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I hate how Colonel Caleb makes me want to behave.
Because inside I find myself going “Dignity? Never heard of her. You want something sir? Can I crawl on my hands and knees for you? Please let me put my head on your lap.
Feed me your gloved fingers.
Then your-”
Like hey now!!!
Hey….
Hey…
Don’t do that to me.
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impatiently waiting for new (alleged) Caleb myth while being 90% sure it’s gonna be a fricking rerun 😭
I literally did not spend on Rafayels birthday, i also ignored Xavier…….
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A/N: Back so soon? Yes! I know we are all still aggravated by last chapter. Pretty much everyone was like throw the family away lmao. And… fair enough! So now it is Xavier’s turn to crash out. Mindfully, demurely of course. Because this fic is a peaceful fic. So we will be classy even when it’s tough yeah????? And if you have great pattern recognition… you know what’s gonna happen in a few chapters down the line. I’m squealing harder!(also chapter 9,10,11 and 12 are FULLY written so…. rah)
Summary:
One morning you wake up and Xavier is in your room. In your reality. You fell asleep using the quality time feature.
He wants to go home.
You want to help.
His presence in your world is about to complicated your life, maybe uncomplicate it. You’re never truly sure. But what you know is, having a man you claimed was the love of your life and soul mate manifest like magic, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Will you face yourself and him?
Will he go back to his rightful reality?
Tags: Slow burn, mild hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, reverse isekai/transmigration, eventual romance, eventual smut, explicit language.
Love and Deepspace: Xavier
Chapter 8: Remember me before you?
When you make it downstairs, your find Xavier and Muffin in the kitchen, the smell of coffee already permeating the air. The cat is happily lying with her belly exposed as Xavier tickles her softly while sipping coffee leisurely. You immediately snatch the cup from his hand and start drinking it.
“Good morning, mmm this one is good. Which pod is this?”
“Good morning. You’re late today.”
“Argh I know. I hit snooze like three times. I don’t like Wednesdays.”
“I don’t know the name but it’s blue.”
“Hmm. It’s so good. Hiiiiiiii Muffin. Look at you looking so plump lately. Is Xavier spoiling you with the best treats ever?” he chuckles lightly, lifting her paw to make a waving motion at you.
“Hi mommy,” he says in his most tranquil voice that’s tinged with a little cuteness to mimick the cat if it could talk.
You choke on your coffee, placing the mug on the counter as you go into a coughing fit. You didn’t expect it, that’s why you’re so caught off guard. He didn’t mean it that way.
“Are you okay?” he sets the cat aside to reach out for you.
“Yes… wrong pipe….hold on,”
He soothes you with a hand on your back rubbing little circles.
You quickly change the subject.
Any plans today?”
“Just setting up my game profile,” Xavier had been meaning to have his own access to the game and cards. Weeks rolled by with him simply putting it off.
“Ohhh fun. Your MC is gonna be so divine. Save her QR, I have a few face tickets left and honestly… hell yeah,” trading off your boring face for femme Xavier was a hedonistic dream come true.
As you polish off your (stolen) coffee, already buried in your phone for work, Xavier suddenly has an inexplicable urge that has him sneak a photo of you on the avatar creation page.
The scan loads, rendering you animated. He looks for your eye colour, to his annoyance none of them are a match. So he just chooses the honey-gold iris on a whim. He tries looking for the mole on your face but his options are limited so he settles for the closest one. Then his entire body locks up.
He is looking at his MC. You. Her. In all your glory. He looks up from his phone as you put the empty mug in the sink. Your focus has shifted to leaving and beating the traffic rush.
“Later you two,” you call out while heading for door before he can even process what he is looking at.
It is you. It has always been you. He thinks back to that first night. You tried explaining it to him, he just didn’t really hear what you were saying at the time. His memories have been so fuzzy of late that seeing her in his mind’s eye felt like looking at a smudged lense.
He stares at his phone, feeling more emotion rushing through him than he has in such a long time. He had been more accepting of his situation of late. Having told himself that as long as he pressed forward, the answer would eventually reveal itself. He would be where he truly belonged. His existence here wasn’t so bad, that much he knew. He found so many things to like here. He liked being around you. He liked the cat. You trusted him to cook all kinds of meals. You trusted him with your home. Your friendship. Things he had to admit, he valued a great deal.
Many questions swim in his head.
For the first time ever, he reexamines his arrival here. So far, you both assumed it was something you accidentally did but… what if it wasn’t? Buried within the fog is the silent nagging feeling he had done something too.
Between the two of you he would have a better chance coming to you, given the resources he had in Linkon. So if you aren’t the trigger, that meant something vital in his memory was missing beside the fading story line.
Right now though, his mind didn’t care about who pulled who in and why. He can only look at your digital version. The phone shakes a little within his hold and he carefully puts it down. For the first time, he is forced to really think about you. More specifically, what does he really mean to you? You are not some abstract concept or an incomplete story line. He cannot keep pretending it is just another deepspace anomaly. You are far too real for that. Your world rich and so lived in, calling it a counterfeit feels like the worst form of blasphemy.
He looks at the new couch, slowly taking shape now that it has been released from the pressurised packaging. He thinks of the many good mornings and good nights shared. Soft-spoken and peaceful. Not once did he expect to wake up back in Linkon. Why is that?
Are you a kind host, taking pity on him and offering refuge so he doesn’t have to face a foreign world and time all alone? If you were always MC, did those stories, those moments, mean more to you than you let on?
He thinks back to that first night. When you returned home drunk off wine and upset he wanted to go home. You hadn’t behaved that way since. You’ve been more than supportive of his desire to go home and leave you behind. If he found a way now, would he take it? He looks at the face silently staring back at him.
Why didn’t he see it before? Did he not want to see it? Did he push it somewhere in the back of his mind? He never questioned how easy it was to just exist in your world and life. Proximity breeds familiarity. It is a simple enough principle. And you always treat him with soft hands and patient eyes. You look out for him. In that context, he can see why he is fond of you. Why wouldn’t he like being in a place that offers so much rest?
When you lecture him about the harshness of the sun, he always thinks that’s okay, he will adapt and get used to it eventually, is he meant to think that? Why is he looking forward to seeing what winter is like here?
When he goes down to the pet store to buy cat treats and toys for Muffin, why does he shove aside the thought that if he returns she will remain here with you. In his mind after all, there is three of you at all times. Why is it now, the very thought of waking up back home makes his stomach twist with something unpleasant?
The day slips through his fingers while he ponders so many things all at once. If he hadn’t created the profile, would he still think of these things on his own? Had he already been thinking about them?
You come home earlier than usual. Something you’ve been doing a lot these days. He wonders what would he do on a Sunday morning, instead of sitting with you learning basic phrases of your home language, or watching a historical documentary on the ties between jazz and political movements in the early eighties to nineties and the story of a young democracy and the building and what you called a slow collapse of the dream of a rainbow nation.
Or insist badly written and directed movies are also a vital part of pop culture and that even the worst plotlines are still entertaining enough.
“We honour the art by consuming it anyway. How else can you appreciate the good stuff if you don’t offend your sensibilities with the bad productions once in a while? And honestly, I have the ability to enjoy anything and everything. As long as i choose it.”
The days, like always melt away. Ebb and flow. You remain the same, even when he feels fundamentally changed. You are the anchor in a turbulent sea that keeps him from vanishing forever from the endless shores. You and your never ending anecdotes.
If he had to never hear you claim sugar is the universes apology for the inconvenience, would he be okay with that? If he leaves you now… would you remember his time here or would you forget him altogether?
“Are you okay?” Your question brings him back to the present.
“Uhm yeah. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? You look like someone told you the secrets of the universe and now you have PTSD. You wanna talk about it?” he has been spacing out a lot recently and you’re worried the effects of being away from his source might be detrimental.
“No. It’s alright. So what kind of movie do you wanna watch?”
“I am in the mood for something sweet and fluffy. So romance! Something slice of life preferably. I need to feel like I have a heart you know.”
“You do.”
“Yeah yeah. I mean like when I was younger and I got kissed in the rain for the first time. Just…. Warm.”
Xavier scrunches his face a little.
“Who kissed you in the rain?”
“How on earth would I remember their name? I had a lot of gin that night.” You smile at yourself at the memory of carefree days gone past. It was so easy to manufacture magic on a whim back then.
“Why are your memories always so fuzzy?” Xavier shakes his head before giving you a dramatic sigh that makes you chuckle.
“Well excuse me for having unhealthy coping skills and a love for revelry in my youth.”
“What do you do to cope now?”
“The same thing except maybe I am not kissing strangers or willingly giving myself headaches the next day. I just do it in increments. Like a lady! And chocolate is amazing. I’m easier to please now.” you also drown in work until you go numb but… semantics.
The air is warm and salty, heavy with humidity and sea breeze. The nights are starting to chill only just a little, smelling like turned soil, crackling fire and bitter wine. What did Linkon smell like? Or Philos? Or the palace? What did anything that anyone else could pick apart like roadkill and deliver the analysis of his essence look like anymore?
If he wasn’t prewritten, how was he different? He thinks that day he confessed to losing his scripted life. You were so sure, he would find his way regardless wherever he goes. Why couldn’t you ask him to choose you? He didn’t say he never even thought of leaving. Not once.
The similarities ended with appearance. Everything else was uniquely yours. And despite that, his fondest memories suddenly belonged with your real face on them. Your correct colour eyes. Your mole on the exact spot. What was happening to him? So many suns that rose and fell, and all it took was a moment. A collection. You were deadly because you were quiet.
He wishes he was confused. He wishes it wasn’t such an obvious decision. He wishes he could struggle, the same way one does trying to break in new shoes. Yet, that’s not what’s happening.
The scent of his constant cooking clings to your kitchen. He can pick up your fragrance mingling with the vast air of an equally vast home. Your soft laughter, stuffed in crevices of high walls that he looks forward to hearing when the day’s end arrives.
You…
Are his most dearest friend. Right?
Of course he would notice these little things about you. You knew everything there was to know about him, and you promised equivalent exchange so the scales could be fairly balanced.
If he were to go now, would he leave behind a brief moment that you could recall with some warmth? Like a youthful kiss shared in the rain? Would that be a reality he can be okay with?
@librarydame @whmnx @jamaicanqueen007 @nisosch @smeetywerben @beaconsxd @diaflower
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Subject March 18 — Clay Everywhere
I’m beginning to suspect you chose pottery on purpose.
Not because you’re particularly passionate about ceramics. Not because you’ve secretly dreamed of shaping elegant bowls and delicate vases.
But because you knew it would make a mess.
The studio smelled like wet clay the moment we walked in. Rows of pottery wheels, shelves of half-finished pieces, instructors walking around pretending they weren’t used to beginners immediately losing control of spinning mud.
You looked entirely too excited about it.
“Relax,” you told me when I hesitated in front of the wheel. “It’s just clay.”
You say things like that as if they don’t inevitably turn into chaos when you’re involved.
Still, I sat down.
The instructor explained the basics while you watched with the focus of someone pretending to behave. The moment they walked away, you leaned closer to your wheel like you were about to master it immediately.
You didn’t.
Neither did I.
For the first few minutes it was surprisingly quiet — both of us trying to center the clay without collapsing it. Your brow furrowed in concentration, fingers carefully adjusting the shape while the wheel spun beneath them.
Then your clay wobbled.
You made a small sound of frustration.
I glanced over to see you trying to rescue what used to be a bowl and now looked more like a very confused cylinder.
“You’re judging me,” you said without looking up.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
I probably was.
A few seconds later you flicked a tiny bit of clay in my direction.
It landed on my sleeve.
You froze.
Then you smiled.
That was the beginning of the end.
Within minutes we were both laughing while trying to salvage the pieces in front of us. At some point you leaned closer to look at what I’d made, your shoulder brushing mine.
“What is that supposed to be?” you asked.
“A mug,” I answered calmly.
You tilted your head.
“It looks like a bowl that gave up halfway.”
I narrowed my eyes at you.
“Careful, pipsqueak.”
You grinned and went back to your wheel.
Eventually, with a little help from the instructor, you managed to form something recognizable. A small bowl — slightly uneven, but undeniably yours.
You looked proud of it.
Later, when we washed the clay from our hands at the sink, you nudged my arm lightly.
“We should come back,” you said.
I glanced at the mess on both of our sleeves.
“You mean after today’s disaster?”
You nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
I looked at you for a moment before answering.
Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about the pottery anymore.
Just the way you were smiling.
“Alright,” I said finally. “But next time you’re not allowed to start a clay war.”
You didn’t promise that.
Which tells me exactly how the next visit will go.
— 30 minutes later —
I blame you for what happened at the pottery studio today.
Completely.
We were doing reasonably well for a while. You had stopped trying to weaponize the clay, and I had managed to shape something that could pass as a mug if someone squinted generously.
Things were calm.
Then the studio radio switched songs.
I didn’t notice it at first. Just some quiet guitar in the background while the wheels spun and people worked on their pieces. But you did.
You always notice music faster than I do.
A few seconds later you tilted your head slightly, listening, and then you looked at me with that suspiciously pleased expression.
“You like this song,” you said.
I kept working the clay between my hands.
“I didn’t say that.”
You leaned closer over the edge of the wheel, watching my face like you were waiting for proof.
“You’re humming.”
I wasn’t aware of it until you pointed it out.
Apparently the song had slipped into my head without permission, because there I was, quietly humming along while trying to keep the clay centered.
You looked entirely delighted by this discovery.
“Keep going,” you said.
“No.”
You rested your elbows on the table and stared at me expectantly.
“Come on,” you insisted. “You know the words.”
I definitely should not have agreed.
But something about the moment — the spinning wheels, the smell of wet clay, the ridiculous amount of concentration you were putting into watching me — made it impossible to refuse.
So I sang a little.
Very quietly.
Just a few lines while I guided your hands back to the clay when your bowl started wobbling again.
You were supposed to be focusing on the pottery.
Instead you were watching me like this was the most entertaining thing you’d seen all day.
“Pipsqueak,” I muttered after a moment, “your bowl is collapsing.”
You looked down and gasped dramatically as the clay slumped sideways.
I had to reach over and steady your hands, guiding them back into place while the wheel spun under our fingers.
“You distracted me,” you accused.
“You asked me to sing.”
You didn’t deny that.
Instead you leaned closer, shoulder pressing against mine while I helped you reshape the sides of the bowl.
The song kept playing in the background.
I caught you smiling to yourself while we worked.
And I realized something slightly unfair.
You didn’t just want to hear me sing.
You wanted proof that I was relaxed enough to do something ridiculous in public.
Unfortunately for me… you succeeded.
But for the record, if anyone asks, I was not singing.
I was simply… humming with enthusiasm.
—Caleb
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So. Ya girl had 1 (one) day of 60°F weather recently and it got me thing of warm weather activities and what is the vibe on Pirate!MC x Merman/Siren!Rafayel? Might have some ideas cooking
Pirate!Mc x Merman/Siren/Sea God!Rafayel?
HELL YEAH GIMME
good vibes
no interest
only if plenty of angst
only if fluff
neutral
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I never bothered too much with the house update until now and omgg look at my shaylas cuddling on the couch oughhhh CALEB WHY AREN’T YOU REAL 😭😭😭
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eek
ive been playing the house feature a lot recently and i have been enjoying decorating (not so much my overheating phone LMFAO) but here are some habits I’ve picked up on Caleb:
- Most of the time he is in my little book nook tucked under the stairs reading! If not, he’ll be on his phone for work. Maybe I should build him an office :3
- He works out A LOT. I remember logging onto the home and hearing grunting noises coming from the exercise room ;-; AHAHAHAHAH and he was doing his plank
- HE DRINKS A LOT. Ever since I installed the bar, he’s been mixing up drinks for himself TwT
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I had too much fun with this pose. Is it just me or this pose has a tendecy to feel kinda spicy hahahaha 🫠👌
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So I just got to 04-03 in Love and Deepspace (I’ve been playing it for about a week now, it’s p good so far) and uh
WHAT THE FUCK
Answer
There is a final chapter planned, life’s just been busy 😮💨😮💨😮💨😮💨😮💨😮💨😮💨
I’ll get to it at some point, thanks for dropping in.
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Caleb x Non MC
TW: minor character death, trust issues, abandonment issues, body dysphoria, suicidal thoughts, depression, self-doubt, self-hatred, past child abuse, past abuse, past domestic abuse, past trauma, past violence, angst, light fluff
Summary:
The love of his life died in a tragic accident…
She has been through hell at the hands of someone she thought loved her…
It takes them coming together at the most inopportune time to heal the wounds others left behind.
Warnings: PLEASE pay attention to the trigger warnings if you choose to read this fic. There is angst, there is light smut & there will be a happy ending.
Lyrics the mean something:
And nobody told me I’d be begging for relief
When what is silent to you feels like it’s screaming to me
Well, nobody told me I’d get tired of myself
When it all looks like heaven, but it feels like hell
-Sleep Token
Word count: 4,867
Ongoing
Chapter 1: Roses
Hayley
“Hayleyyyy, do you know what day it is?”
I rolled my eyes and looked up at my best friend standing in the doorway of my office. “It’s the 9th, Sadie. It’s a day that happens around the same time every month without fail.”
“Shut up, nerd. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
She walked into the room and perched on the edge of my desk, crossing her arms over her ample chest and staring at me in a way that made me sigh.
I knew where this conversation was heading, but I decided to ignore her, hoping she would get the hint and let it go, but as always, she chose to be annoying and started popping her gum… which was something she knew I hated, but I refused to acknowledge her and kept my focus on the screen in front of me.
She sighed loudly. “Cut the innocent act, Hay. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I gritted my teeth, still refusing to look at her as I put in a note to order more orange roses, sunflowers and chrysanthemums since Thanksgiving was in a few weeks, and people tended to love those for their table arrangements.
“I’m not asking him out. End of discussion.”
“You are so stubborn,” she whined, her expression one of exaggerated frustration. “Why not? He’s gorgeous. If I wasn’t married, I’d ask him out, but such is life… sooooo…. ask him out!”
I rolled my eyes again, finally looking up at her, and barely resisting the urge to bash her over the head with the vase of lilies sitting on my desk.
“I’m not having this conversation again.”
“Pleeeeeease?” she pleaded, folding her hands under her chin and pouting with the puppy-dog eyes that worked on everyone but me.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I leaned back in my chair, fixing her with a glare, “Did you ever stop to think that he’s probably already seeing someone? Or married? Or possibly mourning someone?”
“Oh, come on!” she said, rolling her eyes. “You can’t keep using those as excuses forever. You know damn well he’s not seeing anyone. And he’s not married. The man isn’t wearing a ring.”
“Okay, you have a point about the ring, but you can’t possibly know if he lost someone or not,” I shot back. “I mean… he never smiles, never talks to anyone, and always looks sad. He’s been coming in here on the 9th of every month for a little over a year and always buys a dozen white roses. If that doesn’t scream mourning someone, I don’t know what will.”
“You’re looking too much into it,” she argued stubbornly. “So what if he doesn’t smile? Maybe he’s just not a smiley person. And the white roses could mean anything. They could be for his mother, a friend… even his cat. You don’t know for sure he’s buying them for a deceased spouse.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing I could get it through her thick skull.
“Sadie, use some common sense. If he was buying roses for his mother, wouldn’t he be buying red roses? Or yellow for a friend? And… a cat? What the hell?”
“Noooo,” she replied, her tone dripping with certainty. “Red and yellow roses are so cliché. Maybe he wants to be original.”
I let out a tired sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration then wincing when my fingers got caught in the mess of brown curls.
“Original, my ass,” I said warily, huffing when a few strands of hair came with my fingers when I finally got them untangled from the bun I had forgotten my hair was in. “White roses symbolize purity, innocence, and grief. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the symbolism is there.”
“Orrrr,” she countered, a sly smirk spreading across her face. “He’s a brooding, mysterious bad boy who comes in here to buy those roses as a cover up.”
I couldn’t help but scoff at that suggestion.
“Oh, yes, that’s definitely it. He’s a tortured soul, just waiting for some ditzy, little flower store owner to sweep him off his feet.”
“Hayley…” She gave me that same look she always did when I talked like that.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m just being realistic. I know I'm… not everyone’s cup of tea.”
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going.
She didn’t like the way I saw myself, but I knew the truth… I was a twenty-four-year-old, single flower shop owner with a morbid past that had left scars on my body and my soul. And with my wild curls, freckles that I hated, and my small slightly overweight 5’ frame, I was far from being anyone’s dream girl.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said softly. “You don’t see yourself the way everyone else does. You’re smart, sweet, beautiful… and you have those amazing green eyes…”
I scoffed, looking away as my cheeks heated in embarrassment.
“Yeah, my eyes. My one and only redeeming quality.”
“Hay, don’t do that,” she chided softly and leaned forward to touch my hand. “You’re more than just your eyes. You’re kind, loyal, caring-”
“Damaged.”
Silence fell between us, and I could sense that she was trying to find the right words to say, but no matter what she said it wouldn’t change the fact that I was…
“Damaged…” I murmured to myself, my mind running through a thousand different reasons why it was an accurate word that could be used to describe me.
It was a word that described the verbal and emotional abuse at the hands of my mother, the bullying I suffered because of my weight and how I looked all through my school years, when I thought about finding my first love in bed with another woman, what happened to me at the hands of someone I thought loved me, and… a word that was whispered whenever someone saw the scars that person had left behind.
“Broken…” I whispered.
Another word to describe how the thoughtless words and actions of others had affected me and left behind the mental scars, the unconscious triggers and the memories that never went away no matter how good of a mask I put on to fool the world.
Trauma, pain, and loss… no matter what I did, no matter what I said, the past would always cling to me and follow me around like a silent ghost hovering in my peripheral vision just begging for attention.
“We’re all damaged and broken in some way, babe,” Sadie said softly, her thumb tracing a pattern over my knuckles. “But that doesn’t make you any less deserving of love.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
I knew deep down that she was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn’t shake that feeling of inadequacy that had been a constant companion for years… the one that told me I wasn’t and never would be enough.
It was hard to imagine that someone would want to deal with the messy package that I came wrapped in… so I had stopped trying. It wasn’t worth the trouble, especially since my past sometimes came back to haunt me when I least expected it in the form of nightmares and aches and pains from broken bones and scars.
“You don’t understand-”
“Why?” She cut me off, suddenly reaching out and grabbing my chin. “Because I don’t have a shitty past… because my parents love me? Because I’m married to an amazing man and don’t have scars to prove how strong I am? Because I don’t get how you can be so damn beautiful but can’t see it? Or-”
“Sadie,” I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended. “Stop it. You’re being ridicul-”
“No, you’re being ridiculous,” she retorted. “You’re letting your past define you. You’re letting it control you, and you don’t even try to fight it.”
“It’s not that easy,” I muttered, pulling my chin out of her grip.
“Not easy?” she echoed. “It is easy. You just don’t want it badly enough.”
“Are you telling me that I don’t want to be happy?”
I was getting frustrated now, anger bubbling just beneath the surface as her words stung. I hated talking about my past and her insistence on trying to fix me felt like an attack.
“No,” she said, softening some. “I’m saying that you’ve given up. You’re scared, and you’re using your past as an excuse to stay in this safe little bubble and not let anyone get too close. You’re scared of getting hurt again.”
Once again, she had hit the nail on the head, and it made me angrier than I wanted to admit.
I was terrified of opening up, of trusting someone enough to let them in… to let them see the real me. I had let the wrong people in time and time again, and every time it had ended in disaster, and once almost my death.
“Why does this matter so much to you?” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice steady even as my eyes flooded with tears.
“Because I care about you,” she replied, her tone gentler now. “You’re my best friend, and I can’t stand sitting back and watching you keep pushing everyone away. You deserve to be happy, babe. You deserve to find someone that will love you for you.”
The words made the tears spill over, and I looked away, unable to hold back any longer.
It was true that I tried to keep a distance, to keep my heart locked away, but it was exhausting.
Sometimes… I wanted to believe that I could have something like what she had with her husband. Someone who loved and accepted me for me, scars and all, but that just wasn’t in my cards no matter how much I craved it.
Before either of us could say anything else, the bell over the front door chimed, signaling that there was another customer in the store. I silently thanked whoever it was for interrupting because I could feel my emotions starting to bubble up, my insecurities threatening to spill over, and I needed a moment to gather myself.
“I’ll go see who it is,” Sadie said, clearly sensing my need for a moment alone. “Maybe it’s your mystery man.”
“He’s not my anything,” I shot back, wiping at the tears on my cheeks. “He’s just a customer.”
She rolled her eyes in response. “Keep telling yourself that, Hay.”
I huffed at her with an eyeroll of my own, “Just… go help whoever that is and stop annoying me.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
She patted my hand with a knowing look before heading out of the office to the front of the shop. I took advantage of the few moments alone to collect myself and take a few deep breaths.
I hated having these conversations with her. She knew exactly how to push my buttons and get me worked up, and it never failed to bring up old memories and bad feelings.
Sighing, I organized the paperwork on my desk and tried to refocus on the inventory log, but my thoughts were racing, swirling with a mix of emotions that I had been trying to keep suppressed for far too long… on the customer currently in my shop.
Was it the man who bought the white roses once a month or was it someone else? And why did it even matter? It never had before… until recently.
It was stupid to get so worked up over something so trivial as a customer coming into my store, but for some reason, this particular man had always made my heart race.
At first, I had been able to ignore it, always telling myself I was better off alone than chancing another failed relationship… until two months ago, when our eyes had briefly met for the first time while he waited for Sadie to wrap his roses.
The moment had been brief, barely even a second, but it lingered in my mind.
His purple gaze had held so much sadness and pain that it had made my heart skip a beat… because it was like I was seeing myself reflected in someone else’s eyes.
For days afterwards, he had been on my mind along with a dozen questions… the most prevalent ones being… what could have happened to make him so sad? To cause so much pain? And who were the roses for if they weren’t for a deceased loved one?
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as if I could physically shake the thoughts out. “It doesn’t matter. It never has, never will… he’s just a customer. That’s all. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t matter. It never has…”
I repeated that mantra in my head a few times before finally giving up on getting anything else done on the computer. There were things that needed to be done out in the shop, such as sweeping up fallen leaves and petals, organizing and restocking, that would occupy my mind… and keep me from having to interact with him when he arrived because he would… he always did.
I stood up, shoved the unwanted feelings down, took another calming breath and put on my best professional face as I stepped out of my office and into the small, but well-organized flower shop I had owned for six years.
Roses & Thorns was cozy and homey.
There were a few tables with displays showing different flower arrangements near the windows as well as premade bouquets in buckets. Several buckets and baskets with loose, freshly cut flowers lined the middle isle waiting for someone to pick them up and create their own unique masterpieces.
The walls were a warm cream color, the counter a vibrant dark turquoise with a white marble top and the front of the store had large floor to ceiling windows that let in the sunlight.
This place had become my home over the years, the one place where I felt totally safe from my past, and for a moment, a sense of peace washed over me, my mind finally quieting, as if the chaos of the outside world couldn’t reach this place of refuge.
The scent of roses, lilies, and sweet pea mingled in the air, a soothing scent to calm my nerves.
A small smile curved my lips as I walked towards the tables and started organizing and setting things to right.
The door chimed again, signaling the arrival of another customer.
I could sense that it was him without even looking, and for the first time ever I had to fight the urge to turn around and watch him as he headed towards the refrigerator where the roses were.
Instead, I bent down and retrieved a few trampled lilies off the floor and placed them on the table in front of me to throw away later and continued sorting the flowers in front of me.
A soft clearing of a throat came from behind me as I was putting a sprig of baby’s breath back in the correct place, startling me so badly I jumped, bumping my head on one of the hanging ferns I had lining the middle of my store and sending it swinging wildly.
I winced, reaching up to rub my head as a large hand shot past me and grabbed the edge of the fern just in time as it swung towards my face.
“Careful,” a deep voice said softly, and my hand froze against my head as I recognized it.
I swallowed and slowly straightened up, trying to calm the sudden flutter in my chest as I turned to face him and looked up… and up some more.
He was tall and built just like I remembered, even more so up close.
Broad shoulders, muscular arms, a toned torso and tapered hips… everything about him screamed strength and power.
“You alright?” he asked, his deep purple gaze flicking to my head.
I dropped my hand like it was burning and nodded.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but I could hear the slight squeak in my voice.
His hand lingered on the edge of the fern for a moment longer as if he wasn’t sure if he should let go or not, his gaze searching my face as if cataloging every freckle to make sure I really was fine.
“You didn’t hurt yourself?” he asked.
“I’m fine, really,” I assured him, taking a step back and brushing my hair out of my face. “Just a little clumsy sometimes.”
Something flickered across his face at that… a shadow of a smile perhaps, or maybe just a trick of the light… but whatever it was sent a small flutter through my chest.
“If you say so,” he said softly. With one last look at my head, he let go of the fern… watching it swing gently for a moment before pulling his gaze back to me.
I fidgeted nervously with the baby’s breath in my hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious in my white T-shirt, jeans that were ripped at the knees and almost as battered as the old pair of Converse on my feet, and the dark green apron with the store’s logo on the chest.
And the longer he stared, the more that little voice in the back of my mind whispered at me to cover myself… to cover my ample curves and hide from him. That he was probably silently judging me, just like everyone else did as soon as they saw me.
Judging my weight, my hair, my freckles, my scars… judging all of me.
But whatever he was thinking was wrong… he knew nothing about me except that I was the owner of the little flower shop he frequented, that I was clumsy and had no fashion sense.
He didn’t need to know anything else…
I fidgeted again, placing the flower in the correct basket and shifting my weight from foot to foot before I finally broke the silence.
“Is… is something wrong?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual despite the nerves dancing in my stomach.
“No…” His response was quiet, almost as if he had been too lost in thought to realize he had been staring. He shook his head, pulling his gaze away from me, and I could feel some of the tension leave my shoulders.
It was silly, really, for me to assume he was judging me… he didn’t know me, and why would he care enough about the random stranger he bought flowers from enough to judge her? He was just here to buy his roses and leave like he always did… nothing more.
His eyes flicked to the cooler behind me then back to mine as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the dark jeans he was wearing.
“Do you not have any… white roses today?”
I nodded as I gestured to the cooler and the selection of red, yellow, pink and white roses sitting neatly in their buckets.
“Yes, some were delivered this morning. I put them in…” My voice trailed off as I turned to look at the refrigerator and noticed that the dozens of white roses were no longer there.
That was… odd. I had put them in there myself less than two hours ago because I knew he would be in today to buy some so there was no way they were sold out already.
So… where were they? And more importantly, who took them?
“That’s strange,” I murmured, confusion filling my mind as I took a step towards the cooler.
As far as I knew, no one had bought that many roses in a single purchase… ever… unless there was a wedding or another event planned, and no one had ever booked my store for something like that so that wasn’t it… so where in the hell were they?
“There were five dozen in there just a few hours ago.”
It was his turn to frown now as he looked over my shoulder at the five empty rows in the middle of the cooler.
“Maybe someone bought them and left already,” he suggested.
“But they were all new inventory,” I insisted, still trying to wrap my head around their sudden disappearance as I moved towards the register where Sadie was busy studying her nails.
“Sadie, did you sell all of the white roses?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
She looked up with an eyebrow raised.
“No… not a single one,” she said, her expression a little too innocent as she looked at the flowers in the cooler then at the man standing behind me. “Why?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but I stopped, the words dying in my throat as a realization dawned on me. She hadn’t sold them… she had taken them out of the cooler and hidden them so he would talk to me.
A low groan slipped from my lips.
A small part of me wanted to yell at her, to march behind the counter and strangle her because I had made it perfectly clear less than an hour ago I didn’t want her playing matchmaker… but the bigger part of me wanted to laugh.
Only Sadie would go so far as to take every white rose in the shop, hide them in the back room and expect us to talk.
“Damn it…” I muttered to myself, my voice low enough that neither of them heard me.
“Something wrong?”
The soft, low question drew my attention, and I turned to find him staring at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
I shook my head quickly and plastered a smile on my face, not wanting him to realize that my best friend was an idiot.
“No, sorry… everything is fine… um… Sadie, can I speak to you a moment, please?”
She looked between us again, her gaze lingering on my face for a moment before nodding. She stood up, shooting me a wink and a secretive smile before coming out from behind the counter, stopping right beside me.
“You need something?”
I was tempted to throttle her for this little stunt but knew she wouldn’t listen even if I shouted it from the rooftops.
There was no point in trying to argue because she was insistent on me talking to and going out with… the man currently watching us with a confused look on his face.
“In private,” I muttered before turning to look at him as I pushed Sadie in front of me towards my office. “Give us a few moments and I’ll see if I can’t find those roses for you.”
He nodded once, his expression thoughtful, and a small part of me was worried that he knew what was going on. The last thing I needed was him realizing my friend was acting like a meddlesome matchmaker who thought the two of us were destined to be together.
Once we were out of his sight, I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into my office before closing the door a little harder than I meant to.
“Damn it, Sadie! What were you thinking??” I hissed, fighting the urge to shout.
She shrugged, that same innocent smile on her face as she leaned against the wall and folded her arms.
“I was thinking that the two of you need to talk because watching you dance around each other is painful.”
“Is that why you stole the roses?” I shot back and crossed my own arms with an unimpressed glare. “Do you think that’s going to magically make us start talking to each other?”
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug, her smile never faltering. “Did it work?”
“No,” I answered bluntly, trying to keep my temper under control. “I looked like an idiot stumbling around trying to find them. You could have at least told me you moved them.”
“And ruin the surprise?” she asked as she pushed off the wall and walked towards the door. “Not a chance. Oh, stop being so mad… he finally talked to you.”
“No, he talked to me because you made him, not because he wanted to,” I leaned forward, grabbing her arm before she could open the door, and gave her another unimpressed look. “Sadie, seriously. Stop playing matchmaker.”
“I’m just trying to help,” she protested in a quiet voice, her smile fading as she pulled her arm free. “You haven’t dated anyone since… well, since him and it’s depressing. I just think you need… a little push.”
She meant well, I really believed that… she was just… misguided in her ways of trying to help. She didn’t seem to understand that I was happy with my solitude, with being alone. I didn’t need to date anyone, didn’t want to, not anymore, but she was stubborn to the point where I knew she wouldn’t listen even if I told her that.
“It doesn’t have to be a relationship,” she said as if sensing my thoughts. “I just want you to be happy, and I think being around him might help. You both seem like you could use a friend.”
“I’m not going to find happiness in a man, Sadie, no matter how much you want me to,” I said, and even just the thought made my chest ache. “I do get lonely but… I can’t do that again. It’s too much.”
“Not every man is like him, you know that… right?”
I winced, my heart twisting.
Of course not every man was like my ex, and I had to remind myself of that every. Single. Day. But the fear of opening up and trying again… of trusting someone enough to be vulnerable with them only to end up hurt again… it wasn’t something worth trying, no matter how beautiful I found the man currently waiting for us to get our heads out of our asses and find some lost roses.
“I know… I know that,” I said softly. “But… I’m happy with my life. I don’t need a man to be happy. I don’t need a relationship to feel complete. I’m okay, I promise. I have this shop and you, and that is enough for me.”
She was silent for a moment, studying me with a sad expression, and I could tell that she wanted to argue… to tell me that I was being stupid and that it was worth the risk because not everyone was like my ex, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a quiet knock followed by a deep voice from the other side of the door.
“Is everything alright in there?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” I called back, and I hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt.
Sadie glanced at the door then back at me, that same sad expression on her face as she let out a soft sigh.
“Just… think about it, okay? At least give him a chance. He seems like a good guy. You might be surprised.”
“I’ll think about it… I promise,” I said after a moment, knowing it was a lie. I wouldn’t think about dating the man on the other side of the door just like I hadn’t thought about any other man for years, but I also knew that my promise was what she needed to drop the subject.
She smiled, though it held traces of doubt, but she didn’t protest.
“Good, because I’ll bug you until you do.”
With that, she gave my hand a squeeze, then slipped out of the office and shut the door, leaving me to lean against the wall and rub my temples as she greeted him and told him she was sorry about the mix-up and would get his roses packaged quickly.
I let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off the tears that suddenly wanted to fall and trying to get a handle on my emotions once again.
I knew she was doing what she thought was right… to help me pick up the broken pieces that were me.
She had seen the pain and heartbreak I had been through after he had attempted to kill me one night when I had told him I was leaving after another argument had led to a broken nose and a split lip… had seen the way I closed myself off from the world after I had checked out of the hospital with three new scars on my left shoulder from the stab wounds…
She was always saying she wanted to help me find my joy again, but how could I tell her that my joy had been lost somewhere between the first time he hit me and when I woke up in the hospital with no recollection of how I had gotten there?
How could I tell her that I could never be the me that was happy?
How could I tell her that though I had seen it coming… he broke me, and it stills hurt…
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Rafayel, I think we need more photos in front of your desk, I’m not sure though… 🤔😅
Also, I just earned a new desk for him but it’s a pain change them out and put everything back on. 🫠
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Peaceful Devotion
LaDS. Soldier Caleb x Goddess Reader
Summary: Oftentimes, peace comes when you least expect it. Who knew a soldier and a goddess could find it in each other?
Word Count: 1,368
Tags: peace, fluff, blood and injury, healing, falling in love, AU, f!reader, cross-posted on AO3
a/n: Caleb fluff because the man deserves it, and don’t we all desire peace in such tumultuous times? (also, had to repost b/c this wouldn’t show up in tags)
dividers by @uzmacchiato
You are used to people kneeling before you.
[[MORE]]As the Goddess of Peace in a world of war, you are a vital deity for those who happen to get stuck in a crossfire they’d never asked for. The pleas and prayers you hear and answer often occur when the moon shows itself, when the world is unnaturally quiet due to slumber. When the sounds of gunfire and arrows and cries lull, your temple roars of requests.
Your immortality is a gift in the sense that you can answer all of their pleas. As best as you can, of course. There’s only so much you can control.
However, never has anybody stumbled upon your temple. While most pray wherever they are — war chooses no specific place to ruin — some find man-made temples to worship you in. Yet, none have found the spot in the forest where you live and answer their requests.
Until now.
You’re in the midst of polishing your pew when a man stumbles into your humble abode. He hasn’t appeared in the prayers you’ve received, nor has his voice blessed your ears before, but you immediately stand up to approach him.
“You’re injured,” you murmur as you carefully set him on the chaise next to your front door. The blood seeping out of his waist spills similarly to the waterfall near your home, and his grunts — oh, how pained they sound — are as loud as the chirps of the birds when they accidentally fly into a place their presence isn’t welcomed in.
The man holds onto his wound, his purple eyes showing themselves to you only when he has the strength to open them. You catch a glimpse of his fighting spirit as you work your magic, the glow from your fingertips closing the wound like it never existed. The only evidence of the occurrence is the gratitude in which he looks at you.
Seldom do you ever see that.
“T-thank you,” he murmurs. His eyes are beautiful.
You merely nod as though you hadn’t changed this man’s entire life.
“I, uh,” The man begins to stand, amazed at the fact that he could do so without grunting in pain. He reaches his hand out, and you eye it questioningly. “I’m Caleb.“
His voice is pleasant.
You tell him your name, and as soon as you do so, those violet eyes widen in surprise. It makes you laugh, the way he shakes as he attempts to figure out what to do. He bends down in a graceless attempt at bowing before eventually falling down on both knees.
“Goddess.” Caleb, a man of tall stature, looks up at you. The skirt of your baby blue dress touches him as if it wants to keep him here, yet you look down at him in utter disbelief.
“You can stand,” you offer.
But he stays on the ground with wishes that refuse to escape his lips.
The sight of your followers on their knees usually makes you emotional, for their prayers are of future grief that remains a present hope. There are many instances where you’ve answered pleas with tears in your eyes, wishing you were a more powerful force.
Yet, with this particular man, his pleas are neither hopeful nor grieving. They are grateful.
Placing your hands on Caleb’s shoulders, you usher him to stand, no words escaping either of you as you do so. “The temple is large enough,” you say. “Stay until you are ready to leave.”
But as he treads past you to look at his new resting place, he looks like he doesn’t plan to.
Caleb’s backstory reveals itself in scattered clues and unintentional surprises.
The morning after you healed him, he told you that he’s a soldier. Pride does not emanate from his voice, but rather a long-standing regret and the eyes of somebody lost in a world that has decided his fate. The wound may have disappeared under your touch, but no amount of gifts could remove the evident pain in his eyes.
That day, you vowed to do everything to make him feel better.
“Apples?” he asked when you offered him one from the trees that live around your temple. You notice the smile on his face as he takes a bite, the sheer rarity of it obvious by his hesitation, and it makes you want to plant multiple apple trees just to see it again and again.
When you found out he’s also a pilot on top of being a soldier, you carved a plane out of scraps of wood you found behind your temple. You were in the midst of creating the wings when he approached, and you felt like a lover caught in a fit of mischief. “What are you doing?” he asked curiously.
You can’t help but show him the unfinished surprise. “Carving a plane.”
“For?”
“For you, of course.”
Life seemed to fly afterwards: he offered to finish the plane as you ran through your devotees’ requests. Sneaking glances at the sheer focus on his eyes as peace takes over the space you two occupy. The domesticity of it doesn’t escape you, nor does your unsaid desire to keep this feeling forever.
Of course, Caleb found ways to surprise you too.
You caught him stitching a hole in one of your dresses. A nuisance you had forgotten about until then, it takes you by surprise that he’d even noticed.
When you asked about it, he said he learned how to stitch up wounds during war. The skill needed for survival turned into a skill used for devotion.
Another time, he draped you in a silk blanket as you planted flowers for the voices that stopped calling out to you. Whether their life was taken away from them or their lives have changed for the better, you don’t know, but you refuse to forget the connections you have built. Time and war cannot erode these flowers, their memories.
“You okay?” Caleb whispered in your ear as he stood next to you. You don’t miss the way his hand hovers above the small of your back, the way those damning eyes linger on your tearful face. You don’t miss the way your heart awakens, the way you fit into his arms as you let this soldier hold you as you fight the surge of emotions that want to erupt.
A goddess, held together by a mortal.
What a sight.
The silk blanket followed you to your bedchamber as he gently lulled you to sleep with the various stories he shared that night.
Now that you’re awake, occupied by those memories and the duties of a goddess, you hope that you could hear those stories again.
On this particular night, prayers are quieter.
The world outside your temple has been tranquil in a way that unsettles even the most protected soul. When one is used to the screams of birds, the sound of weapons, and abrupt changes in the way the planet spins, the sound of peace is uncomfortable.
As the river flows without the worries of fallen corpses, the man you have grown a liking to walks over to your bed. Caleb takes your hand — a gesture you’ve become accustomed to — and places it onto his face. The soldier who sought your help has found tranquility in your presence.
“My goddess,” he kneels before you again, and no amount of insistence makes him stand up, “You told me to stay until I’m ready to leave.”
The cold of the night seeps into your skin, piercing it with its uncertainty. “Is this your way of telling me you’re leaving?” You think of the flower you’re going to place in remembrance of him, the future grief existing with no present hope to coat it.
Fortunately for your heart, he shakes his head. “I’m actually going to stay.”
The flower dies as your heart awakens like it usually does when Caleb surprises you. You stand, gently lifting him up as you do so, and you let the songs of the nocturne guide the dance that you both gradually fall into.
Two entities — a mortal and a goddess — finding peace in one another as the world slowly follows suit.
What a sight.
a/n: I don’t even know where this idea came from, but my brain wouldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote it lol. I could’ve put Caleb on his knees more, but oh well.
Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are so, so appreciated, but if you leave a comment detailing your thoughts on this fic, you’ll have a special place in my heart <3
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