him. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited patiently for his ankles to be unshackled from the wall so that he could move somewhat freely. 

“Gone mute again, have we?” Cato said with a teasing hum. He walked into the small space, crouching down beneath Marcus’s feet and slipped a smaller shaped key into one of the locks. “You know, if it were up to me, I’d keep you chained here for eternity.” 

another wordless grunt slipped past Marcus’s lips,  his nostrils flared slightly. 

“Pinched a nerve, did I?” Cato cackled and twisted the key to the left, engaging the unlocking mechanism within it to release. 

“I can’t quite wrap my head around why the emperor's find you to be so…valuable,” Cato continued. “Why allow a traitor to live to see another day is beyond me,” he scoffed and unlocked his other ankle before rising to his full height. 

Marcus uncrossed his arms, holding his wrists out in front of him, waiting for the cold touch of iron to encase his skin, wordlessly. 

“It’s foolish, if you’d ask me,” Cato scoffed and placed the iron cuffs around Marcus’s wrists, securing them as tight as he saw fit. It was enough for Marcus to tense his jaw slightly from the sudden pressure. 

“Consider yourself lucky that you have never faced me in the arena, Cato. I’d drive my sword through that gaping mouth of yours in a heartbeat,” Marcus muttered under his breath. 

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, scum. Too bad you’ll never have the chance,” he bit.

“Nothing is permanent, Acacius. Remember that.” Geta’s charged words echoed in his mind. 

“Get moving, Acacius. We don’t have all morning, unless you want to miss out on breakfast,” Cato chimed in his ear. He moved alongside him, giving him a firm shove towards the opening of the cell. 

Marcus’s feet moved at their own accord, and the low growl of his stomach guided the way. The other cells had since been emptied, leading him to believe that he had already missed out on breakfast after all. 

Boisterous chatter could be heard down the narrow corridor and with another firm shove to his back, he was met with the many faces of the other gladiators scarfing down their piss-poor excuse of a meal. 

No one acknowledged him as he took an empty seat at the lengthy table. a clay bowl, containing mashed barley, beans and mixed grains was thrusted in front of him. His stomach growled, but he did not reach for the bowl immediately. 

He stared into the gray hues of nothingness, brows furrowed and lips pursed. A sour feeling washed over him, and his fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles turned stark white. It was happening again, the memories—

“What is all of that ruckus?!” Crassus, Marcus's Dominus, yelled into the thick night. The air was tinged in the stench of copper; bloodshed and the mortal cries of one of his boys meeting their brutal end. 

The grouping of boys, huddled around the fire quickly dispersed, revealing the violence that had ensued. The earth was soaked in rich crimson that flowed like the river of Tiberius. In the center lay one of the boys—what remained of him, and Marcus had fallen to his knees. His eyes were wild, his face stained in blood, his body shaking—trembling with unbridled rage that Crassus himself had never witnessed from him. 

“My, my,” he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You have been holding out on us, Acacius.” 

Marcus snapped his head in the direction of Crasuss’s voice. His grip around the hilt of his sword did not falter, nor loosen. His facial expression turned from anger to confusion when he tore his gaze from his Dominus and looked down at the boy's corpse. His chest rose and fell rapidly, lips parting at the gruesome sight of the boy’s mangled face, and empty eye sockets staring up at him. 

“Peace, Acacius.” Crassus took a cautious step towards him, and the rest of the boys huddled behind him; they too were frightened.

Marcus stumbled to his feet, movements uncoordinated, knees shaky and unbalanced. His sword, dripping in congealed blood and flesh tissue hung heavy at his side. 

“Drop the sword, boy,” Crassus said sternly. 

“He killed him,” one of the boys whispered. 

“No, he—annihilated him,” another chimed in. 

“The sword, Acacius. Drop it.” Crassus was becoming impatient. 

Marcus’s bloodstained knuckles tightened reflexively around the hilt. His death grip was the only tangible feeling that was keeping him grounded, but the gravity of his actions began to sink into his conscience. 

“He’ll kill us all,” another boy shuddered, his voice trembling, and the rest murmured in agreement.

“Acacius, you are testing my patience, boy. I will ask this of you one last time. Drop the fucking—” 

His grip suddenly loosened and the sword fell to the sand with a dull thud as Marcus stumbled back, turning to flee, but a calloused hand reached out, gripping  his armpit and stalled his movements. He cried out, crying for his mother, for anyone—but no one came to his aid. His body went lax in Crassuss’s grip, slumping in his arms, finally. A well-known pressure point was activated with a firm hand and forced Marcus into an unconscious state. 

None of the boys moved from their protective huddle when their Dominus addressed them directly, “Clean up this mess,” he barked out an order with a pointed glare in their direction. 

They scattered like flies being swatted at and he let out a huff, lifting the dead weight of Marcus into his arms. 

When Marcus awoke, hours later, he was in an unfamiliar room. He shot up in a daze, eyes wide and stricken with confusion. He whipped his head around frantically for any sign as to how he ended up there. 

“Peace, Acacius,” a familiar voice addressed him from the opposite end of the expansive room. Crassuss’s back was facing him, and it appeared that he was writing something on parchment before he turned around in his chair, clasping his hands against his chest. 

Marcus struggled to form words, his mouth opened and closed but no sounds came out. He warily glanced down at the blanket that draped his body before he grasped its unfamiliar softness in his palms and threw it off in a haste. 

Crassus sighed through his nose, standing to his full height. “I need you to relax, boy. You aren’t in any danger, I assure you.” 

Marcus did not trust him, and why should he? He had no reason to. “Why am I here?” 

Crassus ignored his question and walked towards him. His footsteps were cautious, but determined. “Do you remember what happened?” 

Marcus shook his head and glanced down at his hands briefly. His knuckles were still stained in blood, although dry now. “Whose—whose blood is this?” his voice trembled. 

“Ah, so you don’t remember anything? How…fascinating,” Crassus mused. “I have trained many boys to become fierce gladiators, Acacius, but you, now—there’s something special about you.”

“Special?” Marcus echoed with uncertainty. 

“Indeed,” Crassus continued. “Your rage. What was it fueled by? A dozen boys, just outside these walls, are fearing for their lives because of you, and that very rage that you displayed.” 

Marcus’s face constricted as he racked through his brain for the answers to what took place hours ago. “Is…he dead?” 

Crassuss’s lips tightened into a thin line and he crossed his arms over his chest with a pointed look that had Marcus curling in on himself. 

“I-I-I didn’t mean to—I swear! I never intended to kill him, Dominus.” 

“No?” The question was rhetorical. “His face isn’t recognizable, Acacius. You gouged his eyes out as if you were scooping yolks from an egg. I’ve never seen so much blood spilled from one body.” 

Marcus winced from his words and he turned his chin into his shoulder out of shame and guilt. His hands wrung nervously in his lap. 

“Do not hide your face from me, Acacius. You have nothing to feel shame for. I imagine he deserved it. In fact, I’d go as far to say that you were merciful.” 

“I am not violent, Dominus. It is not in my blood,” Marcus bit back, feeling as if he were a cornered beast that had been prodded with a spear one too many times. 

“Oh,” he sighed. “But you are. Detest it all you wish, but your violent heart will only lead you to greatness. The false lions will torment you no longer, Acacius. Not when they fear for their own eyes to be gouged from their sockets,” he stopped at the foot of the bed, offering Marcus his bejeweled hand. “Let us get you cleaned up.” 

Marcus eyed his outstretched hand warily from where he sat. The same hand that would beat him repeatedly for insubordination, was now being offered for a different reason. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—any of it, really. He wished that his mother was there so that he may confide in her during his times of peril. He yearned for her motherly embrace, her soft-spoken words. 

“Take my hand, Acacius,” Crassus commanded. 

With reluctance, Marcus raised his own hand. His fingers visibly trembled, but Crassus paid no mind to his apprehension as he lifted him from the bed with little resistance. 

The tepid water acted as little comfort for Marcus, who sat on his knees along the tub. He quickly washed the dried blood from his hands and between the crevices of his knuckles under the watchful eye of Crassus. 

“Get all the way in, boy.” his tone was clipped, and the cold sound of it caused Marcus to flinch. 

“I—I don’t want to,” he whispered in a pathetic plea. 

“Didn’t ask what you wanted, now did I?” 

“No, Dominus,” he said defeatedly. His hands shakily moved towards the hem of his tattered tunic, hesitating before he slowly lifted it over his head and shoulders. His muscles had not yet formed, and his posture was rigid and sheltered. 

“All of it, Acacius,” he sounded annoyed, and his patience was wearing thinner by the second. 

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and blindly reached for the loose knot of his subligaculum. When he pulled the knot free, he hastily climbed into the tub, nearly falling face first because he was so afraid. 

Water splashed along the rim of the tub, turning a deeper shade of pink from the remnants of blood being washed away. He instinctively wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them protectively to his chest. 

Crassus stalked around the tub and crouched down so he was more level with Marcus. His hand reached towards his face, knuckles brushing the softness of his cheek where crusted blood still remained. “ever had anyone tell you that you have a pretty face, boy?” he sneered. 

Marcus shied from his unwanted touch, gnawing on the inside of his cheek to distract himself. He kept his eyes focused on the end of the tub. 

“I thought so,” Crassus said with a hum. “not only is it a pretty face, but a fuckable one, too. I imagine you could easily pocket extra coin with a face like that.” 

“I…don’t understand what you’re saying, Dominus,” Marcus whispered with uncertainty. What was he insinuating? His crude choice of words fell foreign to his innocent ears. 

“Ah, a virgin too? I have plenty of clientele that would gladly pay generously to lie with the likes of you, pretty boy.” 

“Acacius?” 

Marcus blinked rapidly, eyes darting to his left and then his right. He had been clenching his fists so tightly, that his blunt nails had left angry red marks in his palms. 

“Acacius.” The familiar voice to his left broke through the blockage in his brain. Cinna, a fellow gladiator, was the only one left at the table outside of Marcus. His eyes were as blue as the sea, or the sky on a clear day. It was a stark, yet beautiful contrast against his dark complexion. 

Marcus swallowed the heavy lump in his throat and finally released the tension in his fists. The bowl of porridge in front of him remained untouched and had since gone cold. 

“Are you quite alright, Acacius? You have yet to touch your food.” Cinna sounded genuinely worried. 

“I’m fine, Cinna,” he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and rose from the table. 

“You should really—”

“I said,” Marcus enunciated. “that I was fine.” Despite the empty feeling in his stomach, and the unease in his mind, he stalked off to the armory to get suited up for another grueling training session. Perhaps during that time he could clear his mind, finally. That, of course, was wishful thinking on his part. 

 When the iron cuffs around his wrists were removed, he flexed his fingers at his sides, tapping them against the hem of his tunic. His armor was soon fastened, and a sword was thrust into his hands. He tested the weight of it in his palm, like he always did, but something felt off when he stared at his reflection in the steel. Empty eye sockets stared back at him, and his palms felt clammy. He blinked as hard as he could before opening his eyes again and his normal reflection returned. 

“Get moving, Acacius. You’re already late as it is,” the armorer muttered. 

When Marcus stepped into the arena, he expected to be greeted by the sun, but instead was met with a gray, cold sky with clouds stretching to the heavens for miles. His sword fell heavy at his side, and when he looked up at the emperor’s viewing platform, he could make out the faces of Geta and Caracalla staring back at him. 

Geta gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement, and tipped the rim of his chalice in his direction before his attention was stolen by a feminine hand wrapping around his bicep and pulling him back down to his throne. 

The rest of gladiators had already begun to spar, their swords of steel clashing loudly. Marcus stood there, dumbly. His jaw ticked, and his ears were ringing. He was not focused, and when Cinna’s familiar hand clasped around his shoulder, he whipped around in confusion. His eyes were wide when they landed upon striking blue ones. 

“You are not well today, Acacius,” Cinna said in a low soft tone. 

“I—I’m fine,” Marcus insisted and brushed his hand from his shoulder. 

“Where are we going, Dominus? The hour is late, and I am quite tired,” Marcus trailed behind Crassus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“We are going to meet some of my very good friends, Acacius. You’ll be my cup bearer for the evening,” Crassus stated plainly, and he did not slow his steps so Marcus could keep up with his pace. Marcus frowned at this and took longer strides so he could keep up with him. He opened his mouth to argue that his sleep was more important, but one sharp look over Crassus’s shoulder had him swallowing his words just as quickly as they had manifested. 

“You’ll be on your best behavior, Acacius. Wouldn’t want to upset me, now would we?” 

“No, Dominus,” Marcus whispered and absentmindedly scratched at his arm. He looked over his shoulder, towards the distant flickering lights of the villa before facing forward. He kicked at a stray rock with the toe of his sandals, but Crassus did not notice, nor care. 

At the entrance to the town's brothel, Marcus was involuntarily glued to Crassus’s side. There was an array of people filtering in and out of the bustling establishment, and Marcus’s curiosity was getting the better of him as he looked up in wonder at each passing face. 

“You will speak only when spoken to, boy. Do you understand?” Crassus addressed him sternly. 

“Yes, Dominus.” 

His arm was tugged roughly inside and although it was too dim to see much of anything, he heard a plethora of sounds. To his innocent ears, he believed that people were wailing in pain and anguish, but one glimpse of bare skin on flesh moving rhythmically behind a sheer curtain had his cheeks burning from the sight. He looked up at his Dominus, expectantly, hoping that he would have the answers, but Crassus continued to drag him along with little regard. 

“How old is he?” a woman, twice Marcus’s age asked from her makeshift throne of pillows. Her eyes were enticing, and her movements fluid when she rose from her lax position. 

“Thirteen,” Crassus said with a grin. 

“A virgin, yes?” her question left a sour taste in Marcus's mouth, but he didn't dare speak up.

Crassus nodded and released his firm grip on Marcus’s arm finally. 

“I expect you’ll pay well for him. He is well mannered and docile, as long as he’s nowhere near a sword,” he chuckled. 

She simply smiled and reached for her chalice of wine on the nearby table, snatching it up with ease. She approached Marcus who was wringing his hands together nervously. She came to a halt in front of him, crouching down so she was more level and brought the rim of the chalice to her painted lips. “You do have quite a pretty face.” 

“T-thank…you?” Marcus wanted to be polite as his mother raised him to be. He eyed the contents of her chalice suspiciously, and his nose turned up from the nauseating sweet aroma that emitted from it. 

She looked up towards Crassus, her smile turning into a knowing, wry grin. “Payment is on the table, Crassus. Half to start, and the rest to follow…depending on how your boy performs.” 

“Oh, he will perform to your standards, Domina Vinicia, I am certain of this.” 

“Good.” her grin stretched across her lips and she took another sip of her wine before offering it to Marcus. “Ever had wine before, boy?” 

Marcus shook his head and took a step back, but Crassus’s hand was there to stop him and instead nudged him forward. 

“No, I have not,” he answered quietly. 

“Well, tonight will be a night of many firsts for you,” Vinicia said with certainty in her saccharine tone and she nudged the glass into his hands. He stared down into the reflection of claret, contemplating his decision for a moment before hesitantly bringing the rim to his lips. The small, meager sip he took turned into a larger one when Vinicia used the bridge of her pointer finger to tip the bottom of the chalice forwards, forcing Marcus to drink more of the scarlet liquid. 

He sputtered frantically, his eyes blurring with tears as he tried his best to quickly clear his airway, but most of the wine had ended up down the front of his tunic. He profusely apologized for creating such a mess, in fear that he would be punished. 

Vinicia’s cat-like grin did not falter, and she brought her hand to rest against his jaw, ceasing his movements when she brushed away a stray drop of wine from his lips. Marcus let out a sound of protest, but his words were muffled when her painted lips pressed softly to his. 

“Crassus,” she said suddenly and pulled back slowly from Marcus’s bewildered face, “you have yet to disappoint me, friend.” 

“W-w-wait—” Marcus tried to interject, but Vicinia was already rising to her feet and pulling him further into the room. “What do you call this one?” 

“Acacius.” 

“Acacius,” she echoed.

Marcus looked back at his Dominus, digging his heels into the intricate rug beneath his feet, but Crassus did not move from his spot to help him. 

“Peace, Acacius. There is nothing for you to fear,” Vicinia said sweetly from above. Her grip on his arm was far gentler than Crassus’s had been. The last thing Marcus saw before multiple pairs of hands, both calloused and soft, reached out from the darkness, was Crassus disappearing behind the door. 

Their voices were soft in his ears like a soothing lullaby. Their hands, feminine and masculine, pulled him further into the darkness. They were not like monsters that lingered in his nightmares, with sharpened claws and long, narrow teeth. He could not see their eyes, but their teeth gleamed through the darkness, stained in claret. Their breath on his skin reeked of sweet wine, and he hated the stench of it. 

“Peace, pretty boy. We’ll take good care of you.” 

Caracalla, grinning from ear to ear, was acutely tuned into what was taking place in the arena below. His brother, too distracted by his current vice, had not noticed Marcus’s distress, but the younger emperor took notice of it immediately. “Brother,” Caracalla said in a sickly, sing-songy tone. “Leave me be, Caracalla,” Geta clipped back, his words muffled as his lips were pressed against the juncture of the whore’s neck. Her nimble fingers threaded through the back of his brassy curls, giggling wildly when his teeth scraped her pulse point. Caracalla released an annoyed huff through his nose before he rose to his full height. His own whore was disinterested in the gladiators training, and she was far too busy observing her cuticles to notice that he was no longer at her side. He took a few confident steps to overlook the balcony, resting his gold-clad forearms against the stone railing. He peered down at the arena, paying no mind to a scuffle that broke out between four gladiators that had taken the training session a little too seriously.

“What a bunch of animals…” he chuckled in amusement to himself and raised his chalice of wine to his lips, taking a generous sip. He smacked his lips together and looked over in the direction of his praetorians standing by and awaiting his command. He contemplated his next decision only fleetingly and pushed his weight off of the railing, spinning around to face his guards directly. The glint in his eye was enough for them to read and understand what he would ask of them next, and they followed him wordlessly to the hidden stairwell behind the entrance of the viewing platform. Caracalla strolled right past his brother without the eldest emperor catching wind of his departure. Marcus and Cinna were still engaged in an intense conversation, and Marcus’s sword had yet to leave his side. His attention was drawn to the sudden circling of praetorians entering the arena. The sudden intrusion caught the attention of the rest of the gladiators who laid their swords down as quickly as they had been raised. Every one of them bowed in Caracalla’s presence, all but Marcus. Marcus could feel every hair on the back of his neck stand up when the group of praetorians parted in the middle revealing a smirking Caracalla to his eyes. He took a step back, fingers flexing along the hilt of his sword. “Acacius,” Caracalla said in an authoritative tone, his eyes filled with mirth. “Has my brother not yet taught you respect in the presence of your emperor?” he cocked a brow. Marcus’s lip curled upwards into a snarl, but despite his defiance, he reluctantly bowed. “That is better,” Caracalla chuckled and took a step towards him, stopping just under a foot away from him. “However, I'd much prefer you on your knees.” he snapped his fingers once, and two praetorians approached Marcus immediately. In truth, Marcus was not looking for a fight and had already begun to lower himself towards the ground when two pairs of hands forcefully shoved him down. His sword was wretched from his hand and tossed out of his reach. “You look quenched with thirst, Acacius,” Caracalla said with a wry grin. “How about some wine?” “I am not thirsty, your highness,” Marcus responded through gritted teeth. “No?” Caracalla walked closer, till he was towering above him. He raised his chalice of wine above his head and tipped it forwards, dumping the remaining contents directly over Marcus's head. Scarlet droplets coated Marcus’s cropped hair, dripped down the sides of his face, over his lips, neck and the crevices of his armor. The second he tasted the all too familiar sweetness on his tongue, he panicked. The stench was overwhelming and sent Marcus writhing in the praetorian's restraints. He yelled wildly, thrashing like a fish tangled in a fishing net, or a helpless rodent entangled in the coils of a snake.

Caracalla had not been expecting such a visceral reaction, that even he was left feeling stunned at the sight of Marcus reacting in such a crazed manner. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the viewing platform to already find his brother staring back at him in bewilderment. Caracalla snapped his fingers once more and the Praetorians released their hold on Marcus, but the damage was already done. “What is the meaning of this?!” Geta’s voice boomed through the arena, echoing loudly in Marcus’s ringing ears. He was no longer thrashing wildly, but his breaths were coming out in rapid puffs and a layer of perspiration coated his face and neck. “Just having a bit of fun is all, brother,” Caracalla responded with a biting grin. He crossed his arms over his chest at his brother’s fury-filled approach. When Geta was within arms reach of his kin, he raised his hand towards the heavens as if he was about to strike Caracalla’s painted cheek, but he refrained, remembering the role he had to play. “Get him some water!” He barked out an order to his own praetorians that stood in a protective circle around him. “Who would have thought that the ever-so great and brave Acacius could break so easily,”  Caracalla said in amusement under his breath. He brought his hands to rest behind his back, his smirk only intensifying when he locked eyes with a trembling, terrified Marcus. Geta shook his head, biting the soft flesh of his cheek to keep himself from stooping to his brother’s level. He crouched down in the sand so he was more level with him. The other gladiators, except Cinna, had dispersed. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Marcus said in a biting tone, barring his teeth. He reeked of wine, sweat and something– “Gods!” Caracalla cackled. “He’s pissed himself!” His jeering laugh sent Marcus’s cheeks burning, turning as scarlet as the droplets of wine that speckled his skin. “Cinna, is it?” Geta said suddenly, peering up at the man standing nearby. “Y-yes, your highness,” Cinna stuttered out, quickly bowing.

Geta nodded, turning his attention to his guards. “You will escort Acacaius and Cinna to the thermae. Allow them as much time as needed, and leave them both in privacy. He has been humiliated enough.”

“Yes, Caesar,” they responded in unison.

Caracalla pursed his lips into a tight line, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his brother’s softness. He turned his nose up in disgust at the stench of urine permeating the air. “Fucking freak,” He said under his breath, loud enough for Marcus to hear it. He turned swiftly on his heel and walked away from the scene as if it never happened. His praetorians trailed behind him obediently.

Marcus did not utter a cry of protest when the two guards on either side of him suddenly lifted him from the sand. Geta gave him a reassuring nod, one that was met with a blank stare of confusion. 

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[sweetimpurity]

I think I'll keep you:

c.ai bot drop

a/n (please read!): Hiya! I've been working on these bots for a little while, trying to make them stick to the story I've been writing all year. But it is an ai bot so I have no control over what it says or suggests past the greeting. It might not stick to the story exactly. If there's anything you think could be improved or information you think the bots should have about the plot, just message and let me know! I hope you guys have fun kiss kiss!! 😘🍬

These can all be found on my profile: sweetimpurity 💓

I think I'll keep you

Miguel has no interest in a relationship. He just saw you one day and then your tutoring hours posted on the cork board. He knew he had to have you for one night. You were surprised when the text came in from him, him of all people, asking for a session. But he quickly got you on your knees and then in his bed. This one night would turn into much more.

“Oh, god…” You pant and whine, your head leaning to the side to rest on his head.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good…” He curses through a heavy breath against your neck. A high pitched squeal escapes your throat as your back arches against his chest and it hits you hard and fast. Your squeals turn into cries of his name, how good he feels.

He doesn't know what's come over him. He doesn't form attachments like this. But there's something about you that makes him want to bring you pleasure over and over again.

You’re babbling and thrashing in his arms and Miguel smiles, finally getting what he wants. Hearing your sweet innocent voice whining out the dirtiest things. You're a soft warm mess as he chases his own release.

He holds you tightly against him as you both stop moving and start panting to catch your breath. You’re glad he’s still holding you because if he let go, you’d surely face plant into the mattress. Your head rests back on his shoulder and he places small kisses on your skin as he snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deep and sighing out in relief.

“Will you be mine?” He asks softly and kisses your cheek. “Mine only…” He whispers and his gaze meets yours when you lift your head, turning it so you can look in his eyes. His finger strokes your cheek softly and it’s like he’s looking at the sun. He can try to close his eyes but the memory of you will always be seared into his mind.

“I want to be yours…” You whisper and watch his eyes as they light up a bit, a grin playing on his reddened lips. “Good. I think I’ll keep you…” He smiles and holds your jaw in his hand, kissing your lips once more...

I think I'll keep you 2

You've been gone only three days and he's losing his mind. Everything was so good before you decided to go home for the weekend. Miguel had you every night he wanted, every morning too. Peter's party was supposed to be a distraction but it turned into a disaster. A drunken Dana all over him and he just wants to make her hate him if only to leave him alone. He doesn't want her. He wants you back to campus.

Not hearing from you for three days is making his head spin, and he can’t help but picture you with some guy that’s not him. He throws Dana on the bed, pulling her by the ankles and grabbing her face. Could she handle him if she tried? The answer is no.

“You really like to get on my nerves, don’t you?” He seethes. But even Dana loves the attention.

Ding!

His red hot rage is interrupted by his phone going off. His face softens and his heart skips a beat just like it did when you said you’d be his. He can’t control that feeling. Miguel picks up his phone, seeing your name pop up and his eyes dart around the screen reading it.

{{user}}: “Came back early :)”

“Coming now” He texts right back.

He sighs audibly, a mix of relief and frustration at the same time. “What is it?” Dana whines, sprawled out on his bed, getting her loud perfume all over his sheets where the smell of you should be. “Get out.” He demands, stepping back and going to put on his jacket again to go. “What?! Are you serious?” She scoffs, sitting up on his bed.

"Yes! GET OUT!!" He shouts, making her flinch. She scurries off, out of his dorm fighting back tears. He pulls the jacket on, pushing out of his room and marching his way over to your dorm.

I think I'll keep you 3

Miguel pushes off the wall, going to the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

You suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He told you, you were never supposed to happen for him. That what happened between you for an entire month was a mistake. To not let your messy feelings ruin everything. It’s been four days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

“I need to talk to you.” He speaks, towering over the table. Thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. And you gave him your body, your heart everyday for a month already.

“I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. He wants things back the way they were. He wants you back in his bed. He doesn’t know what he feels.

He walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets.

"{{user}}… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more. He can see your anger, he can feel it too.

“I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him.

“Well I’m talking to you…”

I think I'll keep you 4

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there.

“Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak-

“Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He feels like shit. Feels so bad for being so closed off and such a jerk to you about all of this. This past month hasn't been meaningless like he told you in the heat of the moment. It's meant something he just doesn't know how to say it. It's hard for him to put his feelings into words. For you it seems so easy, why can't he just be like you?

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information on the form.

I think I'll keep you 5

When the athletic door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is {{user}}… {{user}} this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” Peter asks you.

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

[ur-sick-and-married]

MORNINGS

(Julien Baker x reader)

TW: none!

SUMMARY: waking up with your girlfriend (:

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is short and probably bad, but I gotta give y’all a snack while I cook your meal, you know?

------------------------------------------------

You woke up to the feeling of kisses being planted on your neck, and a strong pair of arms wrapping around your waist. She tends to wake up first, then let you sleep until she gets bored, and eventually starts to coax you from your sleep.

“Julien?” You mumbled, waking up.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She whispered right in your ear. “Who else would it be?”

She chuckled as you rubbed your eyes. She was spooning you, her chin on your shoulder.

“You look so cute right now.” She hummed.

“I doubt that.” You muttered.

“You mad that I woke you?” She asked.

You peeked over your shoulder at her. With the sun from the window behind her, she looked so beautiful.

“I can’t be mad at you.” You said softly.

“Mmm…good.” She kissed your cheek.

She continued to hold you. It was hard to not go back to sleep.

“You’re so warm.” You whispered.

“You’re so soft.” She responded, running a hand down your thigh. “How do you get this soft?”

“It’s natural.” You teased.

“Oh.” She laughed.

You moved onto your back, and she nuzzled into your shoulder.

“How’d you sleep?” You asked as you played with her hair.

“Good.” She sighed. “Always good with you.”

“I miss this when you’re on tour…” You told her.

She had recently wrapped up a tour in London. It only lasted a few weeks, though it felt very long.

“I know, I do too.” She agreed. “But I’m here now, baby.”

You pulled her into a sweet kiss. She smiled against your lips. When you broke apart, she said, “I want coffee.”

“You can get some.” You giggled.

She did just that, but only after giving you another kiss. She came back shortly after with her favorite mug, and a beverage for you. You cuddled up again, savoring each other until you were ready to start the day.