#green eyes that look like a field of grass 🥺

[bitchapalooza]

I don't careeeeee if Zoro canonically has gray eyes, he has green eyes to meeeeeee

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

omggg imagine marcus acacius teaching a reader, his wife how to ride a horse🥺❤️ and are on a horseback ride and having their spicy moments in the grass 🤤

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 6k | Proof read : NO | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Summary: see ask above

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage), p in v, Oral F and breeding

A/n: simple and sweet i hope you like it

Marcus had ridden you both out to a secluded field, far from the estate's bustling life. The sky stretched endlessly above, a deep cerulean canvas dotted with lazy clouds, and the sun bathed the rolling green hills in a golden glow. The rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves on the soft earth was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. You could feel the warmth of Marcus’s body pressed against your back, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he guided the horse with a practiced ease that you couldn't help but admire.

He slowed the horse to a gentle stop near a large oak tree that stood like a sentinel in the middle of the field. Its branches spread wide, casting dappled shadows on the ground, providing a perfect spot for what you assumed was a simple, tranquil picnic. But as Marcus dismounted and offered his hand to help you down, there was a gleam in his eyes that hinted at something more.

You accepted his hand, your feet touching the ground with a lightness that belied the nervous fluttering in your stomach. His touch was warm, and steady, and for a moment, you were reluctant to let go. He seemed to sense your hesitation, his grip lingering just a heartbeat longer before he finally released you.

“I thought we could do more than just eat,” Marcus said, his voice rich and low, carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. He began unpacking a basket that you hadn’t noticed before, revealing an assortment of your favorite foods, but he paused, his gaze lifting to meet yours with that same mischievous glint. “I’m going to teach you to ride properly today.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in plans. “I know how to ride,” you began, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips.

Marcus chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, stirring something inside you. “Do you now?” he teased, a smirk curling his lips. “Because if I remember correctly, the first time we met, you didn’t seem quite so confident in the saddle.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the time that had passed. “That wasn’t my fault,” you shot back, trying to sound indignant, though the embarrassment was evident in your voice. “I was being chased. I didn’t exactly have the luxury of a leisurely ride.”

Marcus’s smirk widened into a full grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah yes, fleeing from your own wedding. Quite the dramatic entrance, if I recall. You nearly gave those guards heart attacks.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest in a show of defiance. “I had to do something! I wasn’t going to just sit there and let them hand me over like some... some prize to be won.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “A prize, hmm? Is that how you saw it?”

You huffed, turning your gaze away to avoid the intensity of his stare. “You know what I mean. I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s bride, least of all yours.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted the harshness.

But Marcus didn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile softened, a hint of something warmer flickering in his eyes. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly, his tone more thoughtful now. “Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been terrified that day—terrified of the future, of the unknown, and of the man you had been promised to. But as you looked at Marcus now, the memory of his calm, reassuring presence in that chaotic moment surfaced. He hadn’t been the monster you’d imagined; he had been... kind. Even then, when you were just a terrified girl thrown from a horse, he had treated you with a gentleness that you hadn’t expected.

“You were different from what I imagined,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Marcus tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “And what did you imagine?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “I thought you’d be... cold, distant. Like everyone said you were.”

His expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “Everyone says a lot of things,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. “But you didn’t run from me that day because of what others said, did you?”

You met his gaze, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. There was something raw in his eyes, something that made your chest tighten. “I was scared,” you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “Not just of you, but of everything. It all felt like too much. Like I was losing control.”

Marcus’s gaze softened again, the edge in his eyes melting away as he took a step closer. “And now?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing. “Do you still feel that way?”

You swallowed hard, the sincerity in his question catching you off guard. The truth was, things had changed since that day. You had changed. The fear that had once driven you to flee had slowly been replaced by something else—something you weren’t entirely sure how to name yet. But it was there, simmering beneath the surface, growing stronger with every shared glance, every touch, every word.

“No,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like before.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Marcus’s face as if he had been waiting for that answer. “Good,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch was brief, almost fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten how you practically laughed at me when I fell,” you added, trying to inject some lightness back into the conversation.

Marcus’s grin returned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Laughed? I seem to remember being quite concerned for your well-being.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Because from where I was lying, it looked like you were struggling not to burst out laughing.”

He shrugged, not even bothering to hide his amusement now. “Perhaps I found your determination to ride a horse you clearly had no control over... endearing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Endearing? That’s what you call it?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his tone playful. “It’s not every day you see someone so fiercely determined to escape their own wedding. And on a horse, they could barely manage, no less. It was... impressive.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “Impressive? I nearly broke my neck!”

“But you didn’t,” Marcus pointed out, his smile widening. “And that, my dear, is the point. You took a risk, you fought for your freedom, and you survived. That’s more than most people can say.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard, and for a moment, the playful banter faded away, replaced by something deeper. Something real.

“Maybe,” you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. “But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Marcus’s expression softened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a warmth that made your heartache. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you don’t need anyone to tell you that.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the tension building once more. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of tension that made you want to run. It was the kind that made you want to stay, to see where this path might lead.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind. “I do need someone.”

Marcus's eyes bore into yours, the intensity of the moment making it feel like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. His breath was warm against your lips, his presence overwhelming, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heart echoing in your chest.

For a moment, it seemed as though time itself had stopped. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and emotions too powerful to name. He was so close, close enough that you could see the storm of emotions swirling in his gaze—desire, longing, something deeper that both thrilled and terrified you. You thought he might kiss you, and a part of you desperately wanted him to.

But then, just as the tension reached its peak, Marcus’s expression softened, the corners of his lips lifting into a small, knowing smile. The intensity in his eyes ebbed, replaced by a gentle warmth that eased the pressure in your chest.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” he said, his voice husky but laced with that familiar teasing tone, “we should probably eat something before the food gets cold.” He stepped back, breaking the spell, though his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer, a silent promise that this wasn’t over.

You blinked, trying to refocus as the world around you seemed to slowly come back into view. The wind rustled through the grass, the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the oak tree, and the scent of the picnic spread tickled your nose, reminding you of the meal Marcus had so carefully prepared.

It was a strange contrast—the almost overwhelming intimacy of the moment and the sudden return to something so mundane. But there was a comfort in it too, in the way Marcus shifted gears so effortlessly, guiding you through the ebb and flow of emotions as if he had always known exactly what you needed.

“Right,” you said, your voice a little breathless as you tried to regain your composure. “Food. Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

Marcus chuckled, the sound easing the lingering tension. “I thought you might agree,” he said, turning towards the picnic spread. He motioned for you to join him, and you couldn’t help but smile as you followed.

The blanket was spread out beneath the shade of the oak tree, the basket sitting beside it, filled with an assortment of delicious-looking foods. You marveled at the care Marcus had put into everything—the fresh bread, the ripe fruits, the selection of cheeses, and even a small bottle of your favorite wine. It was a simple meal, but it was perfect in its simplicity, a reflection of the thoughtfulness that had gone into planning this day.

You settled down on the blanket, and Marcus handed you a plate, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a familiar warmth coursing through you. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, passing food back and forth, sharing a quiet conversation that felt surprisingly natural given the charged moment you had just shared.

But even as you ate, there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a sense that this was merely an interlude before something more. Every time your hands touched, every time your eyes met, you could feel the tension building again, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

“So,” Marcus said, breaking the comfortable silence as he poured you a glass of wine, “after we eat, I’m going to teach you to ride properly.” There was that teasing glint in his eye again, the one that made your heart flutter. “No more dramatic escapes, just good, solid horsemanship.”

You laughed, taking the glass from him. “I think I can manage that,” you said, though there was a part of you that still felt nervous at the prospect. Riding had never been your strongest skill, and the memory of that first disastrous attempt still lingered in the back of your mind.

Marcus seemed to sense your hesitation because he reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his tone reassuring. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You won’t fall. And even if you do,” he added with a grin, “I’ll catch you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening a little. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” you teased, taking a sip of the wine.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s a gift,” he said lightly, but there was a sincerity beneath his words that you didn’t miss. Marcus had a way of making you feel safe, of grounding you even when the world seemed to spin out of control. It was a quality you had come to admire, though you hadn’t realized just how much until now.

The meal passed in a comfortable blend of laughter and light conversation, the earlier intensity replaced by a sense of camaraderie that felt both new and familiar. And yet, even as you enjoyed the food and the company, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between you and Marcus, something that had been building ever since that fateful day when you first met.

As the last of the food was cleared away and the wine glasses emptied, Marcus stood, extending a hand to help you up. “Ready for your lesson?” he asked a playful challenge in his voice.

Marcus's smile widened at your response, a mixture of pride and mischief dancing in his eyes as he led you toward the horse. The animal stood patiently, its dark coat gleaming in the afternoon sun, a gentle giant in stark contrast to the wild stallion you had once ridden in a desperate bid for freedom. There was a certain serenity to this horse, a calm that you found reassuring as you approached.

“First things first,” Marcus said, his tone taking on that authoritative edge that both irritated and intrigued you. He came to stand beside the horse, his hands resting on the saddle as he looked up at you. “Before you can ride, you need to understand the horse. It’s not just about controlling it; it’s about working with it.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re not going to give me a lecture, are you?” you teased, though you couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves in your stomach. Riding had never been your forte, and the memory of your last attempt still made your palms sweat.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a lecture, just some advice,” he said, his voice softening. He reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding it to the horse’s neck. “Feel that?” he asked, his hand resting over yours, guiding your movements. The warmth of the horse’s skin beneath your palm, the steady rise and fall of its breath—it was strangely soothing.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I do,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” Marcus said, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “That’s where it all starts. Trust the horse, and it will trust you. The rest will follow.”

His words were simple, but there was a depth to them that resonated with you. Trust. It was something you had always struggled with, something that had been difficult to come by in your life. But standing there, with Marcus’s hand over yours and the horse’s steady presence grounding you, it didn’t seem quite so impossible.

“Now,” Marcus continued, stepping back slightly to give you room, though his hand remained on your waist, a steadying force. “Let’s get you up there.”

With his guidance, you placed your foot in the stirrup and swung your leg over the horse’s back. It was an awkward motion, and you felt a momentary rush of panic as you wobbled, but Marcus was there, his hands steadying you, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm on your waist as you settled into the saddle. “You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of the horse beneath you, the strength of its muscles, the rhythmic motion of its breathing. Slowly, the panic ebbed, replaced by a tentative sense of confidence.

Marcus mounted behind you with an effortless grace that made you a little envious. His arms came around you, his hands gently taking hold of the reins, his body pressing against yours in a way that was both comforting and disarming.

“Now, hold the reins like this,” he instructed, guiding your hands to the proper position. His breath was warm against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he adjusted your grip. “Not too tight, but firm enough that the horse knows what you want.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words and not the intoxicating closeness of his body against yours. “Like this?” you asked, turning your head slightly to catch his eye.

“Perfect,” Marcus said, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill through you. “Now, give the horse a gentle nudge with your heels.”

You hesitated for a moment, then did as he instructed. The horse responded immediately, moving forward with a smooth, steady gait. You felt a surge of exhilaration as the ground began to pass beneath you, the wind teasing at your hair.

“There you go,” Marcus said, his voice filled with pride. “See? You’re doing it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a genuine, unguarded smile that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The feeling of control, of freedom, was intoxicating, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in it.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Marcus teased his tone light but laced with affection. “We’re just getting started.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture was more playful than annoyed. “Oh, please,” you shot back, your confidence growing with each passing moment. “I think I’ve got this under control.”

Marcus chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock skepticism. “Then let’s see how you handle this.”

Before you could respond, Marcus gently urged the horse into a trot, the sudden change in pace catching you off guard. You let out a surprised yelp, your hands tightening on the reins as you tried to adjust to the new rhythm.

“Easy,” Marcus said, his hands guiding yours, his body steadying you as the horse moved beneath you. “Don’t fight it. Just go with the flow.”

You took a deep breath, trying to relax as Marcus had instructed. The horse’s movements were more fluid than you had expected, and as you began to match its rhythm, the initial panic started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of control.

“That’s it,” Marcus murmured, his voice a soothing presence in your ear. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at his words, though you tried to hide it. “I told you I could do it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though the excitement was evident in your voice.

Marcus laughed, the sound warm and full of affection. “I never doubted you,” he said, his tone sincere. “But it’s nice to see you proving me right.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, your bodies moving in sync with the horse’s steady gait. The sun was warm on your skin, the scent of wildflowers filling the air as you rode through the field. There was a peacefulness to the moment, a sense of connection that went beyond words.

“Marcus,” you said after a while, your voice soft as you turned your head slightly to look at him. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, his eyes warm as he met your gaze. “For what?”

“For this,” you said, gesturing to the scene around you. “For teaching me, for... everything.”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes softening with affection. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You’ve always been stronger than you think, and it’s an honor to help you see that.”

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a deep, abiding affection that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now. “You know,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice, “for a man who was supposed to be this cold, distant lord, you’re actually quite sweet.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. “Sweet, am I? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Flattered,” you said, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. “Definitely flattered.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Well, I’m glad to know you think so,” he said, his voice softening. “But don’t get too used to it. I still have to maintain my reputation, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, though there was a smile on your lips. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft.”

Marcus’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perish the thought.”

The two of you rode in comfortable silence for a while longer, the horse’s steady gait lulling you into a sense of peace. But as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field, Marcus gently pulled the horse to a stop.

“You’ve done well,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I think you’re ready to ride on your own.”

You looked at him, a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach. “Really?”

He nodded, his smile reassuring. “Really. But first...” He reached out, his hands settling on your waist as he effortlessly lifted you off the horse and onto the soft blanket of grass below. The sudden movement caught you off guard, and you let out a surprised laugh as you landed with a soft thud.

“Marcus!” you exclaimed, trying to sound indignant, but the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He grinned, dismounting and joining you on the blanket, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What?” he asked innocently, though the playful glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He shrugged, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his hands finding their way to your waist once more. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “but you seem to like me that way.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat as Marcus’s hands slid up your sides, his touch light but deliberate. The playful atmosphere shifted, the air around you thickening with anticipation as his gaze locked onto yours.

“And besides,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’m hungry for more than just food.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sent a thrill through you. There was a heat in his gaze, a hunger that matched the fire burning in your own veins.

Before you could respond, Marcus closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of warmth and desire.

As Marcus's lips moved against yours, the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the heat of his body pressed against yours, the roughness of his hands as they traced the curves of your figure. The slow burn of desire between you was almost unbearable, every touch, every kiss stoking the flames higher, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

His fingers deftly untied the laces of your tunic, not tearing it away, but easing it open, just enough for his lips to find the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He kissed you there, slow and deliberate, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine. You arched into him, your breath catching as his tongue traced the line of your throat, his mouth trailing down to the hollow at the base of your neck, where he placed a soft, lingering kiss. The sensation sent a ripple of warmth through you, pooling low in your belly as his hands slid beneath the fabric, palms warm against the bare skin of your waist.

You could feel the roughness of the grass beneath you as the blanket shifted, the cool breeze whispering over your exposed skin, but all that registered was the heat of Marcus’s touch, the way his hands moved over you with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his gaze. He shifted, his body pressing you down into the earth, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded you even as his lips and hands drove you to the edge of control.

He moved slowly, almost reverently, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast, his breath hot against your skin. His hands slid lower, pushing up the fabric of your skirt, exposing more of your thighs to the cool night air. But where the breeze should have chilled you, all you felt was the searing heat of Marcus's touch as he explored every inch of you with deliberate care.

You shivered, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as his mouth found the curve of your breast. He took his time, teasing you with slow, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, make you writhe beneath him. His hands followed the path his lips had taken, sliding over your ribs, down your sides, until they found the edge of your undergarments.

He paused there, his fingers toying with the delicate fabric, as if savoring the moment, the anticipation. You could feel the tension building between you, the need for more, but Marcus seemed in no hurry. He lifted his head, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, the world held its breath. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—a tenderness that made your heartache, that made the slow burn between you all the more intense.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint, his hands stilling on your hips as if giving you one last chance to pull away.

You nodded, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. Instead, you reached for him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, drawing him down to you for another kiss. This one was different—slower, deeper, a promise of everything you wanted, everything you were willing to give.

He groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a sensual dance that left you dizzy with want. Slowly, achingly slowly, he began to pull your undergarments down, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The fabric slipped away, and you felt the cool air against your bare skin for just a moment before Marcus’s hand was there, his touch warm, almost reverent as he traced the line of your thigh. He moved with agonizing slowness, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh, making you squirm, making you ache with need.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as you clung to him, desperate for more, for the release you knew only he could give.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you, making your skin tingle with anticipation. “Patience, love,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid higher, teasing the edge of your desire. “I want to take my time with you.”

His fingers brushed against your center, a light, teasing touch that made you gasp, and made your hips lift off the ground in search of more. But Marcus was in control, his touch maddeningly gentle as he explored you, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had you teetering on the edge of sanity.

You were trembling now, your body taut with tension, every nerve ending on fire as he played you like a finely tuned instrument. His thumb found your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for release.

But Marcus wasn’t finished with you yet. He shifted, his body pressing against yours, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the heat of his arousal seeping through the thin fabric of his trousers. The knowledge of how much he wanted you, how much he was holding back, only heightened your own need, making the slow burn of his touch all the more unbearable.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, your body trembling with the force of your desire. “Marcus, please…”

He let out a low growl, his self-control fraying as he pulled back just enough to remove the last barriers between you. The cool air was a shock against your heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the jolt of pleasure that shot through you as Marcus finally, finally, pressed against you, the hard length of him sliding between your thighs, teasing your entrance.

He didn’t move right away, just held you there, his body trembling with the effort of restraint as he looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough with emotion, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to maintain control.

“I want you,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his back, your nails biting into his skin as you pulled him closer. “Please, Marcus, I need you…”

That was all it took. With a low, primal sound, Marcus finally gave in, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly pushed inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious stretch that filled you completely, made you gasp, made you clutch at him as if he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He moved slowly at first, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one designed to drive you higher, to make you feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretched you, took you apart piece by piece. You could feel the heat building inside you, a slow burn that threatened to consume you as Marcus moved within you, his body pressing you into the earth, grounding you even as he made you soar.

His hands were everywhere, one sliding down to where your bodies were joined, his thumb finding your clit with a practiced ease that had you crying out, your hips bucking against him as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. The world around you blurred, the only reality the slow, sensual rhythm of Marcus’s body moving against yours, the overwhelming heat of his touch as he drove you higher and higher.

“Marcus,” you gasped, your body trembling as you clung to him, your nails raking down his back as you fought to hold on, to keep from falling apart completely. “I’m going to—”

But before you could finish, the orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pleasure so intense it left you gasping for air, your body clenching around him, your muscles spasming as you rode out the waves of bliss. Your vision blurred, the world spinning around you as you lost yourself in the sensation, the only anchor the solid weight of Marcus’s body pressing you into the earth.

But Marcus didn’t stop. He kept moving, his thrusts more urgent now, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he chased his own release. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled with the effort of holding back, of drawing out the moment as long as possible.

And then, with a final, deep thrust, Marcus let out a low, guttural sound, his body tensing as he found his own release. You could feel the heat of him spilling inside you, the sensation overwhelming as he held you close, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Marcus’s lips lingered on yours, the softness of the kiss a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just transpired between you. His breath was warm against your skin, mingling with the scent of earth and grass, a moment of peace that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. But as the haze of passion began to fade, you noticed the slight tremor in his hand as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression shifting from contentment to something more somber, more serious. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I lost control. I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, placing a finger over his lips to silence him. “Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the lingering tremors in your body. “I wanted this, Marcus. I wanted you.”

His eyes softened, but the worry in them didn’t entirely fade. “Still, I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t want to rush things, to make you feel—”

“You didn’t rush anything,” you reassured him, your hand moving to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I’ve never felt more sure about anything.”

He exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly, but his gaze flickered to the horizon, where the last light of the day was slowly giving way to the deep blue of twilight. “It’s getting late,” he said softly, his tone reluctant, as though he was loath to leave this bubble of intimacy you’d created together. “We should head back before it gets too dark.”

You nodded, understanding his concern even if part of you wanted to stay here with him, wrapped in the warmth of this moment a little longer. The reality of the world outside this secluded field seemed distant, but you knew you couldn’t stay here forever.

Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as he adjusted your clothing, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. You mirrored his actions, straightening his tunic and brushing stray blades of grass from his hair, the simple domesticity of the gesture bringing a soft smile to your lips.

As you began to gather your belongings, the silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that something had shifted, and deepened between you. The sun was almost entirely below the horizon now, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, casting a gentle glow over the landscape.

Marcus took your hand, leading you back toward the horses, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you walked together. The field around you was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant call of a night bird, creating a peaceful backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Once you reached the horses, Marcus turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking reassurance. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m more than all right, Marcus,” you replied softly, your heart swelling with affection for this man who had somehow become so important to you in such a short time. “Thank you….”

He seemed to relax at your words, his shoulders losing some of the tension they’d been holding. “I just want you to be happy,” he said, his tone sincere, almost vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. “I am,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to see the way his eyes softened, the tension finally melting away completely.

[sanjoongie]

Ͳҽղʂհì

༊·˚to my @starlitmark's, how to thank you for the laughs, the memories, and the good feels? you are the idea factory that keeps going, and keeping me fed! I'm thankful countless times for you being my fellow collaborator but more importantly a friend who always feels safe and comfortable. here's to your day 💞

༊·˚Pairings: strength supe! Jung Yunho x named! Winged! Reader (f) Angel, golden boy! Choi Jongho x named! Winged! Reader (f) Angel, elastic body! Song Mingi x named! Winged! Reader (f) Angel, sex change at will! Choi San x named! Winged! Reader (f) Angel, portal creator! Park Seonghwa x intuitive aptitude! Roommate! Nari(oc)

༊·˚Genre: suggestive, thriller

༊·˚Au: college au, super hero au, Gen V au

༊·˚Trope: fwb, one night stand, s2l

༊·˚Rating: 18+, MDNI

༊·˚Warnings: blood, death, superhero accidents, smoking, drugs, alcohol, club scene, partying, suggestions of sexual relationships, kinks

༊·˚Word Count: 2,319

༊·˚Summary: When you suddenly go from a lower ranking student at Hala College to one of the top five supe's, suspicion lays upon you like a heavy blanket. But you can't reveal the truth to your ascension, even to your roommate, without the risk of ruining lives, including your own

༊·˚Author's Note: I know we said we'd keep an idea like this on the back burner but i really wanted to gift this to you 🥺

༊·˚divider by @cafekitsune

“So, you're coming to the Grinder, tonight, right?” Mingi takes a long drag of his vape pen and blows ridiculous shapes with his lips being able to adapt shapes no human could actually manage.

You watch as somehow an apple with a worm floats by. “I dunno, Mingi, Nari is in her avoiding Seonghwa phase so--”

Mingi rolls his eyes and exhales a vanilla scented cloud. “For once, can you not cater to your roommate and let me f--”

Your wings ruffle slightly and you jump up to clamp a hand over Mingi's lips. “Let's not announce that to the world, please.”

Mingi’s lips circumvent your hand comedically, extended towards his ear. “We're on the roof of a four story historical building, Angel.”

You sit back, eyes searching the ground below. “Yeah, well in a college full of supe's, there's probably someone with super hearing.”

Mingi glances at his smart watch. “Shit, I’ve got class. Text me if you’re going.” And with that, the elastic body college student extended his leg and safely deposited his body to the green grass of the quad. 

You had some studying to do. If you were going to become a superhero in another country, there were a few languages you had to wrangle. Perhaps taking on more than one language class hadn't been the best idea but it was too late in the semester to drop one now. You spread your wings and take off towards your dorm building.

You were momentarily distracted flying over the track and field expanse from cheering. You swoop downwards to find Yunho was lifting an extended cab truck with one hand. You had a brief stint with Yunho during your freshman year, unlocking a strength kink, but also realizing you couldn't handle a supe with jealousy issues. Not towards yourself, no. In the school rankings, Yunho was always second to Jongho.

Speak of the devil, the school’s golden boy and top student, was drawing an even bigger crowd. He was using his laser sight to destroy targets and winked gratuitously at a gaggle of junior girls. You squeak when you have to avoid some of his freeze breath as he blew a kiss as well. Damn Jongho. 

You finally land in front of your dorm building when a broad-shoulder student cuts off your pathway inside. “Angel, you have a moment for me?”

You bit down on your lip nervously. San was always looking for an inside scoop as the editor of the Hala Gazette. You had nothing for him. “San, I’ve got to study!” You protest.

San’s broad shoulders morph, his hair lengthens to a bob, and now she leans forward with her ample cleavage. Didn’t matter what sex San was, his waist was still itty bitty, however. San also knew to play to your bi-weakness, which leaned towards the feminine body a lot. “Please?” she pouts.

Shit shit shit. Luckily, you’re saved by the roommate. “San, fuck off or I’ll report you to the Dean again! You know you can’t harass the students!”

San morphs back into his male body and sticks his tongue childishly at Nari. “I’ll find out eventually!”

Your head moves back and forth between the exchange of your roommate and your one night fling when you had drunk waaaaaay too many margaritas during post-finals. What the hell was going on?

“Angel, get up here before someone else harrasses you!” Nari shouts and then closes the window of your shared dorm space. 

You ironically take the stairs, somehow wanting to delay the passing of news. You had a gut feeling this wasn’t good. You pull your wings tight to your body so you can enter the door. “I’m not going to get any time to study, am I?” You ask your roommate.

Your roommate, with her ability of intuitive aptitude, aka she learns everything incredibly fast immediately, studies you intensely. “Have you looked at the rankings recently?”

You wince. “Did I drop again? They’re gonna kick me out, aren’t they?”

Nari looks delighted suddenly and your stomach dips. Without another word, she whips out her phone, taps the screen and then turns it towards you. Your eyes quickly scan the list: Jongho as number one, Yunho as number two, Mingi as number three, Nari as number four and then…

“I’m number five?” You gasp.

Nari tucks her phone into her back pocket. “Who did you blow recently?”

“No one,” You deny a little too quickly. 

Nari eyes you for a moment and then shrugs. “ ‘kay well, I can only protect you for so long. If you go to the Grinder and San gets her nails in you, you’re a goner.”

You grasp Nari’s small shoulders in your hands. “Please go with me tonight. I need you, bestie.”

“I'll go with you if you tell me what the hell is going on, Angel. Otherwise, I'm not risking Seonghwa portaling me into his bedroom tonight.”

His blunt nails dig into your forearm. "Please, you can't tell anyone. Especially Nari! She can't lie for shit.”

You avoid your roommate’s eyes completely. “It's nothing. I must have nailed my finals. You know how they like to randomly promote studies over physical or social achievements.”

Nari sighs loudly. “Alright, fine, I'll go with you tonight. You know I've always got your back, Angel.”

“I know,” You whisper, guilt squeezing your heart.

The Grinder, the aptly named college On-campus bar, was throwing a bikinis and beanies party. It was hard to dress around your wings but bikinis were easy for you. 

“Please tell me how bikinis and beanies are even fair to theme together. I’ve gotta be practically naked and guys get away with throwing a hat on?” Nari grumbles beside you as you both teeter on heels down the stairs to the basement club’s entrance. 

You gently nudge your roommate in the ribs. “The guys could be wearing bikinis too, you know.”

Nari pauses at the bottom of the stairs, shock written all over her face. “Oh.” You have to giggle at her. 

The party is in full force by the time you two squeeze through the crowd and order drinks. Nari wants to dance first but you have a feeling if you don’t spot San first, he’d get to you. 

“I’m going to the balcony!” You shout. 

Nari nods, getting into her groove and sipping her neon-green beverage. You keep an eye on the crowd, looking for the particular set of broad shoulders--or bob, but your eyes are drawn to the one student that always sticks out in a crowd.

Jongho raises a golden mug of beer, roars some kinda cheer and then chugs the entire thing like a viking reborn. He spots you across the room and his eyes widen. He smiles and claps others around him on the back and makes his way towards you. He doesn’t speak with you, however. With a sharp jerk of his head, he motions to the emergency exit. The alarm had long ago been disabled, the dark stairs to the rooftop being a perfect place to have clandestine affairs.

You had a feeling, however, Jongho wasn’t looking for a hook-up.

Jongho’s back was to you by the time you had climbed the stairs. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he was staring up at the sky. “Avoid Nari’s questions? Jongho asks, seemingly nonchalant.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck, “But Jongho…”

“Angel, you have to keep your promise. I know it’ll be hard but you know what’ll happen if the news hits. I’ll lose everything,” Jongho replies hoarsely.

Your throat tightens, struggling with your memories. It was all covered under a haze of drinking and drugs. Your friends with benefits relationship with Mingi pulled you into the scene of the top three. Jongho, Yunho and Mingi were quite popular, spots given to the top students of course. You were privy to their private parties and adventures, but this time it wasn’t all fun and games. 

Jongho’s look of horror as you were covered in shards of red-ice. Yunho’s suppressed anger. Mingi’s pancake state as his usually elastic body gave way to the lethargic drugs he had consumed. It had been a night…

“I’ll keep my mouth shut, Jongho, don’t worry about it.”

Jongho’s golden-boy smile is plastered across his face again, gums flashing and eyes disappearing. “Good. That’s all I need to hear.”

“Well well well, what do we have here? What’s number one and number five doing up here?”

You whirl around to see San in a bikini top with a fishnet cover-up and beanie. Most likely to make it easy for him to shift if he felt like it. He had on his signature smirk, but his eyes were burning with anger. It was well known that despite his hard work, San never broke the top five, and he resented anyone who did so with seemingly ease. It was obvious he now added you to that list. 

“Fuck off, San,” Jongho growls. 

San laughs, high pitched as if he’s simply delighted to be told off. “Language, Golden Boy. What’s wrong? Got something to hide?”

“San, now’s not a good time,” You hiss, gripping his upper arm through his fish-net top. 

San morphs, ignoring you. “Is this form more appealing to the two of you? If I fuck you both, could I knock Nari off her forth place?” she says with a saccharine-sarcastic tone. 

Jongho’s fists curl at his side and his breath comes out in cold-wisps. “I’ll only tell you once more,” he snarls, “Fuck. Off.”

“San, please!” You plead with her. “Don’t push this. Not tonight.”

San stage-sighs, her high voice making your legs clench. “Fine. But I’m not the only one that knows you two are up here.” San yanks her arm out of your grip and stomps down the stairs. 

You and Jongho both exchange looks. If Yunho saw you two exit together…

“Shit. Fuck. Christ,” Jongho rushes to the door. You almost follow him before he throws up a hand. “Fly down. I’ll send Mingi out. Yunho will cool down if he thinks you two are hooking up again. He can’t be angry at his bestie.”

You jump off the rooftop a second time today, wings spread to slow your descent. It doesn’t take long before Mingi’s wound his body around yours, and just in time too, as Yunho’s head can be seen peeking over the lip of the rooftop. Mingi’s high already, so it’s not hard for him to wander his hands--and lips--over your body, encouraged by his heightened senses. When Yunho’s head disappears, you gently pry Mingi from your body.

Mingi whines in protest. “C’mon Angel.”

“Not tonight, Mingi, please,” You ask, tiredness coating your tongue. “It’s been a day.”

“You should celebrate,” Mingi sighs, knowing a no when he hears it. He pulls back but his eyes are still begging. 

“I don’t need any Happy Dust, sir,” You gently scold him. “Let's go back in. I probably need to rescue Nari by now.”

“Fucking Nari,” Mingi growls good naturedly and you giggle. 

Unsurprisingly, Nari is on Seonghwa’s lap on the unused stage located at the front of the club. He uses his portal powers to call in his electric guitar and his hands are showing her some cords, his finger pushing on hers, and it’s suggestive as fuck. Your eyes meet across the room, like you two have some best friend psychic connection and Nari mouths “S.O.S” to you. 

You were about to sweep in and call it a night, when Yunho finally intercepts you. “Angel!”

“Yunho, if I don’t save Nari, I’ll never hear the end of it,” You try to deflect.

“Like you saved me?” Yunho says bluntly.

Your lips twitch in an attempt to not grimace. “Is now really the right time for this?”

“My father never should have--” Yunho blows some air out of his mouth, ruffling his fringe. “Listen, Angel, I appreciate you but everyone has so many questions. Maybe--”

You shake your head. “It’s done, Yunho. It’s been covered up. I don’t like it anymore than you do--”

Yunho laughs and it’s slightly bitter. “Don’t like being the new number five without having done truly anything? You’re so fucking like him, it hurts.”

Your back goes ramrod straight. “You know what? Fuck you, Yunho.” All this secrecy and for what? For Yunho to make you feel like shit? This wasn’t it.

Yunho rubs a hand over his face. “Shit. Sorry, Angel, I just--”

“Forget it, Yunho. Just get lost.” You shoulder past him, unapologetically letting him get a faceful of your wings. 

You climb onto the stage and throw your wings out to full span. “I know I’m supposed to be your guardian angel tonight, but do you think we could get out of here?” You plead to Nari.

Nari takes two seconds to absorb all the emotions written across your face and she nods resolutely. “Hwa, another night.”

Seonghwa looks disappointed but he’s not without some empathy. So he lets go of Nari, not without a soft pat to her ass, but he opens a portal. “Straight to your dorm room,” he sends you an award winning smile.

You both step through and Nari immediately grabs your blanket and carefully, but thoughtfully wraps it around your body. “For what it’s worth, Angel,” she says through a yawn, “Jongho isn't that bad of a choi--”

The both of you flinch as a huge boom echoes through the campus. The two of you run to your window and red flames reflect from the distance on your faces. 

“Is that the…” It couldn't be coming from the club you two had just left.

“Fuck,” You curse for the umpteenth time this evening. 

A huge chunk gets thrown through the air and laser’s destroy it.

“Double fuck,” Nari echoes you. 

All's fair in love and war, except when you’re a supe.

Bonus content: Nari x Seonghwa

[catholicdaredevil]

man oh man you've got me in my feelings about college matt. i've always liked the college sweethearts idea as cliche as it sounds, but irl it feels like i've missed my chance lmao so i will be living through fics <3 anyway,, i am thinking abt sharing school sweaters, laying in his lap in the grass field when the sun's out, spending late nights in the library, sleeping in each other's dorms ,,, yearning to share all the typical college experiences i've missed out on with him 🥺

bestie the way that i did not even go to college so i feel this but i've been sitting on this for too long so i'm gonna do them all rn in tumblr and not read over or edit any of it just hit post fsdfds so enjoy!!! also the line is from my favorite book mistborn by brandon sanderson i just skipped to a random page and wrote what was there down. i felt really strongly about this so i write every single one you mentioned!!!

_

"is that my sweatshirt?"

you freeze, slowly turning to look at matt. he's standing by the door to your dorm, cane in one hand and backpack in the other. you were getting ready to go get coffee before either of your classes started when he realized.

"what? no? what makes you think this is yours?" the fake innocent voice you put on only furthers the smile on his face and he adjusts so that he's leaning up against the door frame, the bottom of his own sweatshirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin.

"it smells like me." you throw your own backpack over one shoulder, wildly underestimating just how heavy it is and it almost takes you down with the momentum. a warm hand reaches out to steady you against your waist, he's stepped into your space when you weren't looking and you feel the familiar butterflies that you always get around him.

"oh well, ya caught me." matt pulls you in by his grip on his own sweatshirt that now dons your frame and presses his lips to yours. your hands move to hold the fabric on his chest, the rest of the world slipping away under him.

"yeah, i caught you," his voice is low, and deep as he breathes the words across your lips before pulling back and holding your door open. "coffee time."

-

the warm sun bakes down on you where you lay, out on the quad, in front of your dorm. solid thighs shift beneath your head and you almost go to open your eyes when his hand shifts to run along your hair.

"comfy?" you can hear the turning of pages as he reads, the gentle hum of whatever song foggy had gotten stuck in his head. you'd come out here to do homework and enjoy the sunny weather, the chill of winter finally being chased away by pollen and leaves. green.

you'd announced not long after that it was too nice to be doing work and instead splayed out in the grass with your head in matt's lap. he'd laughed and teased you for being like a cat curling up in the one sun spot that would shine through the window no matter how inconveniently placed, but still shifted everything off him to better make room for you. only placing the small book down on your chest so that he could easily run his fingers across it to read.

"yeah, might take a nap," you mumble back, nuzzling further into his touch and enjoying the way he seems to relish even this muted form of affection. "read to me?"

it doesn't matter what he's reading, sometimes it's textbooks, sometimes novels, still you always ask. the comfort from his voice deep in his chest as he spins stories out loud for you with all of the care of a parent reading to a child. sometimes when it's just the two of you he'll do funny voices just to hear you laugh and egg him on.

"of course." is the reply before he begins guiding you deeper in your descent into sleep. "what proof do we have? the words of men long dead, only now deemed divinatory? even if we accept these prophecies, only tenuous interpretation links them to me."

-

"matty," you whispered loudly across the table, making sure your voice would cut through the recording going on his laptop. sure enough, he hit pause and turned to face you, one earbud still in.

"yeah?"

he arched an eyebrow and you had to hold laughter back. "whats the answer to 18?"

"are you trying to cheat off me?" his voice turned mock horrified and you reached out to smack against his shoulder. it ended up being louder than you meant and you both got an angry shush from across the room by the librarian.

"it's not cheating if you tell me, then it's just helping." you lean even closer across the table, and he takes in a quick breath, drawing as much of you into his mouth as possible.

he matches your pose, until there's nothing but a single inch between your lips. "sounds like cheating to me."

"ugh, fine don't help your partner good luck getting kisses." you groan out against his smile, before sitting back in your chair with a huff. he rolls his eyes before pushing his glasses up his nose and going back to his own work.

you look back down at your papers, switching, and moving them around trying to find the notes you thought you had taken during the last class.

"we're closing in ten you two." the librarian calls out, and when you look back up you realize the entire rooms empty, and it's just the two of you. meaning it's coming up on midnight and you've been here for at least four hours.

matt starts packing his stuff up, reaching out to grab yours as well, he's always so careful with your things, gently organizing and placing them into your backpack.

"did you figure out 18?" he asks sweetly, putting both yours and his backpack over each shoulder. he never lets you carry things as much as he can, always taking your backpack or carrying your water bottle.

"no i didn't thank you very much," he leans down at your grumbled words to press the softest kiss to your cheek.

"it's 38 sweetheart."

-

it's more often than not that one of you is sleeping in the others rooms, curled up under blankets on a small twin size mattress. his or yours it doesn't matter, soft fleece blankets and expensive silk sheets at his insistence on both beds.

warm arms wrapped around your chest, his nose nuzzled deep into your hair. you card your fingers through his hair in a gentle attempt to rouse him from his sleep. your alarm had gone off a couple minutes ago, which meant that he was only still sleeping out of nothing but spite. he hadn't been sleeping well the last week, up late studying for finals so stressed about whether or not he was going to make the grades to get him into columbia.

it didn't matter how much you and foggy told him he would do fine, that he was more than smart enough, capable enough. he'd still been up till four am most nights, practically chugging coffee to keep his eyes open while he listened back over every page of notes he'd taken all semester.

he'd whine if you even talked about going by to your room to sleep alone, even on those nights he just wanted you close by. you couldn't help but acquiesce and curl up under his arm, head tucked into his side to avoid the light from his laptop.

he always made sure to not keep you up, volume so low you weren't sure how he still heard it. screen brightness dim and turned away from you, always so considerate.

which is why you felt bad about waking him up now, knowing he'd only slept at best maybe four hours. if he didn't have class in another hour you'd have let him sleep in more, just snuck out and wrapped the blanket tightly around him. but he'd be grumpy, if he woke up and you weren't there, you knew from personal experience.

"matty, baby, gotta get up." you press soft kisses across his cheek, watching his eyelashes flutter in response, his arm pulls around you tighter.

deep rumbles of annoyance roll through him as he squeezes his eyes shut even more, like if he tries hard enough somehow it'll be night time again and he'll be able to catch even twenty more minutes of sleep.

"i know, but you've got class in fourty-five and i know you're gonna want a shower and some coffee first," he'd be more annoyed if you didn't know him better than he knew himself, couldn't help the small smile that tugged on his lips.

"mmm'fine." waking up wasn't all that bad he thought, not when you were there, hands in his hair, lips on his face. not when you knew exactly what time he'd need to be up in order to take a shower and get coffee before class, that you'd set your alarm for him knowing you didn't have class till halfway through his.

no, this was all you. all good.

[forsworned]

SUMMER DAYS // GYOMEI HIMEJIMA

☆ ──── ask (?) :   Helloooo!! I hope you're doing well 💗 if it's okay could I request a Gyomei x reader where they have a picnic in a flower field and reader describes the flowers to Gyomei since he can't see them?? 🥺🤍

☆ ──── author’s note : i think this just may b the way i need to format these from now on meaning that i will just link them since tumblr is not enabling me to turn off beta when im using it for asks but here it is anon!

☆ ──── warning(s) : suggestive language and themes, mostly just hella fluff

The summer breeze sent ripples through your dress as you held onto your straw hat and the other was clasped in his large hands. You gazed up at him to see that a small smile had graced his handsome features as the small gust threaded through his onyx hair. The meadow was littered with wildflowers that were a variety of pinks, blues and purples with buzzing bees and butterflies.It was truly a sight to behold.

“This feels like a good spot.” He said and you agreed.

“Alright, then.” You undid the blanket that was tucked under your arm and laid it out on top of the lush green grass and slipped off your shoes.

Gyomei joined you as he set the picnic basket in between you two and you opened the basket to reveal the lunch you had prepared. It consisted of his favorites; several onigiri, unagi and wagashi for dessert. 

“That smells delicious, [name].” The way his smooth, baritone voice spoke your name made you want to melt like a popsicle stick on an asphalt pavement.

“I made it just the way you liked it.” You handed him his bento box and the smile on his face grew revealing the pearly white teeth that he did not sport too often.

A small eep left your lips and he raised his thick brows in concern. “Are you alright, [name]?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed before shoved a mound of rice into your mouth to avoid any embarrassing diarrhea of the mouth.

He chuckled to himself before he did the same. You both ate quietly to your heart’s content until you had to literally lay down with your hand over stomach.

“I feel like I’m about to burst.” You mumbled as you closed your eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.”

You opened your eyes to see your lover slightly hovering over you in his seated position and you felt your heart rate slowly picking up.

“You’re welcome.” 

You felt something blossom in your stomach as you watched every moment of his and the way his demeanor changed. “Could you describe how the flowers look to me? I can smell the sweet scent of honeysuckles, but I cannot remember what they look like anymore.”

You sat up with a smile on your face. “Of course.”

A small bushel of honeysuckles was growing behind you and you turned around to it as you plucked a small bundle of them. He scooted closer to you and you felt the warmth spread across your body.

“The honeysuckles here are white, cream and even pink. Their petals are soft, small and delicate. Can you smell them?”

“Yes, their scent reminds me of you.” His voice low in your ear sent shivers up your spine despite the warm weather. 

“Do they?” You whispered, feeling his breath fanning across your shoulders.

He kissed the exposed part of your shoulder. “Yes.”

You felt your breath become shallow as you pulled out the stem and placed it to his lips. His face lit up in surprise and delight as he sucked off the nectar that dribbled down the leaves. His tongue glided across the pad of your thumb where some of the nectar had settled and a small gasp slipped from your lips. His lips were now formed into a confident grin as brought them back to the shell of your ear. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me how the other flowers look?”

And at that moment, you felt something other than the flowers start to bloom.

[moonlight-alphafemale]

Courting Kagura

(Day one, Monday)

Omega! Kagura x Alpha! Reader

Warning:extremely cute 🥺

------------------------------------

"I'm gonna do it!" You said, looking at yourself in the mirror.

You had spent the passed hour hyping yourself up to try courting Kagura. He was shy and not many people really talked to him. You thought he was adorable and after 2 years of trying to gain his trust and getting to know, you finally decided to try courting him.

You had found the softest blankets, pillows and other nesting items you could find. With Kagura being the person he was, you knew he loved his nest. He needed it. Kagura's nest and the calming scent of Chojuro were the only two things that could calm him down if he had an episode.

You bought hundreds of nesting items and even set up a schedule for courting him. You wanted him to be yours, you wanted him to trust you, you wanted him to feel comfortable around you.

Kagura always thought he was dangerous but you never thought that of him. After so many years, you wanted to prove him wrong and that people do truly love him.

It wasn't pity, you didn't want to court him because you pitied him. You just wanted to make him happy, you wanted to show him that you truly cared about him.

You didn't know how to explain it. You just really wanted him, to make him happy, you just....

*Knock Knock*

"Hm? I-I'm coming!" You completely lost track of time. You quickly brushed your hair and slapped your shoes onto your feet, running around to quickly clean your room.

*Knock Knock*

"I-I'm COMING!" You shoved everything into the hallway closet and ran to the door, flinging it open.

"H-Hey Kagura!" You panted, opening the door wider and leading him in.

"Hey Y/N...." He said, coming in and taking his shoes off. You closed and locked the door, running over and leading him to your room.

"Woah, Your room looks nice." He said. Hah nailed it, first impression successful. Kagura had never been to your house before so you didn't want him to think you lived like a slob.(Which you did but he'd never know that)

He sat on your bed and you sat beside him, rummage around under your bed.

"So, what do you want to do?" Oh yeah.... You were so frantic trying to get Kagura to agree coming to your house, you didn't think about what to do next.

"I found a beautiful field out in the middle of the woods. No one is ever there so it would be a good place to go" You said. Perfect save!

"That sounds nice...." Kagura said, with a small sparkle in his eye. He didn't seem as happy as usual but, he didn't seem that upset. Maybe he was just tired.

"Hehe! It could be like a picnic!" You said, getting totally (overly) excited. Kagura was always in his house or with Chojuro, so you thought it would be nice to go somewhere quiet.

You grabbed a bag and made sandwiches, packed chips, drinks (and something special) You took a blanket and put it in the bag. Grabbing Kagura's hand, you lead him over to just outside of the woods.

"Sh-Should we really g-go in there....?" Kagura said, shaking and standing closer to you. You just pat his hand.

"It'll be fine, I've come here many times. You're the only one I've told." You said, squeezing his hand.

You lead Kagura into the forest. 20 minutes later, you finally found it!

It was a beautiful, lush green field. There were tons of pink, white and yellow flowers. There, smack in the middle, was a large beautiful cherry blossom tree in the middle of the field.

It looked straight out of a Disney movie

"Woah....!" Kagura said, standing there in shock at the beautiful scenery. You giggled, pulling him over to the cherry blossom tree where you two set up.

"I really like this place...." Kagura said, rubbing his hand against the beautiful grass. You scooted closer to, leaning against him. Kagura seemed pretty content with it.

"Hey Kagura?"

"Yeah?"

"I have something for you...." You said, you sat up and grabbed the bag you took with y'all. You opened the bag and pulled out a small gift bag.

You handed Kagura the small gift bag, blushing furiously. Kagura took the bag and carefully opened it.

There was an adorable pink and white teddy bear inside. Immediately, Kagura grabbed it and hugged it tightly while purring softly. You giggled, sitting even closer to Kagura.

"Would you like me to scent it for you?" You asked, earning a small nod. You gently took the bear and rubbed it against your scent glands, thoroughly scenting it and handing it back to Kagura.

Kagura purred softly, hugging the bear tightly. You gently patted his head and pulled him close to you, gently rubbing his back.

After a few hours you have to take him home. You wave him goodbye and return him to Chojuro.

Day 1: success

[dapandapod]

Daddy??? 👉👈🥺 can I get hug prompt 33 with Geskel meeting up on the path.

Outside POV please?

33. the hug from that one person who is allowed to hug you

Of course my dear!! please enjoy some happy hugging between the boys! I love them! Can be read as slash or platonic <3

On Ao3 Hug prompt collection

Jeremia chews on his straw slowly and squints at the sinking sun. It’s bad luck to have a witcher around this time of year, even worse luck when it’s for three days.

It would have been fine as Jeremia is usually not the superstitious type, but Nana keeps nagging at him that he should chase him away.

She is freaked out about the scars, he knows, but Jeremia doesn’t mind. The witcher is staying in the barn with his horse, a magnificent steed, and is out of the way mostly. Even hunts his own food.

But three days?

Even Jeremia is starting to feel a bit tense about it. And the witcher doesn’t even want to shake his hand or allow a pat on his arm! He is starting to think that witchers are freaks of nature after all.

Hoofbeats interrupts his solemn musings and his eyes turn to the road.

A man with white hair and two swords strapped to his saddle rides down the dirt road. He is wearing armor, thick gloves, and his eyes dart back and forth as if he is looking for someone.

Their eyes meet, and Jeremia feels himself startle. Blasted beets.

Another witcher?

The man steers his horse towards the fence, smiling slightly as he approaches. Jeremia does not like that smile, but he stiffly returns the smiles. His mama taught him to be polite after all.

“Good afternoon, friend,” the stranger greets. “How fares the harvest?”

Jeremia isn’t sure why the witcher cares at all, but he plucks the straw from his mouth and straightens from where he's leaning on his hoe.

“It’s coming along. I’m borrowing my neighbour’s boy for the heavy lifting, but if the weather stays this nice, we will be all set. What brings you this way, witcher? We have no work for even the one of you.”

That makes the stranger's smile grow and turn hopeful. Aye, he has a prettier smile than the other, this one. But that scar over his eyes gets a funny shape when he does.

“I was looking for another of my kind, as it is. Eskel, tall and broad as a beast, with a scar over his lip.”

Jeremia nods and thinks of the witcher in the barn. His name could be Eskel, that does sound familiar.

“There should be one such as that around here. He has been staying in my barn for now, but went to the woods an hour ago to hunt.”

The white-haired one nods his understanding.

“Might I wait for him here? To let my mare graze by the side of the road?”

“Ain't nothing I can do to stop ya.” Jeremia sighs, scratching his forehead. “Just don’t let Nana catch you ruining her weeds.”

The witcher nods again and climbs down from his horse, movements smooth like a cat. He loosens the girth of the saddle slightly, removes the tack, and plops down on the grass.

Witchers be strange creatures.

Jeremia has no more time to spare on thoughts of mutants, however. From the house he can hear the wailing of his youngest and Nana’s hoarse voice singing.

Back still aching, he returns to his small field.

Some time later, it's clear the white-haired witcher only moves to save Nana’s weeds from his horse. J

eremia watches him talk to the mare like it’s a person, scolding her and shoving at her to go to the other side of him. And she does, interestingly enough, with a gentle smack on her hindquarters and a flick of her tail.

Then the white-haired witcher looks up, looking towards the woods.

Jeremia turns to look too, but almost one full minute passes before he sees that other witcher, Esther or something, emerge.

In one hand he carries a crossbow, two hares and some greens in the other.

Esther something walks straight up to Jeremia and presses one of the hares and the greens into his arms.

“For the family. Feed the goat the herbs, she is expecting.”

Jeremia blinks, his hoe falling forgotten to the dirt.

Then Esther-something turns, and his entire demeanor changes. That scar on his lip stretches hideously when he smiles, but his eyes soften.

“Geralt!” the witcher says, dropping the dead hare carelessly to the ground. Geralt is quickly on his feet, too quickly, and the two of them collide into each other in a big hug.

Jeremia watches them, feeling fairly confused about the hair and mutant hugs.

He thought the man couldn’t stand touch?

And there he is, burying his head in the crook of the other’s neck, arms so far around him he is almost touching his own shoulders.

He can hear the witchers murmur, but can’t make out the words. One of them is laughing, and when they part, the white-haired one keeps one hand on the other’s back.

“Thank you, farmer, for your generosity. I will take my leave now. You can find more herbs like that by the creek running through the forest. It should make her milk richer, and probably help your little one’s tummy ache.”

Jeremia can only blink again, and frown. He looks down at the herb, smelling it. It looks vaguely familiar, like something mama could have told him about in his youth.

He probably shouldn’t tell Nana the witcher gave it to him though.

“Where is Scorpion?” the white-haired one asks, and the other one shakes his head.

“Lost a bet to Lambert. He should be at the keep soon.”

As soon as they fetch the things in the barn, they are back out on the road.

Eskel turns and waves towards Jeremia, and Jeremia finds himself waving back.

Witchers are a strange lot.

[akampana]

Can I request diarturia in 6 please 🥺🥺👉👈

6. “I just need to lie down.” Diarturia.

Hi! :D Thank you for the ask! Always glad to do some Diarturia!

Words: 10,031 (lmao, this went places)

I wanted to incorporate some fae shenanigans as well as explore Diarmuid's demigod side as the son of the god of the dead, so this is a little different take on the characters from what I usually do. Regardless, hope you enjoy!

AO3 link here because this thing is long.

Arturia stumbled through the trees in panic, thorns ripping through the thin linen of her dress like knives through paper. Everywhere she looked it was the same: jagged branches whipping her from every angle, roots latching on to her feet like venomous snakes, and worst of all, the noose-like vines that stole the air from her lungs at every opportunity.

The girl suddenly recoiled, yanked to the ground by the cursed greenery that wrapped around her throat. Her desperate fingers looped around the offensive twine, tearing at the woody growth and her own skin, but it only seemed to wrap around tighter the more she fought. Soon she was face-first on the grass. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as her lips turned as blue as the sky.

No!

She scrambled for something, anything to get her some air. Her fingers dug through the dirt, grabbing onto sticks, cutting her nails on pebbles and root. But, it seemed the Earth itself had decided to wage war on one, green-eyed, blonde, spawn of Uther. The sacrifice. The extra.

Her vision began to fill with black stars. Her lungs screamed for the air her mouth could not provide. She could do nothing as the creatures that hunted her came upon the clearing she’d fallen into, nothing but claw at her neck for one last, sweet breath.

As her consciousness began to fade, she wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. She’d lived her life according to her father’s wishes. She learned from her tutors. She kept silent and out of the limelight. She supported her brother the best way she could. Was that not enough?

If only she knew it was no fault of hers that she ended up here.

Merlin’s intercession to produce an appropriate heir had failed, birthing a tiny girl instead of what the king wished for. In Uther’s desperate attempt to save Britain, the ailing, anxious King of Camelot turned to the fae. He pleaded with them, promising this, and that, everything as long as his country would not meet its end at the prophesized red dragon’s claws.

The mischievous, conniving fae gave Uther a son to raise along with his shunned daughter, knowing even then who was the superior heir. They even mirrored the poor baby’s features, such that Igraine’s womb produced “twins”. Oh, how perfectly the fae copied the incubus’s creation, everything save for its little flaws, all so Uther could damn a different child to the same tragic fate.

Satisfied with his prize, the King tried to make payment. But the fae were not interested in being showered with riches. They needed no fruit of the field when the Otherworld was abundant in goods. No, what they wanted was Merlin’s lovely little experiment, and all the energy that philandering wizard fused into that tiny girl.

But not yet.

The fae would claim their payment when she was ripe for the picking, delicious, still young, of course, but not too aged that she’d taste more like mutton than lamb. Just grown enough such that her little dragon-like core would give the fae the kick they needed when they sank their teeth into her soft, supple skin.

After all, eighteen human years was not too long a wait.

“Are you not happy, my lady?”

Arturia turned around to meet the eyes of one much taller, much stronger, much more beautiful than her. She tried not to flinch too much, lest the nobles say her gown was disheveled or that she’d shifted her carefully done-up braids once again.

“Diarmuid, you...you gave me a fright.”

Arturia glanced behind her personal knight, off to the festival taking place in the main hall. The party was more Arthur’s than it was hers, because it was his coronation as prince occurring on the morrow. In a way, she was grateful for it, for at least once in her life there weren’t fifteen or so suitors asking for her hand. For better access to Camelot’s resources, of course. Arturia wasn’t stupid enough to believe they were honestly attracted to her.

None of them knew her, not really. What could they learn when all they heard from her were the manners beaten into her head by the tutors Uther hired to make her desirable to the male gaze? None of them knew her actual interests. None of them cared. Although, she did suppose feelings didn’t quite factor into marriages as much as Merlin tried to make her believe they did.

Arturia sighed, turning back to the night view of Camelot that had her so preoccupied and the forest that lay just outside the limits. One day, maybe even tomorrow, one of the men conversing with Arthur was going to take her away and she would go with him as her duty dictated. She’d make sure her husband’s kingdom remained Camelot’s ally, of course. Then bear her spouse an heir. That was her duty as one with the Pendragon blood, one she was ready to carry out.

“I do not believe you have answered me, princess,” Diarmuid chuckled, draping the finest of silks over her bare shoulders before the night air could chill her skin.

Arturia thumbed the soft fabric, bringing before her eyes the sheer, almost glowing cloth. The garment was an iridescent white, shining in colors not unlike the rainbow patterns on a beetle’s shell. Although it felt lighter than air,her shivers disappeared instantly, as if her knight had just embraced her from behind to share his heat.

The woman’s eyes lit up with wonder, seeing the skillful repeated pattern traveling all-throughout the hem. There were more than a few druidic symbols embroidered throughout, each sewn in a thread that harmonized with the cloth enough that from a distance it was just a simple shawl. She recognized all of them: knots, trees...symbols that were important to those who were born on Erin. Diarmuid had introduced them to her before.

“What is this?” she asked him, tone lifted as she faced the friend that stood beside her, looking out into the distance.

“A gift,” answered the gentle knight, surveying his surroundings before scooping up Arturia’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Although today’s festivities have made the town believe otherwise, the actual day of your birth comes tomorrow, does it not?”

He remembered. Arturia kissed her teeth, a smile slowly breaking through her rather serious facade.

“Although it is quite early, I thought it best to deliver this simple celebratory offering before your handmaids spend hours dressing you for Arthur’s coronation in the morning,” he explained, gently pulling the lady he served closer to himself.

“I am happy now,” she answered him, emphasizing the final word such that he knew he was the cause. “This is far from just a simple gift, my knight. I do not know how to repay you, as it seems you’ve forgotten the most important fact about tomorrow.”

The corners of his amber eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I assure you, it has not escaped my notice, Lady Arturia.”

That was the other reason Diarmuid had pulled out all the stops for this gift. It was true that tomorrow, the twins would be of marriageable age, but tomorrow was also the anniversary of the moment they first met.

Lady Arturia was not aware this was his second life. After his death to the tusks of a boar and his former king’s neglect, his godly father had permitted him back to the world of the living to seek a better fate. A happier one, where he could live out the life of service he desired before returning to Tech Duinn. Donn sent his son off with his blessing, even teasing him to bring back a proper spouse.

It was not the kings of his homeland he could serve, however, for his face would surely be recognizable in the countenances of his descendants. Instead, the Irish knight came to Camelot, seeking out a lord who was kind and just: The Once and Future King, as so prophesied by his kind.

It was then he’d first met Lady Arturia, by a cabin in the woods. He’d come running, excited by the familiar clang of swords, only to find two of the same face sparring in the backyard. One was strong and tall, the other small but lithe. He could tell at a glance that the two had the same foundation, for their strikes and stances were similar, but clearly, each had adapted their swordplay to their strengths.

Diarmuid had never seen such an agile style as that of the tiny one—squire, perhaps? Or knight?—which was so clearly made to make up for her disadvantage in size. Neither had he seen a man wield his sword so impossibly gracefully.

So mesmerized was he with their exchange, that he only noticed the two swords at his throat when the shorter blonde had demanded his name. He knelt at once.

“My name is Diarmuid ua Duibhne, First Spear of...nay, I am but a simple knight, come to Camelot seeking a valiant king to serve. My deepest apologies for the interruption, fellow knights, I was merely...entranced,” he trailed off, locking gazes with the lady, who listened to him so intently.

“Ah, then you’ve quite found yourself in a favorable position,” hummed a third stranger, a white-haired man from the trees. Diarmuid smelt magic on the newcomer, the blood of one that was not quite human, just like himself. “Arthur here is the Prince of Camelot, and a knight much like yourself.”

Face flushed, the Irish knight bowed his head again, “My deepest apologies, I was not aware I was speaking to one of an even higher position. But my mission still stands. Prince Arthur, if you shall have me, I wish to serve your court, and milady...”

“Princess Arturia, my sister,” Arthur furnished for him, asking the knight to stand. “We’ll have my father decide what to do with you, Diarmuid ua Duibhne. I imagine he’d want to test your mettle—”

“Not before I do,” the Lady Arturia spoke, smiling down at him with the sun igniting her gem-like eyes.

Diarmuid still remembered every detail of that fight. She moved like a leaf dancing in the breeze, dodging between each and every blow from his swords with graceful ease. He was quicker than her, still, but the princess’s movements were clearly just as calculated as his were. It was her wit that drove her to make anticipated swings, catching him off guard every so often.

But she was not as seasoned a warrior as he was. Her arms were thin. Her hands were blistered, not callused. Although she fought like one who’d witnessed many battles, it was clear to him that she’d been a literal witness to those matches rather than a participant.

She wasn’t a knight. Not like her brother. But Diarmuid could honestly say her first dance with him was one of the most memorable.

Arthur endorsed Diarmuid to his father that very afternoon. Although Uther was impressed with his skill, that Diarmuid came from lands Camelot was once at war with stayed the king’s hand. Although the knight offered unwavering loyalty, he could not quite trust Diarmuid at the level he did the rest of the Round Table. Yet, it was quite a waste to refuse a man so talented with sword and spear.

That’s when Arturia entered the throne room. She was dressed not in the simple linen she’d been wearing in when he met her, but in a luxurious gown of deep red. Diarmuid had to stop his eyes from following the path she walked, fearing the king would find his admiration offensive. He’d found her beautiful when they exchanged blows, sweat dripping down her brow and a competitive smirk upon her lips, but it seemed even in such restrictive attire as this dress she looked divine.

Witnessing Diarmuid’s obvious attraction to that...thing Merlin made, Uther had his answer. There was one way to keep the man from the green isle in his service but also at a safe enough distance.

Diarmuid was knighted under Camelot and given to the child he scorned. She could do Camelot one more duty: groom and tame the Irishman till he was a loyal lapdog to the flag of Britain.

As the years passed, Uther saw her do just that, without his instruction.

The Irishman fought valiantly, leading Camelot into victory after victory before running back to his lady to claim her praise. Although all the knights came to respect Sir Diarmuid, he never asked for a seat at the Round Table, much to Uther’s relief. The fool was satisfied being the princess’s escort, following her through the various activities required of a soon-to-be queen and taking her riding in the afternoons.

His manipulation had been more effective than he realized. Diarmuid’s love for the daughter he detested would keep the knight in Camelot’s service. Perhaps even after the fae came to collect what they were owed.

But neither Arturia nor Diarmuid were privy to the king’s conniving thoughts. The knight had gotten what he wanted: a life of service, and one to a maiden he was most fond of. Meanwhile, Arturia finally found herself a loyal friend, who took her sparring when the palace thought she was merely riding into the forest, who gave her a break from her duties at the castle.

“It has been three years, has it not?” Arturia asked her knight, fondly squeezing his calloused hand. “And you’ve given me such a lovely gift. Please, ask anything of me, and I shall furnish it for you.”

The knight smiled, hoping the night would shroud the heat across his face in the darkness.

“Anything, my lady? That is quite the dangerous word.”

“Anything, Diarmuid.”

Steeling his resolve with a subtle gulp, Diarmuid whispered his request.

“A kiss,” he answered, reveling in the blush that spread throughout her cheeks. “One for every year I have served.”

Seconds of silence passed between them as their heartstrings intertwined.

Arturia’s hands cupped his face, her large green eyes glowing as she stared into his. He wondered if the princess could feel his heartbeat where she touched his skin; if she knew what such a quickened pulse implied.

“Are you certain that is all you desire?” his lady asked him, her voice so quiet it could be carried away by the breeze.

“I am,” he confirmed, knowing well he was playing with fire. He knew Arturia held love for him. Not quite the way he wanted, for that was forbidden by her duty, but that she’d come to care for him was irrefutable. There was a bond between them now, strong enough to last throughout their lifetimes. Maybe even universes.

“Then…” Arturia trailed off, slowly pulling him down to her height while she tiptoed to reach him.

Her soft lips pressed against his cheek, giving him a kiss so tender and lasting Diarmuid closed his eyes to properly remember the sensation. Then, she pulled him even closer, blessing his forehead with the same gift as gently as a mother would. She pulled back for a breath as his hands hovered over her waist, not quite touching her, but keeping her within his space nonetheless. He felt her lean in once again, her warm breath on his cheek, but she hesitated before she could make the contact.

Fear gripped his heart at the thought he’d asked too much of her, but before he could open his eyes, he felt her lips on his.

She tasted like honey, sweet and addicting as her soft mouth touched his. He felt his heart soar, felt his blush spread to his ears, but he couldn’t care less his love for her was on full display. He’d dreamt of this too many times before, a fantasy that couldn’t come to be, but one he desperately longed for anyway.

It was over too soon, for she shyly pulled away. For the first time in ages, they could not hold each other’s gaze, each too flustered by what had just transpired.

“Milady, I—”

“Princess.”

Both of them jumped at the familiar voice. It was Merlin, looking uncharacteristically grim as he approached Arturia with an open hand.

“Your father wishes to see you in the east hall,” the magus informed them.

Arturia didn’t take Merlin’s offer to escort her, excusing herself from the two men with one last meaningful look in Diarmuid’s direction. Her knight watched her until her dress disappeared beyond the large double doors, longing to be by her side even if she’d only just left his presence.

“You saw?” he asked Merlin, ready to throw himself into the fire and take the blame if ever Arturia’s actions were questioned.

“What’s this? Do you think me so loyal to Uther I’d report a simple kiss? Nay. I shan’t give my princess more trouble than she already has on her plate.”

The incubus’s latter statement seemed questionable, since the wizard had been responsible for most of the shenanigans that got both twins in trouble way back when, but he digressed.

“But I do have a question for you, Sir Diarmuid ua Duibhne,” the wizard drawled, tossing magelight between his hands absentmindedly. “Do you consider yourself loyal to Camelot?”

Flabbergasted, the knight blubbered out his response. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Merlin gave him a smile that seemed rather melancholy. “And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?”

“That’s a silly question. Betray milady? For what reason? You know as well as I do she’s played the part of a perfect princess all her life. I can’t think of any man in that courtyard who would hesitate to ask her to wed.”

Including...myself. He finished in his mind.

Merlin watched his expression silently, as if the magus could discern his true thoughts on the matter.

“You didn’t answer my question, First Spear of the Fianna. Aren’t I the wily trickster between us, hm? Why answer me with flowery words?”

A beat.

Diarmuid nearly choked on his spit as questions popped up in his mind. He’d never told anyone of his rather troubled past, not even Arturia, who he held closer than anyone. Had Merlin known about his true identity this whole time? Did the wizard guess this was his second life? How much did he understand about his past? Was he sure of it even when they first met all those years ago?

Purple irises stared straight through to his soul, doing nothing to calm the raging turmoil within. “Given your history, I believed you would feel more strongly for this. Perhaps...for once, I was wrong.”

A burst of pink and white flowers, and the wizard was gone, leaving Diarmuid to figure out what he meant all by himself.

Tomorrow was the big day. Finally, Uther could be rid of Merlin’s little mistake. Without his older daughter in the way, there wasn’t anyone else to his knowledge that could lay claim to the throne. Especially now that he knew that accursed girl wouldn’t be spawning any kids of her own. The Fae only seemed intent on consuming her, whatever the hell that meant.

Uther uncovered the small package the creatures left with him nearly two decades ago, revealing a small golden apple which hadn’t rotten for as long as he’d had it.

“Father, you called for me?” came Arturia’s voice through the door. She came in, looking surprisingly beautiful in her white dress.

“I know I have been distant from you, dear daughter,” the king said, approaching Merlin’s creation with a tacked-on smile. “But I thought it best to watch your growth from a distance. And my, have you grown.”

“I owe it all to you, father,” she answered mechanically, keeping her gaze down. Uther tried not to let his distaste for her show. He needed to execute this perfectly, after all.

“Your hands, child.”

Obediently, the princess held out two open palms, to which the king placed the golden fruit. Even in her hands, the shiny thing looked so small. No more than two or three bites, surely.

“Do not tell your brother of this, there is only the one,” her father said as the princess’s heart swelled. “He will receive his own gift tomorrow, not to worry.”

“Thank you, father.”

Arturia cupped the small fruit like it was the most precious of jewels. It was beautiful, a perfect replica of a normal apple save for its smaller size and metallic skin. She took it between her thumb and pointer finger, turning it in the light. Despite how it looked however, it felt soft and fresh, like it had just been plucked from a tree.

“Go on then,” Uther urged, a bead of sweat falling from his brow. “I hear it's quite delicious.”

Arturia did as she was told, sinking her teeth into the fruit as she covered her mouth with her free hand.

Her eyes went wide as the flavor danced inside her mouth. She’d never tasted such perfection. Sweet but not saccharine. Sour but not unpleasant. The apple was as crisp as it was juicy, its delectable syrup embracing her tongue like a tender lover. She’d never eaten anything like it. There couldn’t have been any food on earth quite as good, it almost seemed otherworldly—

Arturia snapped back to attention, suddenly remembering she’d scarfed down a whole apple in front of her father. She straightened her skirt, wiped her hands on her kerchief, berated herself for looking so crude. She tried not to meet her father’s eyes knowing he’d be disappointed, but…

For the first time in her life, Uther Pendragon was smiling at her, looking as relieved as an accused man cleared of guilt.

“F-father?” the woman stuttered, her eyebrows crossing in worry. She was so unused to him being this kind.

“Enjoy the rest of your celebration with your brother, girl,” Uther laughed, sending her off, “You never know when you can enjoy such a feast again.”

His laughs continued even after the doors to the east hall shut behind her, leaving Arturia to wonder what had lightened his mood so much.

The latter half of the evening saw Diarmuid watching Arturia from the other side of the hall, kicking Gawain’s shins under the table whenever the blonde knight was being too loud. The man was on his eleventh tankard of ale and counting, and boy, could he talk.

“If I were as handsome as you, Deeeeeer, I might have had some luck with the ladies around, hm? Why do you have to steal them all? Hmmm??? Couldn’t leave some for poor Gawain?” his friend slurred, swaying back and forth like some cursed gigantic pendulum.

“Sir Gawain, even if he had the face of a donkey, and the hair of a rat’s ass, and the body of a cow—” Tristan wisely cut himself off when he felt Diar’s glare, “You’d have the same luck, sadly.”

“Thank you!” Gawain loudly exclaimed, Tristan’s beration flying leagues over his head. He thumped the poor redhead on the back, and before long, the table before them was some cursed mix of ale and moist food.

At that, Diarmuid let a few chuckles loose. One would think someone as large and broad-shouldered as Gawain could hold his drink, and he could, just not as well as everyone else did.

“You have been quite silent,” voiced the knight that sat beside him. Sir Bedivere was on the quieter end of the spectrum, which Diarmuid did appreciate. “Did something happen?”

Bedivere tilted his head to the right as he spoke, almost like a confused puppy. Words bubbled to Diarmuid’s lips at once, for Bedi was a knight he quite trusted, but he hesitated on account of the subject matter.

Merlin’s cryptic words had haunted him all throughout the evening. He didn’t know what the old wizard meant by them, but now he couldn’t shake the feeling that the princess was in danger. Sadly, his feelings of protectiveness overshadowed the ridiculous amounts of joy he felt knowing the taste of her lips.

Diarmuid felt the heat rush to his ears.

Scratch that. Clearly his affection for her was a little stronger. A lot stronger.

“Nothing important,” he mumbled, realizing he’d been silent for too long. Luckily, it seemed Bedivere would not push the subject any longer. If only his next question wasn’t so damning.

“Do you suppose Lady Arturia’s future husband is amongst the crowd?”

Diarmuid’s honey gaze landed on his lady, who stood surrounded by four men from different kingdoms, yet seemed to be holding her ground. Of them were two brothers with midnight hair and red eyes, a rich king from a distant land across the sea, and another whom neither he nor the knights seemed to recognize. Diarmuid could immediately tell only one of them was truly interested in Arturia, for he was the only one whose gaze never traveled down from her face.

“Perhaps,” the Irishman mumbled, his voice lost in the chaos Tristan and Gawain had just gotten into. Apparently the latter had just said something to the effect of older women not being all that great. But he couldn’t care less about their debate. Because Arturia was starting to look pale.

Before Bedivere could ask what was going on, Diarmuid made a beeline for his lady, reaching her side quickly enough that he could take the goblet from her hands before she could drop it.

“Milady, I believe it may be time to excuse yourself. It has been quite the taxing day,” Diarmuid mumbled just loudly enough for the royals to hear. He gave them each a bow for courtesy, maintaining a calm facade so as not to alarm the other guests.

Arturia’s hands clamped onto his elbow. She was clearly humiliated at the situation, but knew Diarmuid had just given her an out. She would be a fool to deny it. Especially when the room was beginning to spin.

“I’m afraid my knight is quite correct,” she managed, her eyes beginning to defocus. Despite the vertigo slowly dragging her into unconsciousness, she managed to speak each and every man’s name before giving them a polite curtsy and allowing Diarmuid to escort her out of the party.

And as the double doors thudded closed, Arturia finally allowed her knees to buckle. Diarmuid was there to catch her, holding his most precious person before she could hit the floor.

“My lady?!” Diarmuid’s voice came in a panicked whisper. She wasn’t like this before they separated earlier tonight. Had something happened since her father called for her?

Tender fingers cupped her cheek, turning the small woman’s face to him. Her skin was cold and colorless, nearly the same hue as her gown. In the moonlight that filtered through the window she was almost ghostly.

“Should I call for Merlin?” Diarmuid asked softly, moving away the bangs that obstructed her face. Her eyes were jaded, barely able to meet his, but she shook her head.

“No. No, I just...I just need to lie down. If you would please...” she said between breaths, but she didn’t need to finish her sentence for her closest friend to understand.

Diarmuid looped his arms under her legs and back, lifting her with ease. He tried not to think about how natural it felt to hold her, to feel her lean her head to his chest, but it was getting difficult. He should just admit it to himself already.

Diarmuid loved her. He might have loved her since the day they met.

How horribly ironic. In his first life, he was forced to abandon the life of service he loved to run away with his king’s would-be queen. Now it was his love that he was forced to abandon, to continue the life of service he’d been resurrected for. At least this time, the woman involved was not betrothed, not yet. He had a little more time to pretend.

Besides, she kissed him. He could live on happily knowing that at one point in his new life, his feelings were returned. He’d be satisfied, right?

Right?

Arturia passed out before they even got to her quarters, trusting him with her safety even while asleep. As he touched his forehead to hers, Diarmuid realized his answer.

Of course not.

When she was beneath her covers, the man knelt next to her bed, caught between waiting at her bedside for her to wake or finding Merlin to report the incident. Arturia may not have endured the same physical training that he and the other knights regularly put themselves through, but he’s sparred with her enough in secret to know she was no weak woman.

He should go. Perhaps she’d taken something from the buffet that had made her feel sick. He ought to find the wizard so they could test the food and wine. He knew she didn’t see the need for a healer, but he should probably alert the palace alchemist just in case.

Halfway out the door, he stopped, his heart aching as he remembered the crowd of people Arturia had been entertaining just before the incident. One of the bluish-haired brothers, the quieter one. He was going to ask for Arturia’s hand, Diarmuid could feel it.

The knight turned around and dipped down to steal one last kiss on her forehead, thanking her for indulging him earlier that night. He brushed her hair from her face, smiled, then left the room.

As he walked back toward the main hall, however, something kept nagging on the back of his mind. Was she...wearing a different scent? She smelled sweet, but...too sweet, like the white apple blossoms in the land of the fae.

Diarmuid shook his head. Impossible. Fair folk were less common in this day and age, and the Pendragons were quite human, unlike himself. How could she have come across something like that?

Arturia opened her eyes to the dawn.

The...dawn?

The woman sat up like a flipped lever, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself. The dark walls of her bedroom were glaringly absent, and so were her sheets.

That...that couldn’t be right.

Grass tickled her bare feet as she scrambled to get her bearings, but there were no landmarks to tell her where she was. The rolling plains to the east were missing and so was the mountain to the north. The stars that remained in the heavens could not guide her way. There were too many glittering lights. More than she remembered the night sky ever having. As her lungs heaved, she tasted salt in the breeze, when there shouldn’t have been. Whipping her head to the east, she saw the sea in the distance, but she didn’t recognize the shore.

Wherever she was now, Camelot was far, far out of reach.

Arturia gulped down her fear as Merlin had taught her to do, calming herself to give room for rational thought. She should start from what she remembered. Retrace her steps. Yes.

Father had given her a gift, and then when she returned to the celebration, Arthur introduced her to some of his friends: her possible suitors. It couldn’t have been the wine, she refused to have some, but she remembered feeling lightheaded, then Diarmuid took her to her room—Diarmuid!

His name left her lips, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of rustling of leaves too thick to have been from the forests near Camelot.

“Diarmuid!”

That wasn’t her. Goosebumps peppered her skin as Arturia whipped her head around to face the echo. Then she came face to face with someone who looked familiar. Too familiar.

It was herself, copied right down to the smallest of details. Twenty-two freckles across her nose. A scar that ran from her palm to her wrist. One stubborn lock of hair sticking out from the rest. When Arturia breathed it did too, when she blinked it followed suit. It even made a mockery of her distress, mirroring her quivering lip as she stepped back.

“That is not your name, Arturia Pendragon,” the two figures spoke in unison, only one of them horrified. “Your father traded you off a long time ago.”

Arturia nearly screamed when her body moved on its own, reaching behind her back the same way her “reflection” did. She was a puppet to “her” strings, twisting awkwardly in manners no normal human would. But less damning was her sudden loss of control than what her “reflection” said in that too-nasal gravelly voice.

“What...do...you...mean?” Arturia managed to word, forcing her clone to do the same.

It didn’t seem to mind, and used her fingers to grasp the fruit of a nearby berry bush. She didn’t recognize the red berries her hand pressed to her lips. Arturia willed her mouth shut, warring with the invisible force that pried it open.

“Open up, poppet.”

Arturia blinked, suddenly finding herself surrounded by the most beautiful people she had ever seen. Their faces contained no flaw, no imperfection. Their hair was long, braided with flowers and the colorful leaves of the forest. In comparison, her “reflection” seemed so ugly as it pulled its jaw open with its free hand.

One of the handsome creatures stole the berries from her grasp, placed them within her mouth, and pulled her hair back till she swallowed.

Suddenly her limbs felt loose, and she was on the ground once again, staring up at fifteen perfectly symmetrical faces. So lovely they looked. Too lovely to be human.

Oh.

Arturia’s eyes widened as all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Her surroundings, the creature’s ability to control her once they had her name, the too-perfect bodies that circled her.

She was in the domain of the fae.

Arturia’s hand went to her lips, the delicious fruit’s flavor still clinging to her tongue. They’d forced her to eat their food. Which meant…

For her, there was no going back.

“I’d start running, Spawn of Uther.”

“Father, my sister is missing, we cannot hold the coronation today. All of Camelot knows you’ve selected me for the throne. What harm shall there be in a delay?!” Arthur’s muffled voice came through the door. Never had anyone heard the prince so agitated, and so his alarm put everyone on edge.

Especially the resurrected former First Knight of Fianna, who was trying not to tremble as he held his head in his hands. He’d just lost his charge. Right under his nose, she’d been taken from the castle, with the perpetrator leaving no footsteps, no sign of struggle. Arturia must have never woken. She would have put up a fight.

A loud slap echoed throughout the corridor, making even the sturdiest of knights flinch.

“You will be crown prince, Arthur! That is what the King declares and that is what you shall obey,” Uther’s voice came through the door.

The rows of knights averted their eyes, bearing no witness to the fresh cut on Arthur’s cheek. Outside the castle, the common folk carried on with their preparations, unaware their generous princess would not be around to enjoy the ceremony.

Later, the King would announce to her admirers that the princess was unwell, and the world would be none the wiser. Later, Uther would insist the celebration carry on into the night time. Later, he’d send all the guests home without his daughter bidding them farewell.

By the ‘morrow, the king was still giving the same excuses, the Crown Prince Arthur standing stifled by his side. There were more bruises on the young prince than there were the night prior. When Diarmuid locked eyes with the man that had introduced him to Camelot, they knew Uther hadn’t the intention to find her at all. He wouldn’t spare a single cent on her search, much less a knight.

Merlin’s query from the other night seemed all the more damning.

And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?

Arthur held Diarmuid’s gaze and made a subtle nod, like he knew of the choice the Irishman was going to make. In fact, the prince even looked proud.

Every piece of armor, every cape, every medal he was lauded, Diarmuid dropped onto the Round Table like rubbish. He’d come to Camelot seeking an honorable king to serve, but alas, it seemed he came too early.

It hurt his heart to abandon his wish a second time, even if this instance, it was his choice. However, he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the princess lost, either.

What a terrible twist of fate.

Diarmuid spun on his heel, his face so contorted in disgust that even the maidens whose hearts he’d swayed looked on him with fear. Perhaps he was cursed to serve horrible people, those that knew nothing of love and loyalty.

Just as the double doors of the hall closed behind him, the king uttered words Diarmuid was not meant to hear. But the former Fenian knight had been a hunter his whole life, and such whispers would not escape his notice.

“Fool. Do you love that failure of a creature so dearly, you’d take it back from the fae?”

The knight’s heart sank into the abyss faster than a rock dropped into the sea.

The events of the other evening finally made sense. Uther had given her fruit from the Otherworld when he summoned her to the East Hall, that was why her breath smelled far too sweet when he’d taken her to bed. He now understood Arturia’s sudden sickness while at the party. Humans couldn’t stomach such magical food when given it for the first time.

Fae food had another quality. When eaten in the human realm, it made the consumer a target, far easier for the fair folk to whisk away into faerie lands, especially during dusk or dawn. That is how she’d been taken without leaving a trace. But when eaten in the Otherworld…

“Father,” Diarmuid called, marching down the halls of the castle. Black smoke rose wherever the man’s feet touched, leaving the floor singed in his path. Soon Diarmuid’s simple green garbs were replaced by expensive silk, his roughly pulled back hair graced with a circlet of gold. Servants and knights alike parted like the sea, fearful of the gentle Irish knight. For the first time his welcoming honey eyes looked like those of a wolf’s, alight with the rage of a hunter.

Camelot’s walls dissolved before Diarmuid’s eyes, stone blocks contorting into green grass and large trees. Soon his steps no longer echoed along castle halls, but burned through thick vegetation. The demigod spared one look at the sky to find it dotted with too many stars and knew he’d crossed to the domain of everlasting youth and abundance. His father had eased his passage.

Meanwhile, Merlin smiled as Arthur delivered the news of Diarmuid’s magical disappearance.

Arturia was fading fast.

She could no longer feel her bloodied fingers, nor the scratches all over her feet. She’d run so far to no avail, there was no escaping the land of the Fae. Still, the princess could not accept going to her death without a fight. If she were to lose her life, a warrior’s death seemed more honorable than the alternative.

Still, her death meant she could no longer follow the path her father set her down. She wouldn’t be queen, wouldn’t be the catalyst for a lasting alliance, wouldn’t bear a son for whatever prince or king Uther would assign. Arthur’s future reign would be robbed of a loyal ally. She regretted that much.

Then there was Diarmuid. Her one true friend, who knew her better than anyone, even Arthur. The last three years of her life were the brightest, for he filled them with happiness. He indulged her love for swordfighting, risking punishment to take her out to spar. Although he stayed by her side, he never made her feel like she was made of glass like her tutors tended to do.

They were duty-bound, they knew that, but they grew close anyway. Arturia was sure she loved Diarmuid the way that he loved her. She didn’t know when or how, but...she did. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to steal one final kiss before her duty took her away.

The tears that brimmed beneath her eyelids finally fell.

If on her deathbed, she could be selfish, she wished for the chance to tell him how she felt.

Alas, it seemed her breath had finally run out.

Arturia's eyes snapped open as fresh air entered her lungs. A warm hand pulled her up out of her grassy grave and into a familiar embrace, holding her as she hacked and coughed. A quick grasp for the necklace of vines at her collarbones revealed nothing but crumbling ash, like the offensive plant had spontaneously combusted.

"Forgive my tardiness, my lady."

Dazed eyes crawled up to the face of her savior, his name on her lips, but found a sight known and unknown to her at the same time. It was her knight’s face, undoubtedly, with the same droopy eyes and handsome features, yet there were parts of him that had been replaced. His orange irises now glowed like embers against the coal of his sclera, a quality decidedly inhuman.

“D..iar?” she croaked, reaching up to touch his ear, now knife-shaped at the end when it wasn’t before. He responded to her at once, resting his face in her palm to quell her fears. She must have been so confused to see him in this form. He’d never worn it in Camelot, after all.

With the little strength she had left, she returned his embrace, tucking herself into the crook of his neck without a second thought. She had so many questions, beginning with why he left a trail of death in his footsteps from whence he came, but all that could wait. Her knight was here.

“You have suffered in my absence, and for that I apologize,” the man said, regretfully seeing the red stain of a berry at her lip.

He was too late. Arturia belonged to the Otherworld now. Likely, the ones that had taken her forced the fruit down her throat to eliminate any chance of escape. Oh, and of course, to further weaken the human who wasn’t yet used to consuming magic-riddled food. If he had to guess, the mischievous fair folk were hunting their latest catch for sport. That would explain how she was still alive.

“Do you know why they took you, milady?” he asked, his watchful eyes scanning his surroundings for the ones that pursued her. They can’t have been far behind.

Arturia shook her head, leaning on his chest. “All they told me...is that my father...traded me to them. By the way they spoke...it seems it has been a long time since then. They...know my name.” she said in between heavy breaths.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to live in mystery much longer. The fair folk had finally decided to show themselves.

“That belongs to us, Son of Donn.” fifteen salivating mouths spoke in unison. The roots around them creaked as the trees behind them sprouted legs and walked. No wonder Arturia looked like she’d been pushed through several thorny bushes. The forest sided with its inhabitants.

That complicated things quite a bit. Even Diarmuid would rather not challenge an army of trees and fae. There was only so much he could do with Donn’s blessing. He’d rather not leave this entire area dead.

“On what grounds?” queried the demigod.

At his words, the small circle of death that surrounded the pair spread its reach, slowly sapping the life from every plant and animal within it. Even the more arrogant of the Fae knew better than to step within the territory of the god of death’s son, snarling and hissing as they backed away.

“King Uther’s payment for furnishing his barren wife a boy.”

Diarmuid’s hold on Arturia’s body only tightened. Payment? Was that damned king so heartless he saw such little value in his own child that he used her to purchase another? Around them, the grass began to decay, as if the knight’s growing anger scared the life out of the greenery.

The man cursed under his breath. Fair folk were unable to lie. The fae hadn’t been malicious in their capture of Arturia at all. They were simply taking what they were owed, no matter how twisted it felt to be dealing in human lives. Then again, fae didn’t quite view humans as equals. In their eyes, man could range from being lovers, to pets, to food. It seemed the latter was what they saw in his princess.

Unlike Diarmuid, whose rage simmered on behalf of his charge, Arturia’s diminished in favor of curiosity. Because if her mother truly was barren, how could she have birthed two? And if Arthur was the doing of the fae, then...who made her?

In a blink, Diarmuid was armed with his red sword and spear, a shrouded Beagalltach dropping on Arturia’s lap for her to use. Truthfully, he’d rather not fight, even if the woman who guarded his back eased his worries a bit. The fair folk were far more wily than common humans, and Arturia, who’d only been sparring against Arthur, Merlin, and himself, would be at a severe disadvantage. Especially when the Fae didn’t always play fair.

The best way out of this was to make Arturia undesirable in their eyes, but how? She had been owed to them since she was a baby. What could possibly ruin her for them—oh.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve been double-crossed, fair folk,” Diarmuid declared confidently. He locked eyes with Arturia meaningfully, giving her a slight nod so she’d play along.

“Double-crossed?” questioned the angered fae folk. Clearly his ruse was already working. “Explain yourself, demigod.”

“Uther has gifted her to me first,” he smirked. Technically, he’d spoken nothing false. Arturia was made his charge the same day he was knighted under Camelot. What was that if not a gift?

Luckily, his princess’s look of surprise was ignored in the Fae’s rage at being scorned. Especially by someone who they’d done such a huge favor.

“You lie!” screamed the beautiful creatures, all of them rushing forward to claim their prize. That couldn’t be true. They waited so long for her to ripen, expending so much energy to make Uther’s wish come true.

“I do not,” the demigod said calmly, pulling Arturia to himself like he’d always wished to do. She must have been so uncomfortable wrapped in a situation she could not control. He hoped she didn’t mind his actions too much. “She wears my token.”

That was the first time the fae took notice of the cloth that the tiny blonde so viciously hung on to throughout the chase. It was clearly woven in the Otherworld, perhaps blessed even by Donn. The craftsmanship was far too intricate in detail to have been made by human hands.

But the fae would not be denied so easily. “Our dealings predate yours, demigod. Surrender us what we are owed—”

“Even if this woman is secondhand?” Diarmuid drove in his point, flabbergasting all the terrifyingly beautiful faces that hovered just beyond the circle of death at his feet.

“I am afraid that I have already been allowed a taste,” he said smugly.

Arturia’s reaction was perfect. With a small gasp and her fingers tenderly touching her lips, the fae had all the proof they needed.

Uther had played them all for fools, thinking they’d accept leftovers when he promised them a feast. Some of their eyes still stared at Arturia’s thin arms, but no longer with desire. Rather, they were beginning to see that the King hadn’t prepared her for them at all. She was short. Clearly starved rather than fattened for their consumption.

They should have known she had already been claimed. The scent of the death god was on her skin the night they took her.

Slowly, the fae began to disappear. One by one, they left, a look of vengeance on their faces. If the Otherworld ever received news that King Uther was dead, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Will they seize Camelot?” Arturia asked as she followed Diarmuid down a trail of death. Although he left tracks of lifeless plants wherever he stepped, after some time, new ones would grow in their place. He’d changed nothing about the cycle of life, only accelerated it. A blessing from his Father, he explained, which did not follow him into the Human Realm.

It would be long before the princess became accustomed to the fact that Diarmuid was royalty as well. The son of Erin’s God of Death, Donn. She couldn’t believe she had someone so renowned in her service for the last three years. Especially if that someone was actually living a second life when he had done so. Suddenly, Diarmuid’s incredible prowess in battle made sense. He’d already lived a life of war once before.

The raven-haired warrior was patient with her, answering her every query as he led her to a small healing pool to recuperate.

“No,” the man said, leading his princess into the shallow water. “The Fae only quarrel with your father. You needn’t worry for the kingdom.”

Her knight—was he still her knight?—sat behind her, undoing the messy braids in her blonde hair as the water washed away her wounds. Being this intimate in public might have been improper in Camelot, but they were no longer bound by the laws and practices of the white castle. Human customs meant nothing in the realm of the fae.

In fact, most everything she knew meant nothing in this realm. She felt like a fish out of water, nay, perhaps even a fish in the desert in this magical land of plenty. There were no kingdoms here, not really. No wars to end with marriage, no diplomatic ties to establish. Here, her title was little more than a luxury price tag. An excuse for her captors to sell off her meat as premium.

Arturia shivered in the cold, goosebumps crawling up her figure.

“I feel I should have accepted death if it meant sparing my father’s life—”

“—Don’t,” the knight stopped, moving his hands from her loose hair to her shoulders. “In all this, you are innocent. It is your father’s own fault he transacted with the Fair Folk. Especially so...if he already had you.”

Arturia turned around so that they faced each other in the water. Her emerald eyes shined brighter than the pool they were in, curiosity and dread rippling within their depths.

“If Queen Igraine truly was barren, do you not suppose your father would first turn to his own court mage for help?” the knight voiced his suspicions.

Neither of them could confirm the answer, but deep down they knew the truth. Arturia was Merlin’s creation, just as Arthur was the Fae’s. No wonder they’d chosen her for their payment. Hers was a unique existence, fashioned in the hands of a demon.

“Have I endangered my brother, then?” she mumbled. “What if they claim his life instead of mine?”

“They are proud creatures. To have someone borne of their interference seated in the highest seat of the kingdom will have them thrilled. The fae will not remove him,” he replied.

A quick glance above her white dress’s neckline revealed the healing waters had taken care of the bruises on her neck. A few moments more and he’d set a fire somewhere close so they could dry off. Then he could take her...where, exactly? To his father? Maybe?

Donn would take her in. Of course he would. His father’s domain never ran out of space. Perhaps he could even take Arturia to Aengus, if she desired a fancier lifestyle more attuned with the arts.

However, it wasn’t Camelot. This was not the world she was raised in. The people within it were different. He had no doubts that she would adjust, but the fact remained that Arturia was a foreigner here.

A long sigh escaped Diarmuid’s lips. He was never a stranger to the Otherworld, but Arturia was. His princess sat here, forever stolen from the life that she knew, and yet she hadn’t spared a single question for her own fate.

“As long as you are human, my liege, you cannot return to Camelot. The fruit of this land anchors you to this realm in more ways than one. Even if your passage were somehow permitted, only starvation awaits you on the other side, for no food of man shall ever taste like what you consume here. Your body will reject anything else,” the demigod elaborated, loathing every word that left his lips.

His heart begged him to hold her, for comfort was the only other thing he could offer for her plight, yet he hesitated. Arturia may have known him for three years, but he’d concealed from her his form, his past, his lineage. If he weren’t the only familiar thing to her within the Otherworld, he wondered if she’d still trust him.

Arturia hugged her knees to her chest. Whether it was to combat the chill of the water or give herself some sense of security, he didn’t know.

“If I cannot fulfill my duties to Camelot, Diarmuid, then what purpose is there to me existing?”

Her words pulled him forward til he rested a hand on her head. Arturia unraveled herself like a blooming rose at his touch, her expression still solemn, but less worried.

“I suppose finding that purpose, becomes the purpose. We’d be in the same boat, Arturia,” he said, giving her a slight smile. She still looked dubious. Of course she did. Arturia knew no other life than the one she spent following tradition and her father’s orders. He, however, was different.

“The reason I came to Camelot at all was to live a life of service as a knight. I thought it might grant me some fulfilment. However, the moment I realized the very order—the king—I served had forsaken you,” he paused for a moment, bringing his hand lower to cup her cheek, “...It was all too easy to rescind my loyalty.”

The irony of it all was killing him. In his last life, he would have done anything his king demanded. He was only forced to leave due to extraneous circumstances, and as soon as his king declared forgiveness he was all too ready to retake his position at Fionn’s side. This time, he’d left Camelot peacefully and by his own choice, but he’d left nonetheless. It turns out that losing your life because of your lord’s jealousy changed a person. This time, he was finical in choosing who to serve, and Uther certainly did not fit his criteria.

“I do not know anything else but the knight’s path, just as you know only your path as a princess,” he continued as she leaned into his touch. “But I am beginning to think my happiness is not strictly confined to that life. If I may be so bold, milady, I believe you may be the same.”

Looking back, he indeed was happy as a knight of Camelot, but most of his joy came from serving her. There was nothing more thrilling than bringing victory to her doorstep, or wearing her token during tournaments, or riding with her into the forest whenever they could. In the beginning, he did strive to join the Table, but that wish quickly diminished when he realized the added duty would shorten the time he was able to teach her to wield swords and spears.

Diarmuid wouldn’t claim she was his new purpose. But he was sure that whatever awaited him, he wanted Arturia there.

This time, he really did pull her into an embrace. Although the water was cold, Diarmuid felt warmth where their skin touched. It helped remind him that although he’d been too late to take her back, he wasn’t too late to save her life. She was still here. He just had to convince her to stay.

“I offer you my company, Arturia. You will never be alone if...if you wish to continue your journey here.”

The blonde woman closed her eyes, contemplating his proposal. This fate was not the one she was born for. Nay, in a way it was, since her father had sold her off the same day she was born. She’d only been tricked into believing she’d be a political tool for forging alliances. In not succumbing to the Fair Folk, however, she’d basically rejected that fate. Who knew now what her life was meant for?

Diarmuid started a fire as she pulled his gift tighter around herself. She hadn’t let it go from the minute he gave it, only momentarily giving up its warmth to bathe in the healing waters. He was being so kind to her, so patient. He no longer owed her his service, considering Camelot’s rules no longer bound them, but he remained with her.

So much had changed in such a short time. But even if her knight looked different, his soul stayed the same. He was her one constant, a beacon of light in the world of unknowns she was thrust into. There was much she had to learn about Diarmuid’s past, but he didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Finding purpose, he’d said. Arturia didn’t even know where to begin. What was she if not the princess her tutors had groomed since birth? What was she if not her Father’s sacrifice to the Fae? She scoured her mind for any wish, any want she may have had beyond her duty, looking for something, anything that might give her some direction.

As her eyes followed her knight, she remembered her last thought before she believed the vines at her neck would take her life.

She wished she could tell him how she felt.

But that wasn’t all, was it?

What she wished for was no end to the time she spent with Diarmuid, for in those moments, she felt most herself. Perhaps she had been wanting that for a long time. She may have been ready to be married off for the sake of peacekeeping, but their kiss was a result of a selfish, pent-up desire to stay with him instead of fulfilling that duty. A final goodbye that conveyed her feelings before she had to go.

It was mere coincidence that the same kiss was what landed them in their current position.

Arturia reached for the hand of the man beside her closing her small fingers over his.

“I do not know who I am yet,” she admitted, her grip tightening such that he wouldn’t leave. But the gods knew Diarmuid never had the intention to do so. He needed her the same way she needed him.

“Neither do I know myself,” he answered, stroking her fingers with his thumb.

Arturia bit her lip, still wary of the future. This was quite literally the first time in her life when she didn’t know what would come next. There was no schedule to maintain, no grand plan to follow, nothing.

“All I am sure of,” she continued, gently tilting his chin so they gazes locked. “is that I need you with me. Is...Is that alright?”

Diarmuid pulled her closer with their interlocked hands, shielding her from the wind with his body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, more than relieved that was her answer.

“More than alright, Arturia.”

The pair faced the bountiful world beyond the fire at their feet, wondering what it had in store. It would be a long journey for each of them—finding oneself was quite the task after all—but they had each other. That was more than enough.

_____

Thank you for the ask! :)

I've been playing with this concept in my head for a while. An AU where Arturia isn't the King of Knights, but set in her time (not in a Modern AU) and incorporating beings like the more mischievous kind of Fae. Also you know, since Donn is the god of the dead, hc that Diarmuid's Hope you enjoyed!

[jadeee]

bestie-

i don't even know what Taylor looks like, but if you can't already tell, i think about them a lot and would draw them if i knew 😩😩😩

okay okay im asleep now i promise-

bestie ... did you get any sleep?? 😪 im worried ... just a smidge 🤏🏾 but i love these questions so i’ll let it pass ... just this once.. im totally kidding 😂 i love that you sent all these, they’re very great questions btw!!

so here’s a physical description of our lovely taylor 

i wrote them with they/them pronouns bc i didn’t wanna assume what gender Chris is attracted to {i know he’s fictional but that’s just rude to me to automatically make the love interest male or female w/o any consideration y’know? 😕 also why i try to make most, if not all, of my fanfics gender neutral} 

they’d prob identify as androgynous or use they/them pronouns irl. i think working in film has taught them a lot about sexuality especially during this time period which rebelled against the previous victorian era. art is liberating for some so i think not adhering to a specific gender for them was freeing in and out of work.

we know they wear glasses but i had to look up the styles of those in the 20s. they’d wear the popular circle styles we see now but they’d prob be a brown tortoise frame, not black though bc that’s too dark for them and def not metal frames bc those are too flashy.

based off the previous description we can tell they’re very mild-mannered? idk if that’s the right word but they don’t like anything too flashy or dark. if i had to pick an aesthetic i’d say a splash of light academia {only for work clothes though} with a big heap of cottage core! idk how cottage core was in the 20s though.. maybe blouses with billowy sleeves... you’re talented so im sure you’ll come up with smthn. ooh, and they don't like tight fitting clothes btw but they’ll sacrifice when it comes to pants.i feel like they’d wear more dresses if they didn’t move around so much at work but i think they’re fav outfit would be a long patterned skirt which stops above their calfs {i’ll explain why below} with a billowy white blouse that has one of those saggy bow ties at the neck and the cutest little oxfords!! agghhhhh, they dress to impress 😌✨💞

taylor is short like 5′3 short. they’re not very athletic but they do walk a lot so they have nice, strong, defined legs. you ever see ppl’s calfs and you’re just like dang.. that’s a nice leg 😂 i prob sound so weird but like that! body type would prob be rectangle :) 

baby is a natural brunette but they died their hair once and it hasn’t been right since :( so it’s a slight undertone of copper in there. sometimes it looks like a dark red wine when the sun hits hit {which prob makes chris go crazy} they don’t like to have long hair bc they’re so busy and don’t have time for the upkeep so they keep it short and wait for it... it’s curly!! it looks like a mini cloud 🤧 for reference look up ny mcfly on youtube 💕💕 omg, i might just make them a moodboard and tag you in it!

green eyes with flecks of gold like sun breaking through a field of grass 😭 i’ve always imagined taylor with green eyes so i knew this for sure! ooh, long eyelashes and their brows aren’t bold or as defined as nicky’s but they’re very soft and natural looking.

i never really considered skin tone before but this is the perfect moment for representation so taylor is brown and they have freckles across their nose! skin tone wise, i’d say they look like adwoa aboah who is beautiful🥺❤ 

they have a round face with the cutest cheeks 😪 and when they smile or laugh really hard the dimple on the side of their cheek pokes out. their lips would be full but they’d have a dominant cupid’s bow and their nose would have a little up turn at the end, like a little button 🤧 bc they’re as cute as a button??

hopefully i didn’t go overboard but i enjoyed doing this! it makes me wanna create a moodboard for them 😌💖 ooh and if you want reference pics of the ppl i mentioned lmk!

[cerynitiis]

12﹕ sender  invites  receiver  to  dance . bradly. imagine with me a second, just them in the kitchen either after cleaning up from dinner or just late at night when neither of them could sleep and just there in the moonlight 🥺

reem is staring out of the window,  at the fields covered by the blue blanket of the night.   the moon ( artemis ? ) covers everything with a silver sheen, illuminating silken spiderwebs and the tips of the grass,  the flowers,  the trees.  though it is late,  she can't bring herself to sleep,  not even in bradly's arms.  everything,  everything is a reminder of what little time they have left.  the sound of the clock in the hallway is agony,    a horrible reminder that every second gone by is a second she won't be able to spend with him.  but the warmth of his breath at night,   which used to soothe her to sleep, somehow makes everything worse now;  the way he twists restlessly in his sleep tells her it's just as agonizing for him,  now that he's made the decision to stop running,  stop hiding.     it's the cruelest waiting game.  part of her wonders if her love for him is another punishment from the gods and she hates herself for it.  but what else could this torture be ?  she has never felt like this before,  this utterly sick with terror.  perhaps aphrodite struck her with an arrow for this sole purpose — to see love consume her from the inside out.

no.  this love is real, not manufactured.  cruel as this end is,   it was always inevitable,  and it has nothing to do with her.  her love,  his love,  has always been real.  it must be.  she waited four thousand years for him.  she would easily do it again for just one more dawn,  one more day with him.

the sudden warmth of arms around her startles her.    reem looks over her shoulder, breath caught in her throat and relaxes only when she sees the familiar apple green of his eyes.   she turns around to face him,   lays her head in the crook of his shoulder.     neither of them speak.    there’s no need to  —  they have said everything they need to say,    know each other beyond words.    her mind goes back to when they met,    in that hospital in france so many years ago,   and as though he has read her mind   ( and perhaps he has ),  their silent embrace turns into a soft sway.     hands find each other,     clasp together for comfort.     they dance in the kitchen for hours,    just like that,    until the soft silver of the moon’s light turns pink with morning sun.  

@ichorimbrued