#oc: pearl murmurs

[lichenbug]

a few pony refs i made for. artfight :). my sona n two ocs- mulberry skyline and pearl murmurs.,,

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

IX. The Rage (+18, Smut, MDNI)

GIF -- manny-jacinto

"Aut inveniam viam aut faciam.”

I shall either find a way or make one.

H.

“Can I just ask where we're going so early?” You asked Marcus that morning.

“Patience, my lady."

After you woke up, while you were lying on the bed, resting your head on his chest, he told you that he had something he wanted to show you, before you had even had a chance to eat breakfast. You were even more surprised when Marcus grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the courtyard of the villa, towards the stables. The slaves were feeding the horses their morning meal, and the horses were consuming their food with growls and much appetite. It was breakfast time for the chickens in the hen house as well. Decima was feeding them, saw you from a distance, ceased her work and bowed to you. You could tell from her smile that she was aware of everything that was going on. You noticed that you had never set foot on this side of the villa before. The General had specifically instructed them not to tire you out when you were here as his slave, so you had never had any work to do out here. You smiled as you recalling those times. Remembering, how you had shied away from him at first, but then how you had fallen in love with him as you came to know his softer side day by day.

A slave brought Marcus's horse Dromos from the stables, and Marcus grabbed his reins with a big, beaming smile. Dromos whinnied, and Marcus stroked his face, chuckling. There was a special bond between them that went beyond the typical horse-and-rider relationship. While you were admiring them, Marcus looked at you, pulled the reins, and stepped towards you, holding his hand out warmly.

"My lady, I believe you remember Dromos."

"Indeed I do, how are you Dromos?" You took Marcus's hand and stroked the horse's neck with the other.

He lifted one leg and stamped his hoof and whinnied. You smiled, his warm furry skin was soothing.

"It seems he missed you." Marcus smiled and then looked at something behind you. "Now, we've got some riding to do," he said, straightening Dromos' saddle.

You nodded and approached the horse, but Marcus gently touched your arm to stop you. You looked at him in surprise. He looked at the other side of the stables and pointed with his finger.

‘Your horse is over there,’ he said.

You turned your head slightly and saw Cato first. He was making his way towards you with a horse that was particularly striking, with white hair that shone like satin in the sunlight. The horse lifted its head and let out a soft whinny as its white mane blew gently in the breeze. As it drew closer, its gaze turned towards you, and you were struck by its undeniable beauty. Although you were not particularly knowledgeable about horses, you could say that this snow-white animal was not your typical equine. It seemed to have been meticulously selected. With some hesitation, you reached out and gently stroked the horse's neck, running your fingers through its lustrous pearl-white mane. There was a captivating elegance in this magnificent creature.

“She's beautiful,” you murmured.

“A rare one, just like my beautiful wife,” Marcus said, his eyes meeting yours as he approached. He was smiling warmly. He put his fingers right next to yours. The white horse lifted one of its hind legs, hit it on the ground, and moved a little as if it wanted you to ride on it.

“Bridal gift for you, I didn't have a chance to introduce you two before. Are you pleased?”

You gazed at him and found yourself once more swept up in your feelings for him. His charms were undeniable. With each passing day, your love for him deepens. You wondered how he managed to make you feel this way.

“Marcus, this is the best gift I've ever received in my life. I am immensely grateful." You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. He put his arms around you.

“I am more grateful, my love." He gave you a little kiss on the top of your head. “Besides, you need to learn to ride by yourself.” He stroked your hair with his fingers. “Do you feel ready to ride together with me?”

You nodded, “Yes, but I'm not that good. I only rode once or twice back then in Egypt.”

“You'll learn in time. Now I want you to place your foot in the stirrup and mount by yourself. Can you do it?”

You put your foot in the stirrup as he said and looked at him. The horse moved a little, which made you stagger.

"Just make sure it's firm, then grab the saddle and climb up."

You grabbed the saddle and pulled yourself up as hard as you could, then settled down. However, the horse moved and you leaned forward to grasp the reins, your head close to her mane, feeling the wind on your cheeks. You probably looked a bit strange.

Marcus let out a chuckle. “Make sure you're sitting up straight and in control. Keep a firm grip on the reins.”

“But, she’s moving too much, she's not staying still, I'm afraid of falling.” You complained.

“Then you need to calm her down. Give her a gentle pat on the neck with your hand and reassure her by gripping the reins firmly. She needs to know you're in control.”

When you did as he said, you saw that the horse had calmed down, so you gathered your courage, sat up straight, grabbed the reins with both hands and gave them a little tug. It felt great to be in control, and you smiled at Marcus.

"I did it!"

"You haven't even started riding yet, princess."

Your smile faded. "Oh, right. How am I supposed to do that?"

Marcus laughed. "Gently squeeze the horse's ribcage with the calves of your legs to cue her to move forward.”

Your body tensed up a bit as the horse moved forward, but you quickly regained your composure and excitement replaced your fear. It was a great feeling. The horse kept on going, so you turned your head to look at him, but Marcus was already mounted on his horse and came towards you.

“Well done, my lady.” He smirked. “Come now, pick up the pace, follow my lead,” Marcus gripped the reins tighter and gave Dromos a little pat on the rump, and the horse started to gallop. As the distance between you and Marcus increased, you did the same, and with the sudden burst of speed, you swayed, your heart pounding. The wind was blowing your hair and caressing your face, which felt amazing.

“Marcus! Wait for me!" You called out to him, and he looked back at you with that childish smile on his face. It was clear he was enjoying himself, and you were no exception. You felt the same sense of exhilaration riding with him. There is no feeling in the world that can compare to the freedom you experience when traveling on horseback through the trees.

"My Lady! We're nearly there!" Marcus pointed up the hill a little later. Since you had learned to control it, you pulled the reins in the direction you wanted to go and stroked her belly a little and she immediately fulfilled your wishes. You smiled, pleased with yourself. As if you had won a victory. Marcus slowed his horse and circled the area he had indicated, waiting for you. You pulled the reins firmly and your horse neighed, lifted its legs slightly, and stopped. Marcus looked satisfied.

“You are a quick learner, princess.” He said, dismounting and leading Dromos to a nearby tree.

“I think she likes me too,” you said, sliding your leg over her back to dismount and jumping down.

“Would you perhaps like to name her?” Marcus stepped towards you.

“Yes, I was thinking, um. Since she’s so pure and white, I'd like to call her Unio (pearl).”

He nodded. “Clever, well suited,” He then grabbed Unio's reins and tied them to the same tree.

You became aware of the river at the bottom of the hill. It was the Tiber. Just ahead, you could discern the silhouette of the great city, which appeared to be quite beautiful. Also, It was a delight to behold the enormous structure from a distance once more, as you set foot on the very ground from which you had previously observed it from the balcony of the Domus Severiana.

Marcus approached behind you and wrapped his arms around you, placing his head on your shoulder.

“This is where I come every night and think of you looking up there.”

You turned your head towards him. He was pointing to the Domus Severiana.

“Every night?”

“That's true.’ His lips hovered over your cheekbone, his eyelashes caressed your forehead.

“So was I, looking out from the balcony, trying to make out the villa in the distance and thinking of you.”

He smiled mischievously as he brought his lips closer to yours. “Were you thinking about that blissful night we had too? Those intense moments? Did you desire me as much as I desired you?” He purred, tightened his arms just below your breasts, and pushed them slowly upwards.

Your cheeks flushed and you slapped his shoulder. "Marcus." You whined.

"There's no need to feel ashamed, my love," he said pressing his lips to yours and kissing them lovingly. Then he pulled back. "You must be hungry," he said, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you to sit among the flowers in the meadow. As you looked at him curiously, he turned around and walked back to his horse. He opened the saddlebag. Then stepped towards you with a bundle in his hand.

“Have you brought breakfast for us?” You shot him a look. He sat down next to you, undid the bundle's knot, and took out a loaf of bread and some fruit.

“I told them to prepare it yesterday. Come, have some, you need strength.” He fed you a piece of bread. Then he put his arm around you.

“What do I need strength for?”

“For your training.’’

You swallowed your bite and frowned. “Training?”

He smiled, “Yes."

“So you're pretty adamant about this?”

“I am.” His look was determined indeed.

Once you had eaten enough, Marcus took you by the hand and lifted you up.

"I had something made for you," he said, reaching for the holster on his waist.

"Another present?"

Marcus was holding a scabbard, but it was smaller than a pugio. He crouched down beside you. You flinched when he lifted the hem of your dress and touched your leg.

“What are you doing?” You tried to pull your leg back, but his hand was so strong you couldn't even move it.

“Stay still.” He was tying it a little above your ankle. It was strange to feel the leather fabric on your skin. You moved your leg as Marcus stood up after finishing. You lifted the hem of your dress to observe the scabbard. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it was a little uncomfortable. Seemed like an irrelevant accessory on your ankle.

“Is that a dagger?” You wailed.

“Not exactly, a small knife. I thought you could use it until we get to pugio.”

You lifted and lowered your leg, it was a strange feeling.

“Try pulling it out of its sheath.” His voice was almost commanding.

Marcus the romantic was gone and Acacius the General was here.

You did as he said, grasped the handle of the dagger, and pulled it out of its sheath, a little slowly. Why was it so difficult?

Marcus put both hands on his waist. “Do you think your enemy will wait for you to draw your knife?”

You rolled your eyes. “I'm a medicus, remember? Are you telling me to cut people with this?”

“Cut if you have to, then cure if you wish.” He said with a stubborn temperament.

You laughed, but he didn't. Wasn't it a joke?

“Now hold it out and attack me.”

You opened your eyes wide. “What? Marcus, I can’t.”

“I said do it, Aurelia.”

“What if I hurt you?”

Marcus let out a little laugh, a hint of smugness in his voice. “Don't worry, my lady. You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to. But you need to learn how to use your knife. Now, attack.”

You did as he said and lunged forward, holding the knife with one hand and making a slashing motion.

He rolled his eyes. “Strike with more power, think of it as having all your strength in your arm.”

You nodded and tried again. Marcus was not satisfied, and inhaled deeply. “The advantage of a short, small knife is that you can change direction more quickly.” He said and grabbed your hand holding the knife and supported your shoulder from behind with his other hand. “But if you have a target to focus on, you should do it like this.” He said and made your knife-holding hand make a fast-forward attack that almost made you stumble. “Like this.” Then he had you take the knife in your other hand. "Then this way." He had you make another attack, this time with a fast-cutting motion. “One, two, three.” Then he had you make a stabbing attack, and he tugged your wrist forward, but his wrist was so strong you stumbled again. Then he stepped back and stood in front of you, spreading his arms. “Now try to attack me once more.”

You raised your arm with determination, but also a hint of hesitation, to attack him. However, he was quick to evade your attack with ease, and you found yourself almost colliding with a nearby tree. You took a moment to collect yourself and then turned to face him.

“Try attacking again.” He said decisively.

This time you lunged at him with all your determination, but he grabbed your wrist and spun you around, almost without moving, and before you knew it, he pulled you towards him, your back slamming into his chest, your knife right next to your neck. His hand was gripping your wrist so tightly it was impossible to move it. You felt his lips on your head, you tried to get out of his arms but he wouldn't let you. “Try a little harder, princess,” he murmured and released you. Then he faced you again, his expression serious as he looked down at your legs.

“Spread your legs properly.” He ordered.

You obey.

“Suck your stomach.”

You breathed deeply and tried to stand up straight.

“Now try it again.”

You did the cutting motions he had just shown you, but for some reason, he still wasn't satisfied. He closed his eyelids tightly and sighed deeply. 

“Why is this so hard,” he muttered. He came over and snatched the knife from your hand and stepped backward. "Watch, how I do it."

He held the knife ready for the attack and skilfully made the same slashing motions as before, coming up beside you. "Do it like this."

His expression was so serious you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Spread your legs, suck your stomach, do it like this," you said, imitating his voice and movements. As you laughed again, his expression softened and he began laughing too.

“You found it quite funny, my lady?”

You were still laughing. “Yes, it was very funny.”

He grinned and extended his hand to you. " I think that's enough for today. Could you lift your dress up so I can put it back."

You took a step backward. "No way, I don't want that sharp thing on my leg." You said it in a slightly joking tone.

He narrowed his eyes and took a step towards you. You took another step back in response.

"I said lift your dress up." His voice was stern and commanding, but his expression was mocking.

‘What if I don't?’ You took a few more steps backward as he was coming towards you.

"Then I'll have to force you to do it."

“Try,” you said, turning on your heel and striding off with a laugh.

Marcus grinned. “As if I can't catch you easily,” he said and started running after you. As you ran as fast as you could across the meadow, he was chasing you.

“You must surrender before you trip and fall, Aurelia!” His voice echoed across the meadow.

"No way, General!" You continued to run, this time you turned the other way, but Marcus was faster. He grabbed you from behind with his strong arms and you giggled and struggled with all your strength. He deliberately let you both fall, and you rolled among the flowers in the meadow. One more roll, you were lying on the ground with Marcus on top of you, gasping for breath. You looked up at him and saw that he was laughing as you were. "I told you I'd find you wherever you ran, my lady," he said and bent his head down and kissed you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your fingers through his hair as Marcus' hand grazed the fabric of your dress sliding it up your leg. You broke the kiss and looked at him in surprise.

"What are you-"

"Easy," he said, and he grabbed your leg, lifted it up, and sheathed the knife. Then he kissed your knee and looked at you.

"Promise me you'll carry this knife when I'm not around." His expression was stern, the kind you couldn't argue with.

You nodded. “I promise.”

He uttered a soft, tender murmur as his fingers stroked your hair. "I truly hope that you never have to use it." Then he kissed you again, with greater intensity this time, conveying the emotion he was feeling to you through his lips. All of sudden, you heard the sound of a pipe echoing in the distance, and he broke the kiss. It seemed to you that the sound of the drums and pipes preceded the public announcement. You both turned your heads in that direction, it sounded more like a murmur through the meadow.

“It must be almost time for the game to start,” Marcus muttered.

You let out a sigh. “I really don't want to go,” you whined, glancing at the silhouette of the Colosseum.

Marcus turned his head towards you and helped you sit down. “I don't want to provide Caracalla with another reason to summon you.”

“You're right, I think I can bear it with you by my side,” you said, brushing his hair with your fingers to remove grass particles.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “As long as I'm with you, you don't have to worry about anything, my love.”

You nodded. Then he stood up and held out his hand to you. “We should head home and prepare to get going.”

As you and Marcus were traveling to the Colosseum, the crowds were gathering in that direction. There was a great deal of discussion about Gaius and his treachery. You could hear people talking about him and his fate with great enthusiasm. The carriage stopped in front of the stairs, and you and Marcus got out. As you ascended the stairs together, those who recognised you greeted you, and you responded by saluting them with a raised hand. The members of the Senate were also making their way up the stairs at a brisk pace, each of them turning around to greet you with a kind smile. It would be fair to say that you were the most talked about married couple in Rome. While holding Marcus' hand, you made your way to the imperial tribune together, where you observed that Geta and Caracalla had already arrived and taken their seats. Caracalla gave you a brief glance and turned his attention back to the arena. He and Marcus exchanged glances as Geta stood up and waited for you to sit next to him. Marcus greeted them and moved to sit next to your seat. However, as soon as he pulled you close, Geta reached out and hugged you, but Marcus was determined to keep hold of your hand. You found yourself stumbled between the two of them.

“Sister, you're here.” He looked at Marcus's hand gripping yours and grinned. “Come now, take a seat, it's almost time.”

Marcus's expression was stern as he pulled you close, made sure you sat down and then settled down next to you. He had no intention of letting go of your hand, and you were perfectly comfortable with it. Geta turned around and called Macrinus, who had just arrived. For some reason he looked happy. You didn't like it. His usual cheerful mood usually puts you in a tense one. Marcus probably felt the same. He bowed to you and took his seat. Geta and Caracalla seemed to be in high spirits and excited as usual, probably because it was their favourite moment. They stood up, and greeted the crowd as the announcer announced the game. Then stepped back and took their seats. Geta leaned towards you. “Ready to see the tigers, sister?”

You pouted your lips and shrugged your shoulders.

“I'm so thrilled. Look, my palms are all sweaty.” He showed you his palms with a wide smile, you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Good for you,” you said sarcastically. "I do wonder, though, if all this preparation is really for the purpose of making our cousin lunch for the tigers.”

Geta laughed. “No, that would be sooo boring. Macrinus has brought new gladiators, you will see them soon. Today's games will be slightly different from the others. It has been a while since we have seen warriors fighting dangerous animals.”

‘Gaius isn't a warrior,’ you muttered.

‘No, he's just a bait. Here we gooo,’ he said with clapping his hands, as the drums began to beat. The announcer threw up his arms and the crowd fell silent.

“People of Rooome! Who do you cheer for? The barbarian warriors who have come here today, risking their lives, are they worthy of your praise? Or do you cheer for the fearless gladiators who have embraced death? Or do you cheer for the fierce, dangerous tigers?”

The crowd roared, their voices growing louder with each mention of the tigers.

“Or for the execution of a traitor? The day of judgment has come. Our Emperors and yours must pass judgment on this traitor!”

The crowd was now cheering loudly in approval. One of the iron gates opened and Gaius was forced into the arena by the guards, who prodded him with spears. Geta stood up and gestured to one of the guards. The guard handed him a pugio. Then Geta called out to Gaius, "Hey, Gaius the traitor, take this. I don't want it to end quickly!"

He hurled it down the bleachers at him. Caracalla immediately checked to see where it had fallen. "That fool will die before he gets to it," he said, laughing. And the other gates opened, accompanied by the beating of drums and the sound of trumpets.

The barbarians stormed the arena, five of them, some with shields and spears, others with crossbows. The crowd cheered with gusto, and Geta and Caracalla applauded. Then the gladiators entered the arena, three of them, with shields and swords, one of them wearing a galea (helmet). Geta and Caracalla clapped even louder. The gladiators gave their customary salute to the emperors and gathered among themselves. Gaius still hadn't got the pugio, and Caracalla gave him a lot of abuse. He was stuck between two groups of warriors, but he was determined to get to the pugio. It was going to be tough. In that dusty, sandy field, everyone was each other's enemy.

"Let it begin!" Caracalla shouted firmly. The drums beat louder and the crowd roared. Tension and Thriller filled the air. Marcus stroked your hand with his thumb and smiled at you. Then he swiftly turned his gaze to the game. You were curious as to why the tigers still hadn't appeared. Geta and Caracalla knew what they were doing. They must have a good plan. The barbarians and gladiators charged at Gaius simultaneously. Gaius was about to take the pugio when a trapdoor opened in the sandy ground and a huge tiger came roaring out of nowhere. Gaius jumped back, but in his fright, he lost his footing and fell to the ground.

“Oh, he'll die so soon.” Geta whined.

“He's boring, as usual.” Caracalla agreed.

They laughed together.

The gladiators reached Gaius first and pulled him back. You looked at Geta. He winked at you, "I told you. Different kind of fight."

Marcus leaned in close to your ear. “Part of the game,” he explained.

It didn't take long to see how dangerous a game this was. While the barbarians and gladiators fought each other, Gaius was played like a toy right in the centre. One of the two groups of warriors was going to throw him to the tigers, but not before giving him a good thrashing on the sandy ground. As soon as the other tiger emerged from the subterranean floor onto the sandy ground directly opposite the other, the barbarians turned on the gladiators. One of them kicked one of the gladiators and plunged his sword into his neck, blood gushing from his throat and splattering the sandy floor like wine red. The violence was overwhelming. You would never get used to this. Gaius tried to run away, taking advantage of the clash of the two groups, but one of the barbarians kicked him in the thigh and pushed him into a tiger. Geta jumped to his feet, and Caracalla had already run to the balustrade.

"Eat him!" Geta clapped his hands excitedly.

Caracalla laughed loudly and madly.

You closed your eyes and squeezed your eyelids tight. The crowd was clearly excited and your half-brothers were shouting with joy. It was obvious that the tiger was eating his lunch. Marcus took your hand in both of his and stroked it. You were grateful he was there because you would have fainted at the sight of this savagery.

“Did you hear his bones crunching?” Geta looked at you and laughed.

When you rolled your eyes, he twisted his lips. "Come now, sister, didn't you watch Gaius' vile body crumble between that animal’s teeth?"

“I think I've seen enough,” you muttered.

“I'm sure you enjoyed it too, you hide it well though.” Caracalla grinned.

You forced a smile in response.

“What do you reckon? Two gladiators left.” Geta asked him.

'The barbarians don't stand a chance.’

“Hmm. I'd like to hear your opinion, Acacius.” Geta demanded.

You three turned your heads to Marcus.

“I agree with Emperor Caracalla. These barbarians are attacking recklessly and without thinking.” He answered without looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the gladiators, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking.

After a while, when the barbarians were down to two, you realised Marcus was right.

“Aaaahh, two on two! Thrilling!” Geta clapped his hands excitedly.

“I told you, the gladiators will take them easily.”

“The game's not over yet, brother.”

Indeed it wasn't, as the tigers struggled to break free from their chains, the barbarians, seeing an opportunity, took advantage of the tigers as hiding behind them to launch an attack on the gladiators with bolts, hitting one in the arm. However, this was a risky move, tigers, despite being bound by thick iron chains, retained a great deal of mobility. One of the gladiators, wearing a galea, managed to remove the bolt from his arm and picked up his spear, which he then threw at one of the tigers. The spear pierced the animal's throat with a single thrust, and it collapsed with a great groan of pain. You felt your chest hurt. Despite it is a deadly predator, it was an animal torn from its natural environment and was forced to fight there.

Geta pursed his lips, “I can't believe how you died so easily, you stupid animal.”

“There's still one left, brother.”

You found their conversation somewhat callous and wished for the game to end soon. You felt a longing to leave this place and return home with your husband.

The gladiator made a swift and decisive move, leaping from the lifeless body of the tiger and engaging in a sword fight with the barbarian. The other tiger let out a roar that echoed throughout the arena, accompanied by the sounds of the clash. As the other two of them fought each other, the tiger touched its claw lightly on the other gladiator's leg, but it was enough to cause significant injury. The man staggered backwards, the pain intense and shocking, and before he could recover, the other barbarian slashed his neck with his sword. The tiger lunged at him, but the chain and soldiers holding him down prevented him from attacking. Geta narrowed his eyes.

“Aaah, now it's two on one!”

“I knew it!” Caracalla clapped his hands in excitement.

The gladiator did not hesitate to engage with the barbarians, swiftly cutting the other one's arm before they could bring their sword down on him. This move seemed familiar to you for a reason. Marcus muttered something, and you knew he was thinking the same as you. You weren't trying to learn something about fighting. You had seen this gladiator fight before. You looked at Geta and Caracalla, then at Macrinus. He smiled meaningfully at you. That was him, that gladiator. The gladiator who injured Marcus' arm in a fight with him last time, and whose life was spared by him. But why?

Marcus muttered, "His movements have improved, but he still doesn't have enough use of his wrist.'

"Why is he here to fight again?"

Marcus looked at you. "There are many answers to that, my guess is rage.”

‘Rage?’

He fixed his gaze on the gladiator who had vanquished one of the barbarians, intensifying the fervour of the crowd. “His eyes are filled with nothing but rage. He battles using it, and when he triumphs, he believes it is because he is strong. However, it hinders his ability to think rationally, and it appears that defeat has made him even more relentless. This is indisputable proof that he is not basing his actions on logic.”

He turned his head back to him and saw that the gladiator had cut down the last barbarian. The crowd was whistling and cheering him on as he raised his arms. Geta and Caracalla were also applauding. Caracalla raised his arms. "And here is our champion! Take off that galea so we can see your face!”

The gladiator obeyed and removed his galea. He was looking at Marcus as he greeted you all. That made you feel very uncomfortable. Marcus squinted at him.

“What a fight.” Geta took his seat, and Caracalla sat next to him.

“This is the part I hate the most, the moment when the fight ends.” Caracalla mumbled.

“You're joining the banquet tonight, aren't you?” Geta asked you.

And you were just about to answer him when, in the blink of an eye, a bolt came out of nowhere and stuck between you and Marcus, just through his seat. You felt your heart leap into your throat. It was so close to you that you could almost hear the sound of it swooshing. While Geta and Caracalla let out screams of panic, Marcus flinched backward. First, his brown eyes locked on you, and then he turned his gaze in the direction of the bolt. You just held your breath, still in shock. Marcus was filled with an incredible rage, jumped to his feet. You pulled yourself together and turned in the direction he was facing. Geta grabbed your shoulders.

“Sister! Are you alright?”

You nodded, your eyes fixed on Marcus. The gladiator was grinning down at you, crossbow in hand, as if trying to enrage Marcus even more. Geta and Caracalla stood up to look at him.

“As a champion, I challenge General Acacius!”

Caracalla burst out laughing. Geta clapped his hands and turned to Marcus.

“You should have killed him last time, Acacius.”

Marcus locked eyes with him, and you could have sworn he'd killed him so many times with his deadly gaze. You gripped his hand in both of yours.

He already knew what you were going to say. He turned to you, his eyes sharp and unblinking. “I'll tear him to pieces.”

“We support you, General Acacius!” Geta cheered.

“You must learn to speak for yourself,” Caracalla complained.

You ignored them, your eyes locked on Marcus'. All your tormenting fears had returned.

“Aren't you going to punish him? That bolt could have hit me or you!” You said Geta.

“He knew exactly where he was shooting it, my sister,” Caracalla said arrogantly.

Geta shook his head. “He challenged the General, and being a man of honor, he must fight. Please make sure you kill him this time, won't you?”

As the crowd watched the General with curious murmurs, you were looking at him with teary eyes. He had already reached a decision at the moment the bolt pierced his seat. He withdrew his hand from between yours, removed the bolt with some force, and approached the balustrade, raising his hand and regarding the gladiator.

"I, Marcus Acacius, accept your challenge." He raised his hand. "I shall ensure that you regret shooting this!"

As the crowd began to cheer wildly, you could feel your heart pounding fast. As Marcus turned to face you and looked into your eyes for the last time, you decided to support him instead of being afraid. He needed it.

“You beat him once, I'm sure you'll beat him again, my love.”

His brown eyes sparkled as he heard those words coming from your mouth, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it.

"I will, my lady." He smiled and strode out, passing between the senators' seats and heading down to the lowest level of the Colosseum. Macrinus and you locked eyes as you looked him up and down with a look of pure defiance on your face. He was smiling at you with that disturbing smile, you squinted at him. You were almost certain he had planned this on purpose. Geta put his arm around you and sat you down.

“Oh, it's going to be so exciting. He's going to kill him for sure this time. The tension is so high!”

“But this time a tiger is there too,” Caracalla said.

“So? The general has fought with animals before. He even cut the lion in two in front of our eyes. I'm sure he'll be able to beat the tiger too,” Geta winked at your worried face.

“Really?” You asked curiously, you heard that before but thought it was just a rumor.

Geta chuckled, “I wish you were here with us to witness that moment, sister. It was quite something.”

“I have absolutely no regrets brother.” You hissed. After all, you never would want to see Marcus before a lion.

Your eyes moved between the tiger and the gladiator. While you were praying to Jupiter, the iron door swung open accompanied by drums. You and your brothers sprang to your feet. Marcus was in his armour and looking at the gladiator as he walked into the arena with his sword in hand. The crowd roared and ranged his name out. He went over to the gladiator and they both saluted the Emperors. You saw Marcus's half-smile and you smiled back in return. It was always tough seeing him there. The more fearlessly he fought, the more you worried. It was like a special kind of torture for you.

The game began on Geta's and Caracalla's commands, and you realised that your breathing was already becoming irregular. The gladiator with a smile, approached the tiger, Marcus followed at a distance, as if he understood what the gladiator was up to.The tiger roared, the gladiator made the first move, lunging towards Marcus with his blood-soaked sword in hand. It was a failed attempt; Marcus stepped aside. However, he managed to get a little closer to the tiger. Marcus took a step back as the animal let out a roar, and the gladiator swung a spear at him but missed. When you saw Marcus so close to the tiger, it made you feel so nervous.

The gladiator stepped back as Marcus walked over to him, looking angry. Even from a distance, you could tell what he was thinking. His sword gave off a faint glow as he thrust it at him. The gladiator fought back with his own sword. As the clash of swords echoed around the arena, the tiger moved in to attack them both. Marcus resisted with all his might as the gladiator thrust his sword repeatedly, pushing Marcus towards the tiger. The gladiator let out a growl and tried again, quickly, strongly and determinedly.

But this time, Marcus was more angry than ever. He couldn't stop thinking about the bolt that had been shot at him. In that short time, he didn't worried about himself, but worried about you. In his perspective, the bolt he'd shot had stuck in his seat, right next to you. This attack on him and his wife in his presence will not go unpunished. He was going to get revenge for sure, even if it meant he'd die in the end. Marcus roared and lunged forward with his sword, which glinted in the sunlight, driving it into the gladiator's chest. The man stumbled back but recovered quickly. If he hadn't been wearing his iron armor, he would have been cut in half. They just stared at each other for a while and then Marcus made the first move. He wanted to end this game as soon as possible and make sure his opponent was dead. He brought his sword down with all his might, screaming at him, but the man blocked his attack with his sword. They were making kind of animalistic sounds now, harmonised with the sound of the tiger. During the struggle, the gladiator resisted the General's deadly pressure. Then the urge to pull out his knife and plunge it into Marcus' exposed leg with a decisive and powerful thrust. Although Marcus had been expecting this, he was unable to prevent the knife from cutting him and let out a cry of pain. You leaped to your feet and screamed, covering your mouth with your hands. Geta and Caracalla leaned forward with excitement. You watched him rush towards Marcus, who fell to the ground. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the sand and threw it at the tiger, creating a cloud of dust that surrounded them. The crowd fell silent for a moment, and then you forgot to breathe as they shouted excitedly again. Geta jumped to his feet and Caracalla grunted. Geta, realising that your body was shaking, grabbed your shoulders and you both breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the dust cleared and you saw the sword Marcus had plunged into the tiger's throat.

Marcus barely threw himself backward as the tiger's fangs snapped open and closed right next to his beautiful face. His sword remained lodged in the animal's neck and soon the tiger's lifeless body collapsed to the ground. The gladiator lunged at Marcus with his sword while he was down. Marcus swiftly grabbed the spear from the ground and shielded himself. As the sword and spear clashed, a deafening sound reverberated through the arena. Marcus was determined not to let go of the spear he was holding and, despite the blood flowing from his leg, he tripped the gladiator's foot and knocked him to the ground. He immediately got up and tried to stand, leaning on the spear. The gladiator cursed as he got up and Marcus threw his pugio at him. If you had been right next to them in the arena, you would have heard the sharp sound of the pugio cutting the wind.

Caracalla returned Geta's grin with one of his own, and Geta laughed with joy. You soon came to know what had happened as you realised Marcus' pugio lodged in the gladiator's throat. As the gladiator tried to remove the dagger from his throat, Marcus advanced on him and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him down. The gladiator had only moments left, but Marcus was not to be appeased. He picked up a crossbow from ground, set a bolt in place, readying the crossbow to be shot – the very same crossbow the gladiator had used – aimed right above the gladiator's face. The crowd of the Colosseum was on its feet, eager to see what the General was about to do. Geta and Caracalla extended their arms forward, and Marcus turned his head in that direction.

The emperors turned their thumbs down, and Marcus's face hardened into a grim smile. He aimed the crossbow directly at the gladiator's head again and pulled the trigger. The crowd roared and cheered again, their approval loud and clear. They all chanted Marcus's name over and over. But your eyes were fixed on the bright red liquid leaking from his calf down his leg, soaking his sandals. You turned to run to him, but Geta grasped your arm.

“Where are you going?”

“To my husband,” you said, pushing his arm away.

‘We shall head together," he said, turning to Caracalla. ‘Weren't you the one who wanted to see the tiger up close?’

Caracalla laughed. “Yes, I want one of his teeth,” he said firmly, holding up a finger to the guard next to him. The guard nodded.

“I want the claw,” Geta said, putting his arm around your neck as you both walked.

Macrinus approached Caracalla and spoke in a low voice, then excused himself and left in a hurry.  The guards accompanied you as you headed towards the iron gate situated just below the imperial tribune. As you made your way down the stairs, the announcer proclaimed the names of the emperors, and the crowd responded with enthusiastic cheers.

You slipped out of Geta's arm and rushed towards Marcus. Two soldiers were with him, tending to his wounds, and when they saw you, they stopped and bowed. You immediately put your hands out to look at his leg. It was deep, and you looked at Marcus with concern. But he smiled.

“General Acacius, our esteemed champion who has a proven track record of success.” Geta applauded him.

“The tiger almost made you lunch, Acacius,” Caracalla said, laughing.

Marcus forced a smile and walked over to the tiger, pulling his sword from its throat with a swift movement. He raised the sword as he approached the emperor, the air filled with the scent of rusty iron as a few drops of blood fell to the ground.

Your half-brothers tensed, and the guards moved to a defensive position to protect them. The crowd began to mutter. You looked at Marcus, curious about his intention. His face was expressionless, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“My emperors, I wonder if you are aware of the number of lives lost in the process of taking these animals out of their natural habitat and bringing them here to Rome and the Colosseum. I have to say that ten of my men have lost their lives in this endeavour. They were Roman citizens, and they served you loyally. Ten good men who cannot easily be replaced.”

You didn't expect this, and you pleased that Marcus brought this truth to their attention. However, they didn't seem to care.

“After all they died to serve Rome, didn't they?” Caracalla smiled arrogantly. Geta remained silent, his eyes roaming over the tiger's dust and blood-covered body.

“Yes, they did, to serve Rome. But that is not the kind of death they deserve, is it?”

“I think he heard about the rhino, brother.” Geta muttered.

"Ah, now I see. You're concerned that a few soldiers might be lost again."

"Rhino?" You looked at them in surprise.

“You don't mention the details to your wife, do you, General?” Geta laughed.

Marcus ignored him. “As I mentioned, bringing a tiger here is a big waste in terms of manpower and also costs a lot of the Rome's resources. I can't even think about a rhino.” He drove his sword into the ground with a sharp thrust. “Rome has so many subjects, she must feed them.” Marcus's tone was stern.

Caracalla took Marcus' sword in his hand and pointed it at him. You gasped and took a step forward.

“They can eat war, General.”

Geta smiled and seemed to agree with him. Caracalla raised his arms and pointed at the crowd.

“Just look at them. They're all watching with great interest. They're all pretty pleased with themselves. They're having as much fun as we are.”

“Yes, but what about the people living in the alleys?” You said suddenly and walked over to them.

Caracalla looked annoyed.

“Do you really think all citizens are coming here? There are lots of people in the alleyways who are going starving, and many of them are children. I had the chance to see them recently. The situation is pretty dire."

You looked at Marcus out of the corner of your eye and saw that he was looking at you.

"Enough! Don't you ever dare to collaborate with your husband and order me around!"

Geta looked at you with a warning gaze, then turned to his brother. "Never mind them, brother, I want to see the tiger," he said and strode off in that direction. Caracalla gave you both a menacing look before turned and stepped towards his brother.

Marcus approached you. "You didn't need to get involved."

"Is it wrong to defend my husband?"

He smiled, "No, of course not, my lady, but the longer you don't confront him, the better."

Then he touched his calf and groaned.

"Marcus, your wound needs to be treated now!" You put your arm around his waist and called out the soldiers.

Marcus insisted you pull your arm back, and they led their general inside. Before leaving, you turned to look at your brothers, who were excitedly observing the tiger and laughing as if they were playing with a new shiny toy. You rolled your eyes and sighed, then turned towards the iron gate and followed your husband inside.

By the time you arrived at the villa, the sun had bathed Rome in its golden light, preparing to say goodbye. Marcus' cut on his calf was deep but not severe. It would take a week or two to heal. The slaves in the villa were taken aback to see Marcus returning, armoured and bruised, after an unexpected fight. As Marcus' body was covered in dust and dirt, you ordered Tullia to prepare the bath immediately upon entering the courtyard. You both ascended the stairs heading to your room, Marcus seemed to be struggling with each step. You helped him remove his armour and other items. Then he watched you with interest as you took off your palla and stola.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," you said, smiling at him.

"Let me," he said, reaching for the bracelets on your wrists.

This had become a daily routine: you helping Marcus take off or put on his armour while he helped you with your dress. He liked to undress you more, though.

Once he'd taken off your bracelets and necklace and put them on his desk, you wanted to take a look at his wound. You noticed that the bandage had turned red, so you quickly crouched down on the floor next to his leg and unwrapped it.

"We need to clean around the wound and wrap it tighter."

You were concerned, but he wasn't really. Your face was right next to his crotch, and your warm breath on his skin made things worse. Marcus's heartbeat quickened as you picked up a clean cloth and came back to him. You were so worried and focused on his wound that you didn't notice his eyes looking at you with desire.

You cleaned the wound meticulously, wrapped it. "You're stronger, so wrap it tightly." You said.

As you rose to your feet, Marcus stopped you by grasping your shoulder and lowering you back to your knees. You looked at him with confusion, and saw the familiar intensity in his dark brown eyes, and then saw the length of him growing under his burgundy tunic.

“But why-“

It was a silly question.

“Because of you,” he grinned. “Desires you,” he said, cupping you under the chin with his hand and bringing your face close to his crotch.

Your cheeks flushed red and you swallowed hard.

“I wish to feel your lips around me,” his thumb hovered over your lips. “And your sweet tongue,” he leaned his head down and kissed you on the lips. After breaking the kiss he looked into your eyes, “Will you give your husband what he desires?”

You were ready to do anything for him, but this was a new and strange thing for you. He's your husband. You should please him as he pleased you, you thought to yourself.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his. "If that's what you desire," you said, your voice smooth and confident, and grasped the hem of his tunic, lifting it. You were ready. You bit your lower lip as you looked at his glorious length. You had imagined him in your mouth before, but from this angle, he looked big. Marcus sensed your nervousness and took your hand, guiding it over him so that you could grasp his length.

You tentatively took his length in one hand and stroked it a few times, noting that it was already hard between your fingers and that a drop of precum was forming at the tip. You leaned in and gave him a little lick, just to see what it would feel like. It was warm, salty, musky. You let your tongue trail around the ridge of his crown. He exhaled in a low, raspy tone through his nose. You smiled, hearing his low moans gave you confidence. You lowered his throbbing length into your mouth, which was stretched open as far as it could go and still only just fit around him. Your tongue flicked over his more sensitive spot, while your hands worked over the base, kneading it gently. He shuddered in delight. Then, all of a sudden, he thrust deep into your throat.

“Mmmff!” Your voice was muffled, and he felt your gag reflex vibrating against the sensitive skin of his length.

"Look at me, my love,” he purred. You obey immediately. “You are enjoying that are you not?" He hissed cheekily through a struggled breath.

You hum in response and he jolts at the vibration of your mouth around his throbbing length. You continue to suck him and you look directly up into his eyes innocently for a moment which sends him right to the edge, the way you are looking up at him sweetly and seductively but so naughtily, your long eyelashes fluttering everytime the tip of him hits the back of your throat. The yellowish sun light streaming through the window lit up your hair, illuminating the strands of gold and copper that flowed over your shoulders. He grabbed your hair in his fists and yanked. But you liked it.

“So beautiful,” he pants.

He pulls back before thrusting forward again, balls-deep in your mouth, coming inside you, taking you by surprise. You swallow on instinct, surprised that it was really sweet. He touches your cheek, wiping away a few drops with his finger, and you look up at him shyly.

“Gods, you have enchanted me body and soul, I love you,” He purred and held your jaw in both his hands, pulling you off him and you frown a little at the loss of him inside your mouth.

But he did it to pull you into his arms in a hurry, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he kissed you passionately. Then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, pushing the things off his desk and making you sit. You were too busy to care about the sound of the ink bottle falling to the floor and the papers flying around. You pressed your hands on his shoulders, pushed your head back and broke the kiss to catch your breath. Your eyes met and you saw the fire of desire in his eyes. You blinked and swallowed, reacting the same way every time. He grinned at you the same way, and it never seemed to get old.

“I must have you. Now.” The rough timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine.

Her insistent and impatient fingers peeled the fabric of your tunic down your shoulders. The fabric gathered around your waist. His burning lips met yours again, his strong hands gripped your hips once more and pulled you to the edge of the desk. His hands caressed your knees down to your ankles and pulled the fabric of your dress up. In one swift movement he removed his tunic and threw it to the floor. When he turned to you, looking at you like a hungry wolf and your heart began to pound faster. Your mouths met again, and in an instant, you were lost in an all-consuming kiss. You push your hips forward against his crotch and suddenly aware of how hard and big he has again become in such a short time. You admire his heaving chest and all his muscles and his scars. You lean up to touch his chest and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He slides inside you with a sudden movement, your walls clenching instinctively at the excitement of this new position. He moans into your mouth and breaks the kiss, grabs your hips with both hands, pulls out and thrusts deeper. You tilt your head back and try to breathe. He grabs your jaw gently and makes you face him. “I want you to watch me,” he whispered.

You had to learn to adapt to his behaviour, as it was a recurring habit of his, but you still felt that your shyness was holding you back. In contrast to you, he rarely closed his eyes, only when he was nearing the end. He usually prefers to watch you, he values eye contact greatly, as if he doesn't want to miss any moment of this precious moment with you. Probably because he was a very passionate man, filled with pure desire. “Marcus…” You moan his name as your walls clench around him so hard that he groans. Wave after wave you crash into him. Your arms are below his, but wrapped around him and your nails dig further into his back. You think you hurt him when he hisses but he smirks and all it does is make him chase after you with his own climax. At that moment, you feel he was spilling, filling every inch of you, licks and sucks even bite your chin meanwhile. He continues to thrust and the wet sound of him releasing more and more inside you is music to your ears as he rides out the remaining waves of your climax. Finally he slows down and stops, breathing heavily. Both of you enjoying the moment between, admiring how you're almost naked on his desk and he's just had you there. He pulled out slowly, smiled as he enjoys the sight of you. Then run his fingers through his hair, wiped the sweat from his brow and foreground, and took a moment to catch his breath.

“My lady.” He held out his hand, offering to help you to your feet. You slowly get up, thighs together, still holding on to him. He leaned in a little closer to tuck your messy hair behind your ears.

“I believe the best time for a bath is at this very moment.” He grinned. "Shall we?”

In the Balneum, while you were rubbing Marcus's shoulders and cleansing him of the grime of the sandy, dusty surroundings of the arena, he was very quiet. He appeared to be lost in thought. Perhaps he was tired, you thought. The exertion in the arena, the struggle to survive, and dealing with your brothers must have been exhausting for him. However, the feeling of being deprived of his voice was becoming unbearable.

“You know, you could tell me,” you said softly, breaking Marcus's thoughts.

“Hmm?”

You rested your head on his shoulder from behind, your cheeks lightly touching his.

“It must have hurt you, losing those men of yours. You don't have to carry that burden on your shoulders alone. As your wife, you can share it with me.” You kissed his neck right on the jugular vein.

Marcus turned his head to you, his beard brushing your nose. “How fortunate man I am that the Gods have blessed me with you?”

He turned and pulled you towards him, slipping his arms under your shoulders and thighs as he did so, and pulled you into the water beside him. Your giggles were accompanied by the splashing sound of the hot water and echoed through the marble walls of the balneum.

Marcus kissed you gently on the lips, tenderly, adoringly. He pulled back and smiled, gathering your wet hair on one side of your neck. “My beautiful princess, you know I would do anything for you, don't you?”

You ran your fingers along the line of his lips as your head rested on the arm he had wrapped around you from behind.

“With all my heart, I know, General,” you murmured.

"I hope you will be reassured that from this moment on, I will do everything I can for you and for Rome." His gaze sharpened and his expression became serious, as if he was making a vow. Your fingers traced the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

"You sound like you might be about to do something soon?”

His eyes dropped to your wet hair. 'I only wanted to make sure you know that.'

You got a strange feeling all over, and his expression was unlike anything you'd ever seen. And it lasted all night. Even when you were lying in bed together, holding you in his arms and kissing you on the lips, it felt different.

You found it difficult to get to sleep because you were troubled by a peculiar sensation that persisted throughout the night. As soon as you opened your eyes in the morning, you felt a shiver, but it wasn't because your hair was still damp. The sensation you always felt first thing in the morning was missing, the comforting warmth of an arm around you and its owner. Your hand instinctively went to the other side of the bed, you felt the sheet with the back of your hand. It was cold. Usually, it was warm.

You sat up in bed and looked around. He was gone. His armour and other belongings were nowhere to be seen. You got out of bed, shivering, your chest hurting. This room hadn't felt so warm in his absence. However, there was no change in the air temperature, everything must be the same. But it wasn't. Nothing was the same without him. You found yourself wishing that this morning, which had begun inauspiciously, was a dream. However, when you were once again confronted with the feelings you had experienced the night before you decided to leave the room. As if running away.

As you descended the stairs, you saw Norell walking in the courtyard with a tray. You called out to her, and she turned to face you.

“Where is the General?”

Tullia came up to her and mumbled something. You hurried down the stairs and walked over to them. Why didn't they answer you?

“Where's my husband?” Your voice was louder than you wanted it to be.

Tullia came closer to you, her eyes uncertain.

"My lady, the general left early this morning."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know, but he's probably off to the barracks."

"He's never left this early before. Surely he said something?"

Tullia opened her eyes wide. "How dare I ask him questions, my lady?"

You frowned. You felt like she was hiding something from you, but you couldn't be sure what. After she excused herself and left, Decima saw you and walked towards you.

“My lady,' she greeted you. "Your eyes are a little sunken. Are you alright?"

“I don't- I don't feel well,” your voice trembled.

"Please, take a seat." She held your hand and kindly guided you to sit on the armchair.

You sat and sighed deeply. Decima sat next to you. From the look in her eyes, you sensed that she was aware of something and wanted to share it with you.

"Sir Octavius arrived at dawn. Whatever he said to the general, he quickly dressed and left. I thought you knew."

You placed your head in your hands and groaned at the headache you felt.

"I must have fallen into a deep sleep around that time because I couldn't sleep properly at night."

“I’ll bring your breakfast," she said and rose to her feet, but you reached for her arm and prevented her from doing so.

"That is unnecessary. I would prefer to rest in the room until the General arrives.”

However, he did not return that evening or the following day.

The minutes seemed to drag on, each one a painful torture. When the waiting became unbearable, you decided to leave the villa one evening. You needed to find him and see why he wasn’t coming back.  As you had promised him, you wrapped the small knife Marcus gave you around your ankle, put on your black cloak and left the room. Decima spotted you and ran to you, reaching out to take your hand on the stairs, but you pushed her hand away.

Tullia and Norell and even the other slaves ran to you, all of them concerned.

"Domina! Please don't leave at this hour." Tullia pleaded.

“Master will be back eventually, please be patient." Norell reached out to take your other hand but you pulled it back. The others also begged, making you even angrier.

You raised your hand. “Enough!" Your voice, loud, echoed through the courtyard. Mau, startled from her slumber, leapt up, jumped down and ran behind the fountain. They were taken aback and fell silent. Their kind and soft Domina was gone. You turned your head, strode purposefully out of the courtyard. As soon as you came out, saw Cato and Octavius there which surprised you.

“My lady,” Cato ran to you.

You looked at Octavius.

“Where is my husband?”

“My lady, I cannot allow you to leave, please go back inside.”

You approached him frowning. “I asked you a question, Sir Octavius!” It was the first time you had raised your voice to Octavius, who had always been kind to you. He startled and tensed a little.

Tullia, Norell and Decima were watching you anxiously from the doorway of the courtyard.

Octavius bowed his head. "The General has a mission to complete, he has ordered me to stay here and protect you until he returns. You must understand, your safety is paramount."

You opened your eyes wide. "Mission? I want to know exactly what you mean by that."

Octavius' expression was hesitant. You approached him. “Sir, please, I need to know where he is."

He frowned, didn't answer.

"Or is it about my brothers?"

He remained silent, still no answer. You were getting more and more angry.

“If it's an important mission, why are you here? Aren't you his right-hand man?”

“I am, but this is his direct order.”

“Tell me at once what the General's mission is.”

After some thought, he looked at you.

“The General said. If he fails…" Octavius could hardly speak. You swallowed, sensing you wouldn't be pleased with what you were about to hear. “He said that I must protect you with my life, no matter what.”

Your throat got dry. “Octavius, tell me where he is.” Your voice was shaking.

You imagine he was as displeased with the order he had been given, and as worried as you were. His expression became more resolute. “Sir Macrinus. We have been considering various strategies for some time now to ensure a successful outcome. Two days ago, when we became aware that he was departing for Libya, we devised a plan to launch an attack just outside the capital this morning. The general was keen to proceed with minimal disruption and with a few man.”

“Macrinus is no fool. He could very well be outnumbered.”

“That's a possibility,” Octavius stated.

The wave of anxiety had taken over your whole body, Marcus' words echoed in your head. 'For you and for Rome.'

“Cato! Get my horse here at once!” You ordered. He looked surprised at first but nodded and trotted off towards the stables when you looked at him angrily.

“My Lady, but-“

You turned to Octavius. “Lead the way.”

please reblog, comment or like if you enjoyed thank you all <3

@myownwholewildworld @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury @shinymusicpanda @somedayheaven @ivoryandflame @negrita2345 @music-lover09 @javiismyhsbnd @idontcareihavenoidea @jisungandpedrolover @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment or msg me :)

[sunmoonjune]

spring tides [like the moon universe]

pairing: poly!ot8 ateez x fem!oc!reader

warnings: vague mentions of eating disorder, death and torture, scars, ptsd, very fluffy! a lot of comfort! not so dark this time xD I did not proofread this :D

word count: 14.1k

a/n: hello y'all :D I have returned with some LTM for you <;3 This is a oneshot for my like the moon universe! You don't necessarily need to read the series to understand this fic but it definitely helps the immersion and understanding some of the plot points! you can find all chapters of ltm on my masterlist <3

Seonghwa remembers something in the spring of your third year with Ateez. As he watches you at Jongho’s side, silently offering the guard slices of fruit as he cleans his claymore, Seonghwa recalls that he doesn’t know when your birthday is. 

Jongho is murmuring something about the design of his blade and the engraving along the handle when Seonghwa stands abruptly. The eldest shifts on his feet, brows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip. His lips purse when Jongho questions him. 

“Hwa?” 

The red-haired guard looks up at his partner with a lilt of concern in his voice, hands halting their motion on his blade. Jongho’s dark eyes glint as the fading sun catches the hickory color of his irises. 

“Is there something wrong?” Jongho continues, already shifting to stand to his feet. “Are you alright?”

You rock on your feet, legs stretching as you prepare to stand with Jongho. Your eyes flicker across camp, scanning for whatever has caught Seonghwa’s attention. There’s two swords still strapped to your back and you can nearly feel the cool metal pressing into your skin – a haunting reminder of the terrible things you’ve done with them. The buzz beneath your skin itches with the beginnings of adrenaline, already prepared to stand and defend the two Ateez members at your sides.

Seonghwa lifts his hands and shakes his head to soothe you and Jongho before you can stand. He softly waves his hands to encourage you to sit back onto the carved log beneath you, a wary smile on his lips. 

“No, it’s nothing,” he murmurs, still gnawing at his lip as he finishes. He offers a barely concealed sigh and shakes his head again. “‘M alright, just remembered something.” 

Jongho doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but he settles back onto the floor regardless. His hands return to wiping down his claymore but he doesn’t look away from his partner. 

You share the sentiment, continuing to watch Seonghwa and making note of each creak and scratch that echoes through the camp. You don’t know what startled him, but you’ll be prepared for the next time. The fruit in your hands has made your fingers sticky in the brief moments you spent looking up at Seonghwa rather than cutting the supple treat. 

You don’t mind though. You like slicing fruit for Jongho.  He doesn’t eat enough, you’ve noticed. You’re not quite sure why, but you suppose you don’t quite know how to ask. No matter the reason, it brings you comfort when he continues to take slices of succulent fruit from you as he cleans. He doesn’t look up, simply trusting you to place the pieces into his hands so he can eat without trouble. When you sat beside him that morning with the fruit in your hands, Jongho raised an eyebrow but didn’t mention it. You ate the first few slices before offering them to the wine-haired guard, who accepted them with a small smile. Every so often, he turns slightly, ensuring that you’re continuing to eat as much as he does. 

At one point he tilts his head back, looking up at you with those pretty, boba pearl eyes and opens his mouth slightly. Both his hands are occupied, busy with the intricate care his blade necessitates. With your heart thumping quickly in your chest, you place a slice of fruit on Jongho’s waiting lips and try desperately not to linger on the thought of how full and supple they are. 

“Thanks, love,” he murmurs without looking at you, the words sweet and saccharine in the low timber of his voice. 

Seonghwa laughed when Jongho’s cheeks pinkened after that, but you weren’t really sure why. 

Turning his attention to you, Seonghwa looks down at your figure. Sitting with a slight slump in your shoulders, the spymaster smiles faintly. Slouched posture is a good sign, he muses. You’re comfortable. 

When you tilt your head to the side, silently questioning Seonghwa’s thoughts, you reach up to gingerly grasp his fingers. There’s no hesitation. There hasn’t been in a long while. Seonghwa extends his hand in offering when he notices your appendages twitch. His warmth sinks into your palm and you nearly hum at the soothing feeling. 

You squeeze his hand twice before lingering for a longer third.

‘Are you okay?’ you silently question.

Seonghwa’s lips quirk into another gentle smile, but his eyes are distant. It makes your heart tug painfully. The hickory of his near-black irises is muted. You miss the glimmer of those sweet, dark eyes that show when he smiles. 

“Yeah, m’alright, lovebug.” 

Your heart slams into your ribs – a delighted feeling. Lovebug. You like that. 

Seonghwa leans closer to repeat the gesture, squeezing twice and then lingering for an ‘okay.’ His other hand lifts to run over the back of your head with a delicate movement. Fingers carefully scratch against your scalp and you resist the temptation to lean into his hands and exhale softly. 

“I have to go see Joong and Yunho, though. I really did just remember something I wanted to speak to ‘em about,” he whispers. Dragging his nails gently over the nape of your neck once more, Seonghwa smiles when you finally lean into his touch with a quiet rumble. He thinks you look positively cat-like. When one set of lashes flutters against your cheek in a tired, pleased expression, Seonghwa could coo at the endearing look. He withholds only to save you the embarrassment of his mother-hen tendencies. 

Your one eye flickers over his expression once more before you relent and nod your head just once. Seonghwa’s hand begins to pull away from your head, and this time you do make a tiny sound of sadness. The eldest feels his heart squeeze at your reluctance to be parted from him, leaning close to drag his thumb over the stiff material of your mask with a sweet touch before he stands upright once more. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? You and Jongho finish up and join us for dinner soon.” 

You let out a short exhale through your nose, a sound they’ve taken to signify your agreement. Jongho’s lips twitch at the noise, trying to hold back the laugh he wants to let out. 

“Okay,” you whisper softly beneath your breath as you lean back against the back of the log. Seonghwa smiles and finally shifts his stance to leave, only pressing a gentle kiss to Jongho’s brow before walking off. Your head tilts one last time as Seonghwa leaves, wondering if perhaps one day he’ll kiss your head too when he takes his leave. 

The archer finds Yunho before Hongjoong. The tallest of Ateez is easy to collect when Seonghwa gives him a meaningful look. The tension in the eldest’s brow must convince Yunho that there is something important he is needed for because he immediately follows after Seonghwa. The two find themselves in the Captain’s cavern, his and Seonghwa’s really, standing before the long-haired leader with a small frown on the archer’s lips. 

Hongjoong mimics the frown, coming to a stand behind the desk currently holding a plethora of worn maps. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Seonghwa sighs, squeezing his fists together before he turns to face Yunho with a solemn expression. 

“When’s her birthday?” 

Yunho’s brow quirks at the same time the tension in his shoulders finally loosens a notch. Sighing softly, he licks his lips and answers.

“Tiny’s?” 

Seonghwa nods, the expression on his face unchanging: serious and solemn, as if the situation was as grave as a wake. Hongjoong glances between the two men, his brow now lifted in surprise, but he says nothing. 

“It’s been three years since she’s been with us,” Seonghwa murmurs tersely. “But we haven’t celebrated her birthday. The first year I could understand missing it – I mean, she was still adjusting to Ateez, and even after that she’s still a little apprehensive. Not that I blame her, of course – I just… It’s been three full years and I can’t believe we’ve missed her birthday at least three times.” 

Yunho’s bottom teeth sink into his lip and his eyes suddenly dart towards the floor. He swallows once, shifting on his feet and sighs as he ponders how to answer Seonghwa’s question. The eldest watches his partner with that same, tense look and his eyes glisten with something sad – something understanding, as if he knows Yunho’s answer before he speaks it aloud. 

“I don’t know,” Yunho finally answers quietly. He looks down at his feet, unable to meet his elder’s eyes. His eyes squeeze shut with another sigh that shakes through his shoulders. He repeats himself louder, still just barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

Hongjoong steps forward from behind his desk. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” 

“I mean I don’t know,” Yunho whispers sadly. “And she doesn’t either.” 

Seonghwa licks his lips, grasping at strings as he scrambles to find the right words to say. 

“I don’t understand. How can she not know her own birthday?” 

Yunho won’t look up from his feet. His fingers curl into fists and the tips of his nails dig into his palms from the tightness of his grip. He can’t bring himself to loosen his hold. 

“Tiny, uh… After everything that happened with her – with that village, they don’t particularly regard her… fondly, you know?” 

Yunho speaks slowly and methodically, as if trying carefully to pick the right words to say. His tone is terse and cold, the disdain for the village of his past more than evident in his voice. Hongjoong looks up at his partner with a frown still on his lips, his heart pulsing sadly in his chest. 

“But she doesn’t know her own birthday? No one in her village told either of you?”

Yunho sighs again, finally looking up at his Captain with grief plastered across his features in an expression neither man can ignore. Seonghwa is already stepping forward, settling an arm over Yunho’s shoulders and rubbing his thumb across the taller man’s jaw. 

Yunho leans closer to Seonghwa and continues, voice deep and throaty with the weight of his words. “We celebrated it once. Back when we were young – back when… Daia was still around.” 

Hongjoong looks away. 

“But even then,” Yunho continues softly, trying not to think of the bony cage casting shadows of your quivering form. You were so young. Little fingers grasped the cold bars that separated him from you, desperately whispering a plea for him to leave. He should have known your father wouldn’t let you celebrate your birthday like he and the other children did. But the smile on your face was so pure, so genuinely happy that he could never utter the words that may wipe it away. 

 “We didn’t know the exact date – just that she was born in the spring. Her father… well he killed the attendants that assisted her mother through labor. Not that we could prove it, of course. Anyone around for Bug’s birth… isn’t around anymore. And Bug was raised kind of secluded the first few years of her life. No one knows exactly when she was born and her father certainly wouldn’t say.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes continue to glisten with that broken look, and he licks his drying lips before he speaks. His heart throbs painfully, echoing the sadness in his face.. “And… after Daia wasn’t around anymore?” 

Seonghwa hates that he asks. 

Yunho shifts on his feet and looks away again. 

“I, uh… I don’t know much of what happened after Daia…” he trails off for a long moment. “By that time, the village and her father turned their backs on Bug, and I… I was exiled a few years later.” 

Seonghwa thumbs over Yunho’s jaw again, trying to soothe his lover’s agony. Hongjoong steps closer and lays his hand across Seonghwa’s back, their combined sadness near tangible in the cavern hall. 

“Bug’s birthday…” Yunho finally continues. “She’s never seen it as a good thing, you know? Her father and the village certainly didn’t see it that way.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes sadden, the shine of his irises dulling at Yunho’s confession. He turns over his shoulder to look at Hongjoong and presses his lips together, as if regretting bringing up the topic altogether. 

“A good thing?” Hongjoong whispers. 

Yunho shakes his head, his frown dragging down his lips as he breathes softly. “Not something worth celebrating. The day she was born was… the start of everything bad, I guess.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes squeeze shut, the burn of tears forcing pressure to build in the corners. 

“Sometimes I think,” Yunho whispers tiredly, his eyes cloudy and unfocused as he stares into the distance. “I think she might hate it; that she might despise the day of her birth because of all the pain that came after.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to soothe the anguish that swells inside his ribs. There’s grief there, rage too, settling in the pit of his stomach and pushing upwards into his chest and throat. It’s not directed at you – it could never be. It’s towards your father, towards your village, towards anyone that has looked at you with disdain and uttered that foul moniker he knows makes you flinch. 

“I’m sorry, Yun.” 

Yunho shakes his head, leaning into Seonghwa’s hand and looking down at Hongjoong with his eyes glistening with welling tears. He swallows, clearly resisting the urge to cry, and kisses Seonghwa’s thumb when it brushes his mouth. “‘S okay, Seonghwa. I know your intentions were honorable.” 

Seonghwa nods, finally leaning forward until his head rests against Yunho’s collarbone. An arm wraps around the eldest’s shoulders and Hongjoong presses himself against Seonghwa’s back, encasing both him and Yunho. 

“So don’t bring up her birthday, then?” Hongjoong whispers, frown still drawing his lips downward. He speaks the question into Seonghwa’s shoulder blade, his lips grazing the tunic covering his skin. 

Yunho is silent for a long moment. No one speaks and the sounds of their hushed breaths are all that echo through the hollowed cavern. Yunho ponders his Captain’s question in the silence and thinks of your growth in the years you’ve spent in their camp. Would you rather they never mention your birthday again? Or would you appreciate a different kind of memory to replace the shaded pains of the ones long past?

Soon after, Yunho leans forward to bury his face into Seonghwa’s hair before he breathes deeply and pulls back, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. He thinks of you and that youthful grin that used to grace your lips more often as a child. Yunho recalls the mischief in your smile and the wonder that would flash across your eyes, and he begins to twist an idea around his thoughts. It’s that look he wants to see again. He always wants to see it; the mischief, the awe, the teasing grin you used to throw over your shoulder to get him to chase you through the training grounds. He wants that so badly. 

“Actually, Captain…” 

Hongjoong peels his head away from Seonghwa’s shoulder, looking up to meet Yunho’s eyes with a raised brow and a question in his eyes. “Hmm?”

Yunho finally manages a fraction of a smile, stroking his hand over Seonghwa’s shoulders as he speaks. 

“I think there might be a way we can show her that her birth is something worth celebrating. I’ll need your help though.” 

“Anything.” 

“Anything for her,” Seonghwa finishes at the same time Hongjoong speaks. 

Yunho’s heart swells. The soft grin on his features begins to stretch, mirrored by his two elders. Pride begins to surge beneath his skin and it makes him feel fuzzy. 

“What do you need?” Hongjoong whispers into the fraction of space separating their lips. Yunho huffs a smile, leaning closer until his mouth brushes against his leader’s. 

“How do you feel about a little trip, Captain?” 

Time passes easily. About a week goes by after the conversation between you, Jongho and Seonghwa before Hongjoong announces that Ateez will be spending a few nights traveling away from camp. He won’t say where they’re traveling to nor why they’re going, but there’s a mischievous grin on his lips when you tilt your head in suspicion. No one will tell you anything about the adventure other than handing you a cloth pack to gather some things for the trip. 

Mingi helps you clean your blades and slides them into the scabbards on your back for you. Seonghwa packs food away carefully and slides extra servings of dried and cured meats into your pack followed by the fruit he knows you and Jongho love. San and Yeosang sit by your side as you help sort the first aid supplies the camp may need. The inky vines wrapping around Yeosang’s forearms flashes from beneath his sleeves, and you find yourself following the sight of the tattoo each time you peek a glimpse of golden skin covered in leafy shapes. 

San laughs and raises an eyebrow at his lover when he flicks his shirt above his waistband playfully, showcasing the span of scales descending over his hip and up his waist. He giggles when you reach forward to pull his shirt higher over his side, eager to follow the lines of ink up his torso. San pushes your hands away and promises to show you one day. Wooyoung enters the cavern a moment later and exchanges a knowing look with San, as if the same pattern of obsidian scales crawls up the opposite side of his own torso. 

On the morning Hongjoong announced their leave, you pack the last of your things diligently in the cloth pack given to you. There’s something fond rippling through your chest as you slide a hand over the large tunic laid across your bed. 

The sensation seeps all the way down to your toes, a bittersweet happiness that arose from the realization that you’ve never… owned things before. 

In that village, nothing was ever yours. It was always stolen or taken, never owned. 

But now… 

Now there’s all kinds of things in your corner of the medical cavern. There’s the little rope of twine with eight little beads Yeosang gave you to fiddle with so you wouldn’t pick and pull at your nails. There’s the bear-hide blanket Jongho handmade when you started to grow cold in the winter nights. A pile of spare clothes tailored to fit your size sits beneath your bed. A hollowed shell of smooth, rich cream sits beside you, specially made for you by Wooyoung and San when they noticed your scars were particularly aching in the cold weather. There’s a whetstone and cleaning tools beside your swords, left there by Mingi when he noticed your blades were dulling. Seonghwa always leaves a myriad of flowers beside your bed each week, and the dried stems of all his past bouquets hang above your on a piece of twine Joong brought you. There’s armor and chainmail beneath your bed, presented by Hongjoong with a shy smile. He cleans them for you when he thinks you’re not looking, ensuring the armor stays in good shape and protects you well. One of Yunho’s thicker tunics lies at the foot of your bed, a staple of your growing closet of clothes. He knows you like having his scent nearby. There’s books too, ones from the medical cavern and ones from Wooyoung, who you’ve discovered is quite the avid reader. 

There’s just… all sorts of things. 

And you’ve never really owned things before. It’s strange. And quite enjoyable, you decide.

You like owning things. You like being part of Ateez – being part of a family. 

With your lips twitching upwards into a fond smile, you stand with the last of your belongings and slide the straps of your cloth pack over your shoulders. It sits a little strangely on your back but you huff and step out of the cavern anyway. 

The rest of Ateez is already outside, shuffling the last of their belongings into storage and closing up the cave system behind you. A wooden sort of door slides shut behind you and the viny, earthen cover falls over it. It’s perfectly concealed from the wild, appearing just like any other cropping of rocks and stone. You marvel at their ingenuity and turn to find Wooyoung approaching you with a smile on his lips. 

“Good morning, Bug. Are you ready?” 

Your head tilts with a question as Wooyoung’s hands shift upwards to the straps of your pack. He raises a brow once, always asking for permission before he touches, and you shift closer and slide your hands onto his hips with a nod of your head. Wooyoung’s smile seems to widen, if at all possible, and he carefully begins to adjust the straps of your pack so it sits better across your back. Your gaze follows his hands, tracing over the fading scar on his one wrist – the space where a rusty shackle used to sit. Your lips quirk happily at the sight of the missing metal cuff, now long buried in the earth. He hums happily at the feeling of your hands on his waist, and chuckles beneath his breath when he feels your hands attempting to weasel under his shirt – likely another attempt to get a look at the tattoo you know sits there. 

Wooyoung huffs a breath as you skate a gentle hand over his bare hip, focusing on the wavy shape of an oscillating line your draw over his skin. He translates the word as ‘what’ and understands your inquisition to mean ‘Ready for what?’ 

“Can’t tell you,” he laughs, his chest shaking with the motion as you squeeze his hip in retaliation. “Sorry, baby. Captain’s orders; take it up with Hongjoong if you want to know so badly.” 

Your one eye rolls and Wooyoung laughs again, that bright, cackling sound echoing through the trees in a burst of noise that makes your heart flutter. You like Wooyoung’s laugh. 

“C’mon you two!” Hongjoong calls from a distance, already beginning to pace towards the southwest. “We’re burning daylight. Let’s get moving.” 

You respond with a choked hum despite knowing your Captain can’t hear it. Wooyoung grins, finally satisfied with the adjustments he’s made on your pack, and turns over his shoulder to call back, “We’re coming, Captain. Relax a little. It’s barely dawn, we’re on schedule.” 

You don’t need to see Hongjoong to know what expression the Captain has on his face. A tiny smile appears on your lips and when Wooyoung turns back to face you with a hand held out in offering, his grin beams once more. 

“C’mon, baby. You wanna walk with me and Sannie today?” 

Your answering nod is a little too eager, but Wooyoung doesn’t mention it. 

To you, anyway. The smug grin he shoots over his shoulder at Mingi and Yunho is met with a sigh and an eye roll. The vulgar gesture Mingi throws back goes unseen by you too. 

Seonghwa sees it though, and the sound of Mingi’s squawk when he’s slapped across the shoulder by the archer makes Wooyoung laugh again. 

It’s springtime. The forest is filled with bright shades of emerald green and flowers have begun to sprout along patches of sunlight. Lupin tickle at your ankles when you pass and you watch their lilac and lavender petals sway in the wind with a fond expression. Your last bouquet from Seonghwa was fresh Lupin flowers, a growing favorite of yours he has noticed. 

Wooyoung holds your hand as you walk, sometimes shifting to allow San to take his place. They talk happily as you stride through the forest, following Yeosang and Jongho as they lead your band of warriors through the trees. You still don’t know where you’re going nor why you’re going there, but you trust your Captain and you trust your family. 

Eventually, you unlink your hands from San to step ahead and walk besides Mingi and Yunho. San’s resounding pout and soft sigh are lost on you, but Wooyoung slides his hand into his partner’s empty fingers with a grin and a teasing poke to San’s side. Mingi intertwines his fingers with yours with a beaming grin and a happy chuckle, swinging your hands between you as you walk. He points out the flora and fauna he recognizes along the hike, explaining their uses as he recalls Yeosang’s teachings. He mentions the honey-haired healer’s tattoo sleeve of medicinal herbs and shows you some of the plants he recognizes to be inked into Yeosang’s skin. You eagerly categorize the leaves and petals of each plant, hoping that you’ll one day be able to find each one decorating Yeosang’s skin. 

The first night away from camp is spent sleeping beneath the stars. 

Your group of nine lays huddled together in a clearing in the pines, with a small fire burning quietly in the center for warmth. Shifts for watch are assigned and you find yourself curling between Yunho and San that night with a promise to take the final watch with Seonghwa. With cicadas clicking in the distance and a cool breeze rustling the branches above you, you find sleep easy that night. Strangely enough, despite resting out in the open with no cover around, you find you can sleep calmly. Nestled between your Yunho and your San, their body heat keeping you warm even underneath the fur blankets swaddled around you, you feel safe enough to sink into a well-earned sleep. You know the others will wake you if there’s trouble lurking about. They would never let anything happen to their family. 

The next day is spent between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, happily listening to their stories and eagerly nudging the both of them to show you some of the ink decorating their skin. Once you found out about Yeosang’s tattoos, there was nothing holding you back from asking the others about their own. Seonghwa relents with a teasing grin towards Hongjoong, showing you the pattern of large scales that crawl up his forearms. You trace the delicate scales with a happy sound, not noticing the shiver that crawls down Seonghwa’s spine. Hongjoong rolls his eyes at his partner, but he almost wishes to show you the ink decorating his back and spine too. He only waves you away with a laugh when you turn to him with a tilt of your head and a happy question on your lips. 

That night you sleep between Yeosang and Jongho, one of your legs wedged between the youngest’s and your hand clumsily intertwined between the healer’s fingers. This time, the nine of you settle in a cliff alcove, sheltered from the fog and the light drizzle of rain that spatters through the forest around midnight. 

There’s no telling how far you’ve traveled from Ateez’s hollow. It’s been two days of mostly hiking and stopping for breaks and meals, but you’ve long grown used to strenuous labor so the walk is not nearly as difficult as you once thought it to be. You still have little to no knowledge on your destination as your Captain is tight-lipped about the matter. He only gives you soft smiles and quiet laughter when you nag him about where or why you’ve left camp. 

On the third and last day of your long journey, you walk between Yeosang and Jongho at the front of your pack. The two have been leading you for three days, seeming to know the way without needing a map or compass. Every once and a while, Yeosang looks up at the night sky and lifts a hand to palm at the stars. You understand he must be checking your position, ensuring that they’re still on the right path, but you don’t ask. You find Polaris winking down at you each night with a fondness in your chest, and you give her a gentle, barely-there smile each time you see her. 

The healer and his partner pace through the trees with newfound urgency that morning. The two members eagerly shuffle through the trees with beaming grins and an energy that you cannot help but mimic. They’re excited about something – unfathomably so. 

“We’re almost there, honey,” Yeosang encourages you, holding out a hand to help you scale the final boulder before you begin your descent back down the mountainside. “Just another mile or so, I promise.”

You trust him. 

The others have begun to feed on the buzzing atmosphere building in the group. There’s tension simmering, but a good kind, as if there’s something awaiting your family at your destination. You don’t know what it is, but it must be something good if they’re eagerly beginning to quicken the pace. 

Soon after you begin your descent down the small mountain, the dense foliage of pine trees and packed soil gives way to something softer – something you’ve never quite seen or felt before. It’s pliable and squishy beneath your feet, allowing your weight to sink into the material with each step. It leaves footprints in your wake, the ground shifting and moving beneath your feet. 

Sand. 

It’s sand. 

You know it’s sand because Yeosang has some collected in a small jar in the medical cavern. You’ve never seen it before: sand or the sea. You found the tiny bottle of eroded stone once and carefully examined it with a puzzled expression until Yeosang found you. The miniscule grains of rock and shell shifted in the bottle as Yeosang explained where it was from. 

You listened to him for hours that day. 

He talked about the sea and his life as a captain of his own ship from the hour of the sun’s peak until it descended beneath the horizon. You were fascinated. Eagerly hanging onto every single one of his words, you listened to Yeosang with a rapture you couldn’t describe. He spoke of the ocean and the smell of salt in the fresh air, mentioning that there was a particular hint of something so ocean-like in the scent that he couldn't begin to describe. Yeosang described the sand and the shore, detailing how the plush sand like the stuff in his bottle gave way to harder packed ground the closer you grew to the sea. He talked of how it felt to play in the waves and to feel the cool touch of the ocean on his skin. 

You marveled at him for hours, longing desperately to one day know the smell he spoke of, to feel the ocean breeze tickle your skin and to feel its waves brush against your feet. 

It sounded wonderful. 

So when the sand beneath your feet begins to thicken, giving way to clumsier footsteps and the sound of something roaring in the distance, you perk upwards. 

Your entire body slams to a halt, startling San who walks behind you. Jerking upwards, your one eye darts over to Yeosang, who stands with Jongho at his side, already looking at you. There’s this look in their eyes; something fond and gentle – an expression you’ve begun to recognize. They watch you as you begin to piece together the information you’ve gathered of this little trip, smiles on their faces as you realize where they’ve taken you. 

At your side, San begins to bend forward, his hands reaching out to pull at the laces of your boots and chuckling beneath his breath. You reach out to stabilize yourself on his shoulder as you make a sound of confusion. 

‘What’s going on?’ you try to question without speaking.

At your back, Yunho runs a hand down your spine and soothes the tension in your shoulders. You reach back, grasping his hand with a strength that surprises you and draw that oscillating squiggle across the back of his hand with a bewildered expression. 

‘What’s happening?’ 

There’s another word you want to say. One you don’t have a translation for. A word you’ve never spoken or seen. 

Ocean. The sea. 

You don’t have a word for it. 

But you can smell it now. That salty, fresh sort of scent with a hint of something you cannot place. Just like Yeosang described. 

The sea. 

San taps your leg, garnering your attention and helping you lift your foot so you can place it on his knee. He’s kneeling at your feet, one leg propped up to lift your foot and the other in the sand beneath him. The healer pulls at your laces, beginning to untie your shoes and pull them from your feet with a grin. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs with that low timber that makes you shiver. “Let’s get these off.”

Your held tilts in confusion. Seonghwa chuckles behind you, leaning into Mingi’s side and shooting a look over at Wooyoung. “Gotta take your shoes off unless you want sand in the soles, Bug. It’ll be a pain to walk back with all that in ‘em. I promise you’ll never be able to get it all out.” 

Hongjoong laughs from beside Jongho, the Captain throwing his head back with a knowing grin. “Speaking from experience, huh, darling?” 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes and ignores his lover, dropping a hand to intertwine with Wooyoung’s. The younger eagerly locks their fingers together, smiling happily and leaning his head onto Seonghwa’s shoulder as you process everything. 

The others begin to pull off their own shoes, tying them to their packs or holding the laces in their fingers. Mingi laughs and pushes Wooyoung when he bends over to undo his laces, and when Wooyoung stumbles, he shouts indignantly and lurches upwards for revenge. Seonghwa laughs and tries to settle them, only to end up yanked out of the way by a grinning Yeosang. Wooyoung and Mingi screech at each other, beginning to race down the sand towards the roaring sound that continues to swell in the distance. 

You worriedly look down at San, his dark irises already looking up at you with adoration swirling behind them. The healer pulls off your sock and carefully sets your foot back onto the sand, watching as you marvel at the plush, cool material beneath the soles of your feet. 

“C’mon, tiny,” Yunho laughs behind you, chest rumbling as he speaks. The vibration echoes through your back from how close the warrior is pressed against you. He grins when you shiver pleasantly. “We’ve gotta catch up.” 

San lifts your other foot delicately and places it on his waiting knee, repeating the process of taking off your shoe and sock before he ties the laces together and stores them away in his pack. Before he sets your foot back onto the sand, San’s eyes twinkle with something mischievous.

He leans forward and drags his fingers across the skin of your calf, eyes crinkling as he smiles. You look back down at him with your stomach fluttering pleasantly, watching as San leans forward and presses his lips to the side of your calf. 

Oh. 

His lips skate over the muscle and his hand rests where your thigh connects with the knee. You feel your breathing still. Air catches in your lungs, and some burst of emotion lurches into your throat as you stop and stare down at the healer with one widened eye. You can feel the smile on San’s soft lips as he drags his mouth from your calf to your knee, kissing your skin sweetly as he goes. He drifts over scars both fresh and faded, but does not stop moving as he ascends up your calf. San leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, your skin practically shivering under his touch and lighting ablaze when he pulls away.

Oh. 

You stare open-mouthed at the healer when San finally slides a hand down your leg and deposits it onto the sand. You lick your lips once, trying desperately to come up with words to say, but there’s nothing. Just the trail of blazing heat San left behind and a roaring fire beginning to spread inside your chest. You can practically feel the heat in your face, and you lift a hand to palm at your cheek as San watches with a teasing grin. Your figure practically vibrates as you shiver through the emotion bursting through you. 

“San…” 

Said healer mimics your shiver as you whisper his name, fingers dancing along your calf before he stops. He presses one final kiss to your knee, at the crease of the joint, and this time your eye slides shut with a shiver. The plush feeling of his lips against your skin is ambrosia for your soul and the barest touch of moisture is left behind when he finally pulls away. 

He looks up at you with honey in his irises, hand skating down your calf once more and smiles. 

“C’mon, Bug. We’ve got places to be,” he teases, saccharine timber never failing to make you melt. 

As if he wasn’t the one distracting you. 

Finally, you’re able to squeeze his shoulder thankfully and San beams up at you in the way that makes those sweet little dimples poke out of his cheeks. You nearly lean forward to caress a finger of the indents that make your heart mushy, but still as the cool sand sinks between your toes. 

It’s… soft. 

The sand melts beneath your soles like butter, cradling your heels and caressing your skin like silk. You wiggle your toes and awe at the feeling, watching the sand shift and move with your lips just barely parted in wonder. San watches from your feet, his gentle eyes roaming over your partly-concealed face and grinning at the expression plastered across your features. Your lips are parted, but just barely, taking deep breaths to inhale the fresh air of the sea breeze and one eye dilated with awe. San's heart thumps vibrantly beneath his ribs, a song of your name. It calls out to you sweetly, and San swears that when he runs his hand across the bare skin of your leg, brushing over scars and broken skin, he can hear your heart call his name in return. 

Your one eye darts upwards to meet your Captain’s gaze. 

Hongjoong stares at you with some ineffable softness in his expression. He reaches a hand out to grasp your fingers, helping you step forward away from San. The healer stands from his kneeling position, his own footwear now missing, and joins you at your side. 

“You like it?” Hongjoong whispers as you near. 

The vigorous nod of your head is almost comical, and Hongjoong chuckles beneath his breath. Yes. Yes you like it. 

San beams at your side, unable to stop the mirthful sound of his laughter. It erupts from his chest in that giggling way that you adore. You tilt your head to look at him, your chest swelling and heart thumping with the tumultuous feelings surging within you. San reaches out to run a hand down your arm and you lean close offering a single line of ‘thanks’ across his palm. 

Yunho leans forward and pecks a kiss across your forehead, directly over the mask concealing the right half of your face and then turns to walk after Wooyoung and Mingi, San at his heels. He doesn’t acknowledge the kiss, but your heart jumps into your throat regardless. Your fingers itch to follow him, twitching in an attempt to reach for him, but you turn back to your Captain instead. 

Hongjoong is still looking at you, that ineffable softness still radiating from him. “C’mon, angel. Let’s go see the ocean.” 

You’ve never been more excited. 

Hongjoong begins pulling you in the direction the others have disappeared in, following them over the dunes of sand. At first, he pulls your awestruck figure behind him as you make your way through the deeping sand, turning back to watch you marvel at the grains of white and cream colored grains. Your feet drag, slowing the two of you down as you continue to look down at the sand beneath you. At one point, you can’t resist the temptation and you stop, carefully pulling your hand from Hongjoong’s to bend at the knees and drop into the sand. 

“Woah, angel!” Hongjoong gasps as you let go of his hand and urgently drop into the earth below. “Careful!” 

Dragging your fingers through the silky material, you watch the tiny pieces of sediment cascade back into the hills beneath you as they trail between your fingers. The sand is cool to the touch and gentle as it scratches against your skin. You thought it would be rough, but it’s not. Not this sand anyway. 

Seonghwa chuckles behind you, stopping to drop his hands beneath your shoulders and gently lift you back up to your feet. The others are little specks in the distance, just a few hundred yards away. The eldest carefully sets you on your feet and slides a hand down to intertwine with your own. 

“C'mon, lovebug. We haven’t even reached the good part yet.” 

The good part? You wonder. How could it possibly get any better than this? 

But as the crashing sound gets louder with each step you take and the smell of salt continues to grow stronger, you begin to realize what the good part is. 

Soon after, it becomes you dragging Hongjoong and Seonghwa through the sand dunes. Eagerly tugging them behind you as you race towards the others, you sink into the sand and stumble a few times, only catching yourself when either member scrambles to grab your waist. You push quicker through the deepening sand each time you right yourself, racing through the dunes until you finally see it. 

The sea. 

And you stop moving. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa nearly crash into your back as you freeze, body halting at the top of the sand dune. Your one eye is transfixed on the view before you, mouth parted and body slack with awe. 

Waves are crashing along the shore, breaking into foamy surf as they collide with the cream-colored sand. There are little birds with thin, long legs dancing in the shoreline, pecking at things in the packed sand. You watch with fascination as they rush away in a flock from an oncoming wave. When the foam finally settles, they return to their feeding grounds, continuing to peck away at something beneath the darker sand. The smell of salt fills your senses and there’s a brush of water against your skin as a breeze carries a mist of salt onto the shoreline. 

You’ve never seen so much… color before. 

The ocean is blue. Green too, and teal and dark and bright, and every color in the range you can possibly think of. It’s aquamarine in the peaks of crashing waves and a darker cyan in the deepness of the salty water. There’s pale blue, creamy skies and even paler cream-colored clouds. You nearly wish you could reach out and touch one. 

It’s wonderful. And it’s so much more than you think you deserve. 

With awe on your features and mouth slightly parted, you stare mystified at the sea before you. Hongjoong steps up beside you, the others starting to circle back to stand nearby. They just stand there… watching you for a minute. 

They watch your one pupil dilate and your expression softens into wonderous glee. Their hands intertwine with each other, fingers squeezing one another and hearts thumping happily in their chests. There’s pride there, and affection too, roaring madly beneath their skin and calling out to the sea with a throaty, triumphant call. 

You like it. You like the sea. 

And they like you. 

Hongjoong slides a hand down your arm until he can gently link your scarred fingers with his own. Your attention briefly shifts away from the sea to look over at your captain. 

His soft brown hair rustles as the sea breeze flutters through the strands, and Hongjoong smiles. Eyes scrunching into a beaming grin, the one that you like so much, he offers a squeeze of your palm. The scar crossing his one eye moves with his expression and you adore the way it looks when he smiles. Chocolate brown irises flicker in the brightness of the sunlight and for a moment, you think you much prefer the color of his eyes than the enchanting blue-green of the sea. 

But it’s tough competition, of course. 

Hongjoong squeezes your hand once more, fully drawing your attention back to him, and he leans close to carefully grasp the side of your face. His palm gently cups your mask, stroking his thumb over the tough material with a delicateness you cannot fathom deserving. But he touches you regardless, even if it's the mask instead of your skin. Hongjoong doesn’t care that you continue to wear it. None of them do. It’s a part of you, and they’ll continue to care for you all the same. 

“Are you happy?” The Captain inquires, licking his lips as he watches you. 

The vigor in your nod nearly makes him laugh. His beaming grin only seems to widen and you find yourself stunned at how beautiful he looks happy. 

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy, angel.” 

You want to ask something else. Something about why your little clan has ventured this far or perhaps something else, but you can’t begin to find the words for it. 

You don’t need to though. 

Hongjoong leans closer, his warm, umber eyes scanning your features as he whispers something only for you to hear. 

“Happy birthday, Bug.” 

You barely register the sentiment before your captain leans forward and gently presses his lips to the crown of your head. 

You don’t breathe. Too frightened that any movement will force him to pull away, you stay remarkably still and stare numbly into Hongjoong’s chest. 

His lips linger for a long moment against your hairline, and you feel the warmth of his exhale against your scalp. The feeling makes your stomach flutter pleasantly and suddenly your body feels like you’re going to vibrate out of sheer enjoyment. Another shiver tickles its way up your spine and you finally exhale shakily. Reaching a hand upwards, you clutch onto the hand Hongjoong has still cupping your cheek. 

Her heart finally throbs with a dull ache. 

Your birthday? 

You didn’t even think… 

Hongjoong exhales softly and bends to drop a second kiss onto your mask, just above where your right eye would be. It throbs suddenly, but not so painfully this time. 

Your birthday. 

They came all this way for you? 

All of this… leaving the camp, walking all this way, spending nights on the road, showing you the sea for the first time… they did this to celebrate your birthday? 

Your heart hurts. 

No one has ever done that for you before. 

You suppose Yunho and Daia tried once… but that didn’t end so well. Salt wells behind your one eye and your lip twitches just once, but it's enough for Hongjoong to catch. Your chest aches with the memory of your mother. It’s a hurt you could never quite soothe. 

The Captain’s smile is still bright when he pulls away but there’s a sadness beneath the joy. No, not sadness, you suppose. Something empathetic – something… bittersweet. 

Hongjoong knows. They all do. 

“My birthday?” Your mouth parts to let out the croaked sound. Your voice has gotten better. The deeper, rough tone of your voice has begun to fade after finally learning to use it again. It’s beginning to return to what it used to be – slow and steadily. 

From behind you, Yeosang hums deeply. You recognize the sound without turning to look at him. His voice always carries that undertone of sweet and smooth honey, and you can’t find any other way to describe it. 

“Yeah, honey. You told me you’ve never seen the sea, right? We thought it would make a good birthday present.” 

The healer is standing behind Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung at his sides and the rest of Ateez just beyond. They’re all here. For you. 

You shift on your feet, barely able to restrain the wetness of your one eye as you attempt to face them. Your heart still throbs, but it’s more of a pleasant ache – a good one. A sea breeze rustles your hair. Three silver rings click against your mask; a comforting sound that reminds you of home – of Yunho. The scent of salt in the air fills you with warmth and the silky sand beneath your feet cradles you in the earth’s gentle hands. The world itself seems to wrap around you in its kindness, delicately embracing you as if asking for forgiveness. 

It feels like your mother – like the hugs you can barely remember. 

The burn of tears returns tenfold. 

You’ve never celebrated your birthday before. It was never a day others regarded with joy, so you supposed it was only fair to see it the same way. You don’t even really know what day you were born. Father never told you – he never told anyone. 

But… perhaps this day – the day Ateez has chosen for you – can be your birthday. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to be a bad thing anymore. 

“We wanted to show you something new. Something good. Do you like it?” Wooyoung whispers as you process your feelings. His voice is apprehensive, as if he isn’t quite sure how you’ll respond to celebrating your birthday. You can barely hear him over the roaring sound of waves colliding with the shoreline and birds peeping in the surf. 

You’re already throwing yourself into Wooyoung’s arms before a moment of silence can pass. You crash into his chest with a crooned sound, a desperate cry of joy. 

“Yes!” You finally croak, the word sounding more like a sob than an agreement. “Yes, I like it!”

Wooyoung laughs happily as he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a joyful sound. His chest vibrates with his laughter and you love the way it feels against your body. One of your hands slides out from between you and you urgently grasp ahold of Yeosang’s shirt and tug him into your pile with a quick movement. San follows soon after, lured in by Wooyoung’s touch and suddenly you’re buried beneath a mountain of Ateez’s warmth. 

Another wet sob leaves your lips, but it’s much closer to a laugh this time. 

“I love it…” 

And we love you. 

He doesn’t say it aloud, but Wooyoung hopes you hear it anyway. 

Seonghwa lets out a hearty laugh despite it sounding wet with his own tears, and he wraps an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders as he tugs his captain close. The leader’s eyes are watery as he and the archer pile into your embrace. Mingi and Yunho follow quickly after, with the tallest of the two reaching out to snag Jongho’s tunic. The youngest is already moving, sliding beneath Yeosang’s arm to nuzzle into the healer’s side. One of his hands nestles between his lover’s ribs, resting atop your bicep. You push closer into their hands, warm and happy and still softly crying. 

You love it. 

It cannot possibly get any better than this. Not even the comforting breeze of the ocean air brushing over your skin nor the warmth of any roaring campfire could rival this feeling. There’s no warmth in the world that can surmount the heat of Ateez embracing you. Their hands carefully sweeping over skin leaves trails of pleasant heat in their wake, and the throb of your aching heart is only soothed by a soft coo leaving San’s lips. Wooyoung slides a hand over your head, pulling you closer into his neck, and you feel a bigger hand – Yunho’s, you know – scratch gently over your scalp. Another settles onto your hip, rubbing gentle circles into the bone. They’re Seonghwa’s, you recognize the calluses on his two fingers when they brush over the skin of your bare hip. Mingi’s hand settles across your back, resting between your shoulder blades. His firm touch and big hands are easy to decipher. Jongho’s wrap around your arm, strong and steadfast, just like you know him to be. Your captain’s smaller hand finds your fingers, sliding between them as you grip onto San with a fierce grip. 

Hongjoong’s hands tremble when he twists his grip to drag a line down your left ring finger. His gaze finds yours, a watery smile on his lips when your mouth parts in shock and your one eye dilated beyond comprehension. The Captain finishes drawing the line at the tip of your nail, where each of his fingers meets the end of each of yours. Then Hongjoong slides his hand into yours and squeezes three times. 

Yunho must have taught him that one. 

Because no one else has ever uttered those words to you – least of all meant them. 

Your grip tightens fervently, pulling until you can press Hongjoong’s hand into your chest and let him feel the racing pulse of your heart. It slams into your ribs with a thunderous pace, beating in a pattern you hope he can discern. You pull your head from Wooyoung’s neck just slightly. Just enough to lean down and press your lips to Hongjoong’s fingers. 

You hope he knows what it means. 

He does. 

“Happy birthday, tiny,” Yunho murmurs into the shared space between the nine of you. “We’re so happy you’re here.” 

You weep. 

Ateez spends three nights and four days at the beach. 

On the first, you don’t have the courage to venture too far into the shore. The roaring of waves crashing onto the sand is intimidating when you don’t know how to swim. You settle for watching the others splash and wrestle in the shallow sea. Their shouts of glee are enough joy to warm your heart. 

You watch Mingi grapple with Hongjoong on the shoreline, huffing softly with a grin when Mingi inevitably gets the upper hand. The guard lifts Hongjoong over his shoulder and laughs deeply as he storms his way towards the sea. 

“Put me down!” Hongjoong roars, smacking his hand against Mingi’s back. “Mingi!” 

The guard only laughs and spins the two of them in the shallows as he wades deeper into the waves. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

You watch as Mingi laughs brightly once more, calling out a “too late!” as he unceremoniously dumps his captain into the sea.  

Hongjoong dunks beneath the water with a roar, and for a moment you worry he won’t emerge again. He does, however, and lurches from the waves with an undignified shout and lunges towards Mingi as he laughs. 

“Get back here!” 

You grin and watch the two continue to wrestle in the waves. 

Jongho takes you onto the nearby rocks and shows you the wonders of tide pools. He and Yeosang spent years living by the sea, and he murmurs hundreds of little facts about each of the animals he can find. Crouching down by a shallow pool, Jongho reaches into the cool water and ever so carefully lifts a sea star from the water. He cradles it delicately, leaving it half submerged as he pulls you closer with his other hand. 

“This is a sea star,” he whispers, looking up at you and gesturing for you to crouch beside him. “You want to feel? You won’t hurt it.” 

 When you crouch at his side, Jongho pulls your hand towards him with a smile. Bent at the knees, you lean into his side and watch with a bated breath and marvel at the texture of the sea star still carefully held in Jongho’s hands. It’s soft and squishy beneath your delicate touch and you huff a smile as you watch with a mystified expression. 

You watch some of the tiny feet of the sea star wiggle in Jongho’s hand and whip your head over to face him with a question on your lips. 

Jongho is already looking at you, watching you instead of the sea star in his hands. He’s smiling, softly and sweetly, his eyes fixed on your one eye. They drift from your left one to where your right would be if not hidden behind the mask, then he drops them to your lips. Your breath stutters and you swallow shyly before Jongho lifts his eyes back to your own. 

He smiles, as if nothing happened and continues, “See the poky creatures down here? The ones that look like they have needles? Those are urchins. The sea stars will eat those.” 

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to pull your gaze away from Jongho’s face. 

At another tidal pool, Jongho points out a creature he calls an anemone. The vibrant teal and green color of its shape mystifies you and you lean closer to investigate it. Listening carefully to Jongho’s explanation of the anemone, you look back up at him with a question in your eyes. 

“Yeah, you can touch that one too. Be careful though.” 

You don’t understand his warning but carefully drop your hand into the pool to delicately caress the anemone anyway. The chill waters surround your skin and you lean closer to touch the creature, you let out a startled squeal when its sticky tentacles wrap themselves around your finger. Surprised, you lurch away from the pool, confusion in your face and hands braced on the rock beside you. 

Jongho laughs so hard you think he might choke. 

You turn to look at him with furrowed brows and an upset pout on your lips, a little disgruntled Jongho didn’t tell you that would happen. 

The youngest continues to laugh at the utter confusion in your expression, finally bracing himself against you and apologizing. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Bug. I couldn’t help myself!” 

You frown and push gently at his chest, posing a little miffed at Jongho’s teasing. The youngest snorts and pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“I won’t do it again, I promise,” he laughs. “We should wash your hands though, the stingers on those anemones can leave toxins on your skin. I don’t want you to touch your face without cleaning your hands first.”

You huff and nod, letting him lead you away from the rocks and towards the others. When you find San, you race away from Jongho and bury yourself into his chest with a pretend pout. The healer wraps you up in his embrace without question, turning to look at Jongho with a raised brow. Jongho rolls his eyes and laughs. 

Seonghwa and Wooyoung take you to collect shells in the afternoon. 

Your footprints linger in the sand behind you as you hold the archer’s hand and walk along the shoreline. The sand is packed beneath your feet closer to the shore and you find that there are all sorts of different shells just above the water line. 

You recognize some of the larger, smoother shells Yeosang and San use to store medicine sometimes. They’re scallop-shaped and hollow in the middle, and the healers like to use them for creams or other ointments. Seonghwa helps you carry some back to the healers who gratefully pile your collection into one of their packs. They can always use more shells in the medical cavern. 

Further down the beach, you find a plethora of smaller shells and drop down into the sand to rummage through them. There’s hundreds of them, some twisting into points and others round at the edges. Some are still split into pieces and others are still whole. Some are closed like a locket. Seonghwa tells you to leave those ones alone – there’s still creatures living in those ones. You gasp and carefully set the shell back down into the sand ever so delicately. The archer smiles fondly at your care for the earth and her creatures. 

One of the bigger shells that washes up on the shore catches your attention, and you rush over to the pristine, cream colored object. Yeosang called these conches. When you excitedly turn over the shell, you’re startled to find a spiny looking creature inside. A large claw grazes your hand and your heart lurches. 

You shout in surprise, jerking away from the shell with a gasp. 

“Bug?!” 

Seonghwa is at your side in an instant, hands on your back and pulling you away from the shell. “What happened?” 

 He doesn’t know why you shouted at first, too worried something has hurt you. His hands slide across your shoulders, turning you to face him and urgently scanning you for injuries. But when he looks down at the crab claw emerging from the shell, Seonghwa feels his chest shake with quiet laughter. Your head jerks back to look at the archer.

“It’s alright, darling. You just startled the crab living inside this one. He won’t hurt you, honey.”

Each shell you turn over for the rest of the day is done carefully and gently, and Seonghea feels his heart tug affectionately at how cute you look doing so. You nudge one with a stick to see if any claws come out and Seonghwa has to bury his smile in Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

“She’s so precious,” the warrior murmurs under his breath. 

Seonghwa hums in agreement, his head lifting from his partner’s shoulder to find you waving them over excitedly. 

“We’re coming, sweetheart!” 

Wooyoung settles at your side with a grin and looks down at the smooth stones in your hands. There’s a few rocks mixed in with the more ornate looking shells you’ve gathered, and Wooyoung tilts his head in an attempt to decipher why you’ve called them over. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

Seonghwa’s heart stutters at the beaming smile on your lips. You smile more and this is not the first he’s ever seen, but each time you look up at him with that grin on your face, Seonghwa feels his stomach flutter and pride swell from his gut. He almost bites down on his bottom lip to resist sending you back a grin of his own, but Seonghwa doesn’t. And he’s grateful he does, because the way your one eye crinkles with joy when he smiles down at you makes his cheeks burn and his skin tingle. 

“Look!” You urgently whisper, swallowing around the word to repress how sore your throat is. 

Directing his attention to the dark stones in your hands, Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“I don’t understand.” 

You lift the stone beside his face, pulling Wooyoung into your side as you do. The two of you face Seonghwa as the archer grows more confused. The dark brown, near ebony-colored stone is lifted just beside his temple and you watch with a marveled expression as you shift your gaze from the rock to his eyes. 

“What is it?” Seonghwa urges. 

Wooyoung grins, his teeth flashing as he laughs sweetly. His two-toned hair ruffles in the breeze and Wooyoung turns to face you, squeezing your hip as he slides an arm around you. 

“That’s a good find, Bug,” he murmurs, looking back up at Seonghwa with honey in his gaze. “The same shade as his eyes. It matches him perfectly.” 

You nearly vibrate with happiness, wiggling a little in Wooyoung’s arms as Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle. “Really?” 

You nod fervently, reaching for his hand and dropping the smooth stone into his hand and curling his fingers around it. Seonghwa holds the rock carefully, not looking away from your one eye as he lifts it to press into his heart. 

“Thank you, darling.” 

You smile again, just a little twitch of your lips and nod. Then you turn to Wooyoung and weasel your way out of his grip to hold another up for him. This stone is a similar shade as Seonghwa’s, but just different enough that Seonghwa can see where you’ve matched this one to the exact hue of Wooyoung’s umber irises. 

You hold it out to Wooyoung with a tilt of your head and Wooyoung has to resist the urge to lean forward and squish your cheeks. He’s rarely seen you so excited – so… at ease. It makes every muscle in his body eager with the urge to hold you close and squeeze you tight. 

“For me?”

You nod excitedly and Wooyoung accepts the stone with a skip of his pulse. “Thank you, baby.” 

He and Seonghwa exchange looks and Wooyoung slips the stone into his pocket, where he knows he’ll keep it safe. 

“Help me?” You whisper softly, gesturing to the plethora of stones and shells beneath you. “For the others.” 

“Of course.” 

The two help you find six more stones, one of each of the other members of Ateez. Each one is the exact shade of their eyes – colors you know by heart. 

Wooyoung cannot tell you that after the trip, the rest of the boys gather to look at the stones and shells you collected for them. He doesn’t tell you that Mingi finds some twine and they braid bands for each other, carefully depositing their gifts onto string and binding them to each other’s wrists. 

On the first night, the nine of you sleep around a bonfire. 

The crackling flames keep you warm from the evening’s cool breeze, but you don’t think you sleep at all. The excitement and pure glee from the day keeps you awake. Adrenaline still roars through your veins and you settle for watching the stars for a moment longer. You find the twinkling shape of Polaris easily, and whisper your thanks up at her, just like you do every night since Jongho pointed her out. 

She winks back. 

The fire continues to crackle and the smell of wood burning soothes your nerves. Eventually, you pull yourself from your bed roll, carefully maneuvering away from Yunho’s warm chest and wrap your blanket around your shoulders. Quietly, you make your way over to the massive piece of driftwood facing the shore. 

Then, you drop silently beside Mingi, who sits and watches the sea. It’s technically his watch, but the guard faces the ocean as if he cannot bring himself to look away. 

Mingi does not startle when you find your place at his side, only shifting slightly to allow you to get comfortable. As you settle, you scooch as close as you can towards Mingi’s broad chest. Your side presses into his as you rest your weight against him and Mingi smiles, still looking at the sea. He easily accommodates your weight and wraps an arm around your shoulder, covering both your forms with his blanket. You snuggle close, burying your face into his neck and continue to watch the waves crash against the shore as the moon illuminates their peaks. 

You sit there for hours. Though you cannot sleep, excitement still pumping through your body, you find staying awake with Mingi is just as nice. Far more comforting, you’d even say. Mingi’s body heat keeps you pleasantly warm and his big arm stays wrapped around your waist. Soon after you settle, the guard drops his cheek onto your head and he breathes slow and deep. 

Even when Yeosang relieves him of his shift, taking over his place for watch, Mingi remains still. The two of you stay there until neither of you can keep your slowly fluttering lids open any longer. 

Yunho finds the two of you in the morning, and he kisses Mingi awake with a sweet grin and soft eyes. He brushes a hand through your hair and drops a kiss onto your head, eventually dropping onto your other side where he wraps an arm around both you and Mingi as the three of you watch the sunrise. 

The second day, you finally find the courage to venture into the waves with San and Yunho at your sides. Yeosang stands in the waves, waiting for you. 

San leads the way, walking backwards into the surf and holding both your hands. Yunho stands beside you, one of his arms reaching out to steady you and reassure you that he’s still there. You make eye contact with Yeosang and he winks at you. The honey-haired healer grew up in the sea. You know that if anything goes wrong, Yeosang will know what to do. 

“Let’s go, tiny. You’ve got this,” Yunho encourages, softly nudging you forward as you apprehensively toe the water line. 

You can’t swim. And you’ve never ventured into the sea before. 

It’s a little daunting, but the dimples on San’s cheeks and the smile on his lips encourages you to keep walking. You clutch his hands with a vice grip and gasp as the cold, salty waves cascade over your toes. 

“Sorry, lovebug. It’s a little cold.”

San laughs as you throw him a withering look. That information would have been helpful before you stepped into the sea. Yeosang laughs at your side, rubbing a hand along your waist and watching you shiver at the warmth of his touch. 

No matter how many times they touch you, you cannot help the way it makes you feel. 

“A little further and we can stop,” San murmurs, squeezing your hand when you stumble in the sand and pulling you closer. “C’mon, baby.” 

A few steps further and you stand at Yeosang’s side, digging your toes into the plush sand beneath your feet and marveling at how the waves lap at your knees. It’s cold, but you don’t mind since it’s a reprieve from the midday sun. When you turn your back to the sea, a strong wave pushes you closer to San and he laughs when you stumble into his chest. Water splashes upwards, and you get your first taste of seawater. 

“Woah!” San laughs, steadying you by the waist and watching as you stick your tongue out with an indignant sound. He can’t help the way laughter bubbles from his chest. You look positively betrayed by the ocean, as if the taste of salt on your tongue personally offends you. 

Yunho and Yeosang dissolve into giggles behind San, leaning onto each other to support themselves. Your one eye narrows and you shoot them an angry look, but San thinks you look more like an angry, wet cat than anything scary. Of course, he would never tell you that.

“I’m sorry, Bug!” Yunho laughs. “You just look so funny!” 

San listens to you grumble something under your breath, something that sounds like ‘showing him something funny,’ and then you bend at the waist and splash a mountain of water in his direction. 

Yunho guffaws at the betrayal and San dissolves into his own laughter, bending at the waist and bracing a hand on his chest as he cackles. Your grin is positively menacing, Yeosang decides. He wonders if you’ll become as much of a brat as Wooyoung if this continues. 

Yunho, now drenched in salt water and wet hair dripping into his eyes, enacts revenge and lunges towards you. San, ever the sweetheart, throws himself in between you and Yunho and the two sink into the waves with smiles. 

Eventually, when your skin begins to wrinkle from the time you spend in the waves and the sun begins to set, Yeosang and you step away from the shore to settle against the same piece of driftwood that marks your temporary camp. Yeosang sits atop the log and you lay just below him on the sand. You lean against his leg, just watching the rest of the boys continue to dance and swim in the surf. The sound of their laughter makes your heart happy and their gleaming smiles leave a grin of your own on your lips. 

It’s nice – smiling again, you mean. It’s a gift from Ateez they have not realized they’ve given, but you take care to treasure it regardless. 

You wrap an arm around Yeosang’s tattooed calf, your fingers occasionally dragging along the pattern of thorns that descend from his thigh. They wind around his leg, ending at the bone of his ankle and you’ve seldom been able to keep your hands away from the obsidian ink since he showed you. This, of course, is much to Yeosang’s delight, and the honey-haired healer can barely resist the way he beams so brightly when your delicate hands skim across his tattoos again. He loves it when you touch him. 

Mingi and Seonghwa leave the shoreline after a few minutes. They step away from the water to stoke the bonfire at the center of your makeshift camp. The flickering amber hues dance along burning bark and release a pleasant aroma onto the beach. You inhale deeply and lean further into Yeosang, humming happily when one of his hands reaches out to scratch along your scalp. 

Head scratches have become one of your weaknesses, you suppose. All it takes is for one of them to run their nails along your head and you’ll sink into their embrace with a happy sigh and mushy bones. 

When Mingi is satisfied with the roar of the campfire, he and Seonghwa press kisses to Yeosang’s hair and brush fingers over your hairline as they pace back towards the shore. 

A harmonious shout of glee leaves San’s lips as Jongho tackles him into the shallow surf, and there’s an uproar of laughter from amongst the boys. San shouts something along the lines of being cold and twists in the waves in an attempt to pin Jongho beneath him. Jongho, easily the strongest of the nine of you, maintains his place above San but spits salt water out of his mouth in surprise when his partner douses him with a splash. In revenge, Jongho prepares to dunk San’s head beneath the water, only to be tackled into the sea by Yunho. The youngest lets out a squawk of surprise as he sinks into the water and the laughter begins again. 

You turn your head towards Yeosang, resting your cheek against his knee and looking up at him with your one eye. You nudge him gently with your knuckles, drawing his attention to you. 

“Are you going to join them?” 

The honey-haired healer barely catches your question over the cacophony in the surf, but he smiles at the sound of your voice. He slides a hand deeper into your hair and scratches against the nape of your neck, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when your eye flutters shut briefly. 

His eyes, chocolate brown and gleaming with the flicker of flames before you, are warm and strong. They look down at you like you’re the only thing he sees – the only thing he wants to see. 

It’s familiar. This moment is too. 

Shivering gently from the weight of his gaze and bones feeling mushy and warm, you look up at Yeosang and wait patiently for his answer. 

“No, not yet,” he whispers in return, expression soft and eyes tender. “I’m very happy where I am right now.” 

You inhale deeply through your nose, recalling when he spoke the same words so long ago. The exhale that shudders through your lungs is accompanied by the sound of Yeosang’s deep, honey-sweet voice. 

“I‘m happy here with you.” 

He finally has the courage to say it. 

You look away from Yeosang so he doesn’t see the water welling in your lone eye. The stroke of thanks you brush across his skin is enough to let him know what you mean. The swell of electricity zinging beneath your skin leaves you breathless and you lean into Yeosang’s legs to combat the shift in emotion. 

The healer hums sweetly in response, unable to look away from you. He examines you as you watch his partners, lifting his head when another uproar of laughter erupts when Hongjoong overpowers Wooyoung in whatever game they’re playing in the waves. 

But when you glance back at Yeosang shyly, you see it. 

You see the way he looks at you now. 

With stars in his gaze and affection glimmering in the shine of his irises, you see the way Yeosang’s features melt so sweetly as he watches you. He looks at you the way he looks at them; like he’s staring at his very heart and soul – like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather gaze upon than your face warmed by the flicker of roaring flames and your one eye finally staring back into his. No apprehension, this time. No fear or confusion or worry or an amalgamation of all of them together. You just… look back at him. 

Just like how he looks at you. 

When Seonghwa and Mingi rejoin the parade, kicking up salt water and spinning through the shallows, the boys cheer gleefully and begin to dance. It’s chaotic and a mess of stumbling and laughter, but it’s dancing nonetheless. The sound of their joy is infectious and spreads along the beach until it reaches you and Yeosang.

But he’s not listening to them. He’s listening to you. His ears are trained on the sound that erupts from his feet, bubbling from your lips in a noise he’s been praying to hear. 

Laughter. 

You’re laughing. 

There’s this bright, heart-stopping smile spread across your lips as you look up at Yeosang and listen to your family dance on the beach. Your shoulders shake softly with the movement of your laughter, and Yeosang can feel the vibrations of your chest pressed against his leg. It starts as a muffled giggle, barely concealed by your smile, but it deepens into a hearty laugh from deep in your belly. 

He cannot tear his eyes from you. 

You laugh. 

You laugh and you look up at him with stars in your eyes and his heart in your hands, and it takes every fiber of his strength not to lean forward and drown himself in the taste of your lips. It’s all he wants – all he needs, he swears it. One taste of your lips would sate him for life, even though he knows he’d never be able to tear himself away again. 

When you lean upwards, grabbing ahold of his fingers and pulling them towards you, Yeosang’s mouth parts to suck in a breath. 

You kiss his fingers. 

By the Gods, maybe that was a lie. One kiss would never be enough to sate him – there would never be enough of your touch or your kisses that could ever appease his soul. Even if he were immortal and your paths intertwined until the last of the stars burned from the sky, not even then would he have enough of you. 

You laugh again, grinning up at Yeosang with a toothy smile and the corner of your mouth digging into your mask. If he wasn’t already sitting, he swears he would drop to his knees at your side. 

He loves it – the sounds of your laughter. No matter how raw or croaked the sound is, he adores it. The sound of your voice once made his heart race with glee, but this… This is different. 

It’s so much more. 

This is joy. Unbridled and unashamed and so clearly you. It’s your laughter, your glee, your happiness that sinks beneath his sin and lights his nerves on fire. It’s your smile and your giggles that make his heart swell. Yeosang adores it. He adores you. 

He cannot help the way he slides off the driftwood log and into the sand at your side. Yeosang is pulling you into his chest before you can question his actions. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls your head into his neck, pressing you as tight to his chest as he possibly can. 

“You’re laughing…” he whispers as he huffs in disbelief. “Bug! You’re laughing!” 

The second time Yeosang utters the phrase, it’s shouted cheerfully as he squeezes you tight into his chest. His heart thumps brazenly beneath his ribs, and he can feel the pulse of yours against his own. You giggle again, wiggling to readjust yourself as you sink into the honey of his embrace. Yeosang’s heart trills excitedly again. 

Yunho’s head darts upwards from the beach, startled by Yeosang’s call. 

“What?” 

San hears Yunho’s whispered disbelief and stands from the surf, attention drawn over towards you and Yeosang. “What did he just say?” 

“It’s Bug,” Hongjoong answers, standing behind Yunho with his eyes blown wide. His heart stutters once in his chest as he takes in the sight of your shoulders shaking gently with your giggles. He can’t hear the sound of them, but Gods does he wish he could. “Bug’s laughing.” 

“Holy shit…” 

Yunho takes off from the beach without another word. He doesn’t even hear who curses.

Sand kicks up from his feet as he sprints towards you and Yeosang with his heart in his throat and a watery grin on his lips. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know that San is the one on his heels. Yunho knows the sound of San’s muffled sobs just as well as he knows the beat of his heart. Wooyoung is not far behind, a bubble of laughter leaving his lips and a chain missing from his wrist. Nothing binds him to that place anymore. You set him free. 

Hongjoong and Mingi chase after the others, and the Captain manages to get some revenge for the day before as he shoves his guard into the surf on the way. Hongjoong’s mirthful chuckles as Mingi shouts are heard when Jongho pulls Seonghwa behind him, urging the archer to move faster. 

“Bug!” 

Your head pulls from Yeosang’s neck, that toothy grin still on your face just as Yunho collides with you and the honey-haired healer. The two of you sway as Yunho’s weight sinks into your figures, but Yeosang sets an arm down into the sand to support you. The black and white strands of San and Wooyoung’s hair drip with salt water as they throw themselves onto Yunho’s lap with a shout. Mingi follows just after, likely having passed Hongjoong on the beach with the length of his strides. He shakes his wet hair as he clings onto Yunho’s back and Wooyoung complains despite the fact that he’s already soaking wet. The giggly sound of Mingi’s laughter makes you chuckle again.

You laugh, as if it’s as easy as breathing. 

Yeosang watches, his eyes welling with happy tears as he continues to cling onto you with one hand. He watches you giggle and the others pile into your space and listens to his new favorite sound. 

Gods, he adores you. He adores them – this family. 

Yunho is crying, his lip wobbling as he buries his head into your hair. He’s at your back, chest shaking with the sound of his watery sobs. 

“Tiny…” he cries, but it’s a happy weep. You reach around to cling onto one of his hands. Yunho squeezes you tight, stealing the air right from your lungs, but you don’t need it. You would happily breathe in the pure euphoria of this moment instead. “Tiny, you’re laughing.” 

San buries his wet hair into your lap with a joyful sound and the giggles commence again. The healer’s heart throbs so strongly but so pleasantly he thinks it will burst. You have a laugh that makes others laugh with you. Just like Wooyoung, he realizes. 

Your other hand drops from Yeosang’s back to brush through San’s hair once and the healer looks up at you with glimmering half-moon eyes and a dimple poking out of his cheek. You allow your finger to poke the sweet little spot this time. His cheek muscles ache from how big his smile is. San nuzzles closer to your stomach and you let yourself shiver pleasantly, far too happy to deny yourself the joy of this moment. 

You’re pretty, San thinks to himself. So pretty. Especially when you laugh. 

Wooyoung melts into Hongjoong’s side and the Captain wraps an arm around his shoulder. They stand just behind Yunho, burying their happy tears into each other as Seonghwa pulls them close. Mingi and Jongho sink into the sand behind Yunho and pull each other tight. The taller guard squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips into Jongho’s forehead, desperately hoping all his adoration is conveyed through the kiss. Jongho reaches out to squeeze Yunho’s shoulder and rests his weight against his elder’s back. 

“I know,” you finally whisper into the space that separates you and Yunho. “I’m happy.” 

One hand lifts to pull the mask away from your face. Without a moment’s hesitation, your nimble fingers detangle the knot from behind you, and you drop the obsidian mask into the sand. A hand wraps around your fingers when you finally let it go. Someone draws a line along the length of your left ring finger and twines their fingers with your own. They squeeze three times. 

You repeat the gesture, tracing a finger down the fourth finger on their left hand, right over the thin, dark band you know is tattooed there. You squeeze their hand three times. This sign needs no translation. 

You open both eyes. 

“I’m so happy.” 

bonus:

stranger: so who would you choose; ateez or–

reader: ateez.

stranger: you didn't even let me finish, ateez or–

reader, not missing a beat: ateez. I choose ateez.

a/n: This currently takes place sometime after the main storyline (probably xD) so it accounts for the boys knowing parts of Bug’s past (not revealed but it’s mentioned they know). For now, I won't consider these oneshots canon simply because I won’t know where it fits in the timeline HAHA xD this is essentially just a little bit of fluffy comfort for those who have been missing Bug and the boys! I’m catching up on their story but I hope you enjoy this filler for now <33 ALSO disclaimer, don’t pick stuff out of tide pools! my marine biologist family is screaming at me for including that xD just leave the creatures alone in their habitats!

sorry if bug seems a little ooc here! Loren and I have decided that bug goes from black cat energy to golden retriever after enough time with atz :’))) This is supposed to take place sometime in the future where she’s healed a little more and is a little more curious and open. There are a lot of references to things that have yet to happen in ltm so this is kind of a teaser for those xD 

also shoutout to the loml @eightmakesonebraincell for the majority of the ideas in this :D she's a real one xD

taglist: *If you don't see your name on this taglist, you may have been removed if your tag doesn't work :( let me know if you don't see your name and I'll try to see what we can do to fix it :D

@verseoks @smallfrye @istgcyj @rensunjun @flowrsforfun @justchaoticwhispers @gayliljoong @http-lovelyknow @kpopnightingale @rielleluvs @queentiti72 @paralumanniluna @chittaphonstar @dear-dreamie @bangtanxberm @havetaeminforbreakfast @knucklesdeepmingi @pingyu-in-wonderland @5sos-wdw @atzcoke @ddeonghwva @sophxom @khjcoo @sunukissed @becauseiloveyunho @atinymonbebestay @goldenstarmermaid @simplyaghostsworld @multifandomizer @yeosangs-left-ass-cheek @revehosh @mysticfire0435 @side-angel @taestrwbrry @billboard-singer @jenseok17 @parkthothwa8 @jcngh0-hq @dream-in-progress @dees-writing-corner @frankenstein852 @darkdayelixer @ateezkeepmysoul @maruskz @ahhhhhhhhhghh @honeyhotteoks @simeonswhore @jxxngieteez

[ladyoflindon]

Overzealous Herald (Elrond Peredhel, Rings of Power)

Author's note: Written with my OC Eleniel but can be a reader insert too

Summary: Elrond is an overzealous herald, and some day, he burns out. His darling wife nurses him back to health.

As the daughter of High King Gil-galad, Eleniel knew the pressure was on for her to maintain a graceful and elegant front as the Princess of Lindon. She knew the pressure of the court, to live up to everyone's expectations, but never in her life had she seen someone so...committed to it as Elrond was.

She knew that he always felt inferior, due to his half-elven heritage. Many a night, she had spent with him in their bed, reassuring him that he was more than enough as she pressed soft kisses to his shoulders. But it seemed that she had failed to actually convince him.

She saw the emotion he hid behind his perpetually lingering smile and his sweet words. Deep down, Eleniel knew one thing.

Elrond wasn't okay.

----

"Elrond," Eleniel spoke as she entered his study, shutting the door gently behind her. He was bent over his desk, scribbling madly, a fire burning in his eyes as his quill scratched the parchment. On the ground, she saw several broken quills, no doubt swept away in anger.

"What?" Gone was the shy, sweet herald she'd fallen in love with. In his place was a tone of vindictiveness, pent up anger. Eleniel was a little taken aback by his tone of voice, but she needed to get around whatever it was Elrond was experiencing this time.

"Elrond," she spoke softly, fiddling with a lock of her long hair. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer her. Eleniel could hear her heart shattering, but she ignored the pain and continued to linger in his study. She moved closer to his desk, her steps feather-light, and reached out to pick up a particular document to read it.

Almost like lightning, his hand shot out to catch hers. Elrond snatched the document out of her hands and slammed it on the desk so hard the quills rattled in their inkwells.

"Leave it," he growled.

Eleniel's blue eyes widened at his words. What had happened. "Elrond, I-"

Her sweet herald snapped. "If you have nothing to say, leave!" He got out of his chair, grey eyes blazing and a stray strand of brown hair falling in front of his face. Elrond was glaring back at her, his eyes ablaze with a fury she'd never seen.

However, he saw Eleniel's eyes, blue like the boundless sea. They were wide open, perhaps with shock and a little fear. Instantly, Elrond's eyes softened, and he took a step towards his wife. "Melda, I...I apologise," he murmured, his eyes downcast. "I don't know what came over me, I..."

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes, and before he knew it, they started cascading like pearls broken from a chain down his cheeks. Eleniel's heart clenched and she pulled him into her embrace.

"Talk to me, Elrond. What's happening?"

"I...I push myself too hard..." he sniffled, burying his face in her shoulder. "It's my fault...all of it."

"I hear them talk, you know," he continued, "that I'm not worthy of you, not even worthy of being here, because I'm a peredhel. I'm trying to prove them wrong."

Eleniel pressed a kiss to his forehead, and pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. The beautiful grey eyes she so loved. "Elrond," she sighed, "you don't need to prove yourself to anyone. If those...idiots cannot see that you're more than your heritage, the fault lies with them and their poor judgement."

"You think so?"

"I know so, Elrond," Eleniel agreed firmly. "Your kindness and sincerity far surpass any flattery the courtiers utter. You're genuine, you love helping others no matter who they are...need I go on?"

She pulled him to her again. "Okay, I'm officially relieving you of your duties for the rest of the week. You're to take a break, away from your work."

Elrond looked up at her, unintentionally flashing those puppy eyes. "What about the High King?"

Eleniel laughed. "Whatever objections the High King has, he can run them by me, because my lovely herald needs a break!"

She tackled him to the ground, pressing kisses to any inch of him she could reach, namely his face. Elrond laughed as he felt a knot in his chest unravel.

He needed this. To heal, to rest. As he looked down at his wife, still kissing him fervently, he knew something.

Elrond had all he needed right here.

[raccoonfallsharder]

heartspur.⋆☁︎ :･꧂

a scene from cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl portrait | the runabout | rocket fanart masterlist let me love your OCs masterlist | main masterlist

only a couple chapters until rocket gets a whole new ship and i finally have this scene from chapter thirteen done. let it be known i have almost every gun in mcu-rocket's arsenal in here except like, katie and vicki. (excerpt + feather-free version below too!). now time to get back to the OC doodle queue!

He wakes up with claws already hooked, ready to rend — ribs tight, lungs heaving — teeth bared and eyes wide, darting, scraping over every shadow and bright hot light — he looks for cinders, for sparks, nostrils flared and searching for any shred of smoke — for fur, for blood, for the burnt smell of the laser pistol— “—only you and me. I’m here — it’s just me.” The voice is a caress. “Herb— Sire is far away, and so are the Recorders. It’s only you and me.” He rakes in another scorched lungful of air, and the burnt scent in his nose suddenly seems dampened, softened by clear water and dewdrops and lilies. Pearl. “Did I scratch you?” he pants. “Did I hurt you?” Her eyes are big and careful on him, shifting from his own stare toward something just a little below his left ear. Unassuming, nonthreatening. “Not at all,” she soothes, and her voice is the softest little brush along his senses. “I’m fine.” “I can’t—” he seethes, peering around the bunk. It’s still swaying recklessly on the straps that suspend it from the ceiling, and the pillow is hemorrhaging feathers: a soft spill of downy guts, scattered across the mattress between them like a silk sacrifice. He reaches out — the fabric that had been underneath her head is in slivers. “I shouldn’t frickin’—“ —be here.

Her thumbs dip below his collar and he freezes — suddenly terrified of her feeling his scars and metal bits, even though he knows she’d caught glances of them on the Arete; suddenly terrified she’ll dig her digits into his swollen, sore tissue and hurt him. But she pauses when she feels him stiffen — so quickly that it almost feels like she noticed his fear before it even rose to the surface. Then the delicate touch shifts safely back outside his shirt, coasting tenderly over his clothed shoulders and then back to his neck. His muscles stay strung-tight — cinched up under the memory of what he’d done the last time he’d had his hands on her throat — but her thumbs just stroke lingeringly along either side of his spine, then up to the base of his skull. She dips them into the fur there, below the surface layers and into his plush undercoat, rolling the pads of her thumbs carefully over the bone. It’s like she’s found a dial he hadn’t known was there. His heart and lungs are still pummeling his bones, too much momentum to slow them down — but his shoulders go molten, becoming flux under her ministrations, and his head tilts forward, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Her fingertips float to the sides of his face — light as Foresterian moonmoths brushing against his whiskers and fur — while her thumbs continue to stroke up from the nape of his neck to the crown of his skull. They rove against his head in petal-like ovals, and then slide back down again. Circs and circs before, trapped on HalfWorld, the muscles in Rocket’s neck and shoulders had been manipulated into new shapes: shortened, lengthened, split; twisted into tendons. They force himself to hold his shoulders broad and his head upright. He’s pretty sure there’s no name for any of the stuff he’s got going on in his body. But it’s here — in these strange manmade muscles between his neck and his shoulders — that pearl carefully kneads her thumbs. Her fingertips are still stretched upward, cradling his jaw like he’s— Like he’s something precious. Fragile. His breath hitches on a strangled sound. His ribs spasm upward, eyes suddenly wet and burning. “Drink,” she murmurs, gliding her thumbs deep into whatever agonized mess has been made of his trapezii. He grips the straw with his teeth, and takes a long pull of the water. It floods his mouth, cool and sweet and clear, and his eyes flicker closed — just for a second. The tears on his lower lids spill over and river into his fur. (from cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter thirteen. heartspur.)

pearl portrait | the runabout | rocket fanart masterlist let me love your OCs masterlist | main masterlist

[florencemtrash]

Let them find us here

Azriel x OC oneshot (but honestly I just like to write with a name instead of ‘reader’ or ‘y/n’)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and death

________________

Niamh liked to imagine Az with wrinkles - crow's feet splintering out from the corners of his golden eyes as proof of the laughter he so rarely expressed, like the first cracking of ice along the river when spring whispered warmth over the ground. She imagined how he would look with silver shooting through his raven-black hair like stars across the sky. She liked to imagine the textures and smells of a quiet life with him - coming home after another long day at the clinic, the sharp scent of herbs clinging to her coat, and being greeted by the sight of him sitting in his usual spot by the windowsill, sipping his favorite tea and flipping through reports. 

But the quiet life was never theirs to possess. 

Never had been, never would be. 

Blood and bodies, damp and suffocating, assaulted her nose. She would have breathed through her mouth if it weren’t for the faint taste of death that fell on her tongue. She tuned out the noises of protest from those around her as she forced herself into a sitting position. It surprised her how easily the screams of battle could slither beneath her consciousness.

Az. Where was Az?

Fingers weakly grabbed at her ankles as she passed limping from the arrowhead still lodged in her right knee. 

She tried to be careful, tried not to look down as she moved through the sludge of bodies whispering apologies that would fall on empty ears. How many of these people were her’s? How many belonged to the enemy? 

Niamh did not know and did not care. War made victims of them all.

Where was Az?

He’d run ahead of her, disappearing into the swarm of fae that made efforts to breach the palace steps. She felt the faint crush of bones, the tugging of skin, the sinking of her boot through ruined flesh. 

There was nothing to do but continue forward.

She found Az laying on the marble steps, back pressed against one of the pearl-white pillars that held up the golden roofs of the Summer Court. Rays of sunlight poured out from the cracked ceiling pooling gently on his tanned skin and mixing with the blood stains and shadows that swam over his body. If it weren’t for the wreckage around them and the Illyrian leathers sticking to his body with sweat, Niamh could imagine she was coming home to find him sprawled out on the living room couch, raven-black hair flapping gently in the breeze that liked to fill their apartment with the smells of baking bread from the cafe downstairs.

She crawled to him, collapsing on the ruined floor and grabbing hold of his face. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, brows relaxed, eyelids flitting about from some unknown dream.

“Az?” she murmured desperately, giving him a small shake. His skin was clammy to the touch and she brushed away the silky strands of hair that stuck to his forehead with blood.

They’d shut down both sides of the bond before the battle, left each other with only the faintest of kisses that whispered the promise I’ll be back. This won’t be the end.

The empty space in her chest clenched painfully like a stomach starved.

The faintest of sighs left Azriel’s lips as his eyes opened. He thought he was dreaming. Dreaming of his wife. Dreaming of his mate. 

“Niamh,” the name left him like a prayer, “Niamh.”

She choked back a sob, feeling the presence of him enter her soul again. “Hello, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, her body finding its rightful place curled up against Azriel’s side. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, seeking out the familiar smell of her, the pulse of her heart beneath his lips. 

He was tired, more tired than he’d ever been in his life. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into his bones and settled there as sure as water settles into the earth. Niamh was tired as well. He could feel it in the way she slumped against him, the way the thump of her heart slowed to match his.

“I thought you were going to leave without me,” she whispered.

“Never.”

Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of bells.

One… 

Two… 

Three… 

Four…

The fifth bell never came. They’d won.

Somehow Niamh found it within her to laugh, but the sound came out broken and wet. 

Az held her closer to him.

Even after all this time, even after everything they’d been through, she could find it within her to laugh. It was her laughter that he’d first fallen in love with. The sound had raced through the halls of the River House as swiftly and with as much power as the wind that roared in his ears during flight. It had cracked through the barriers he’d placed around his heart before tearing them down with all the stubbornness and determination Niamh possessed in her body. She’d made it a personal mission to make him like her, and she’d succeeded. After over 900 years of life, Azriel was glad it was the last sound he would ever hear.

Niamh felt him fading and her soul slowly flicked out in response, intent on chasing Azriel across whatever lands lay beyond. She would follow him to their final resting place.

“I love you, Niamh.”

“I love you, Az.”

Let them find us here. Azriel prayed the words to whatever gods existed. Let them find our bodies here… together. It was the only taste of comfort he’d be able to give his family after he was gone.

The time they’d had together would never be enough. So, just as they’d promised one another on the night of their wedding 365 deceptively short years ago, they followed one another to the very end and continued following even after.

Author’s note:

This is the first piece of writing I’ve ever posted anywhere so... I’m rather nervous about it. But! I can’t get better unless I try so I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know if you have recommendations/thoughts for how I can improve my writing. 

[ephyreart]

Cigars & Wine ─ Captain Price x OC

[A/N] First time posting writing here! Hope it does well and is liked, it is also on my ao3!

Content ─ Angst, Fluff

Word Count ─ 1090

───────────────

A celestial pearl in the darkened sky, a silver imperfect sphere surrounded by an ethereal glow, a stellar body of enchanting beauty as its light shimmered upon us, his ocean-like optics illuminated as he gazed within the warmth of my honey-painted orbs.

Calloused hands soon found themselves upon my waist, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of my oversized shirt before he gradually began tracing delicate circles over my porcelain-like skin. Our bodies now woven, like threads interlaced jointly— his larger frame engulfing mine, the intoxicating fragrance of his musky aroma, a symphony of whiskey, cigars and cedar filling the room, hung heavy in the air, filling in my senses as I savoured his scent. The firewood crackled peacefully, a luminous glow radiating warmth, accompanied by a sweet melody as our bodies began to sway to the slow rhythm of the music, waltzing gracefully across the floor.

''Cheeky girl, putting that record on.'' He let out a low chuckle before he lifted my arm over my head, spinning my body around and immediately drawing me back into his embrace, his nose scrunching a little, a smile forming upon his lips as his gaze locked within my own. ''Still fixated on it, am I right, love?'' John leaned forward, his voice throaty and low as he whispered, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin, his lips soon pressing a gentle kiss upon my earlobe.

''I can't help it, John.'' I pouted a little as a shiver ran down my spine, melting into his touch, surrendering to the magnetic pull between us. His strong hands guided me effortlessly, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, flowing seamlessly, each step an echo of the other, like a pair of celestial bodies forever bound to orbit around each other, our paths intertwined in a cosmic waltz. ''I know, just teasing you, love, no need to get all pouty on me.'' He let out a throaty laugh, smirking before leaning forward— our lips meeting in a tender embrace, a burst of sweetness with a hint of liquor lingering upon as his facial hair tickled my cheeks. A rush of emotions surged through me; our kiss was like a summer breeze, soft and warm, caressing my skin gently as if time had stood still.

[ I wish it had. ]

''Keep talking like that, and maybe you'll wake up with no beard tomorrow.'' My cherry-tinted lips curved upwards, lifting my gaze to meet his own, letting out a muffled chuckle. My hands wrapped around his forearms, fingertips tracing patterns upon the fabric of his clothing before trailing up to his shoulders, soon cupping his face gently. ''Ah, threatening me now, aren't you, darling?'' John teased, his hands finding my hips and pulling me closer to him as my thumbs drafted circles against his cheeks, his beard poking my delicate skin.

My eyes twinkled with mischief as my lips curved into a smirk. I gracefully rose upon the tips of my feet, closing the gap between us with a gentle lean, our lips meeting in a tender, fleeting kiss. With a soft hum, I pulled away, our hands soon intertwining and with a playful grin, I guided John towards the couch— our steps slow and deliberate as we sat upon the velvety cushions. 

''I hope you don't mind me stealing one of your cigars.'' I smiled, and with a swift motion, my hand darted towards the coffee table, fingers deftly clasping the pack nestled amidst scattered magazines, pulling one out before positioning it between my lips, igniting the tip with a lighter. ''And here I thought you hated my cigars.'' John tilted his gaze— crystalline blue eyes twinkling with amusement, watching me take a slow drag, a slender stream of smoke curling from the end of the cigar held delicately between my fingers. ''Still haven't cut off your habit, eh?'' He murmured, a hint of worry lacing his voice.

''You're the one to talk, John.'' My eyes rolled as I swiftly rose from the couch, my body swaying as I spun around, walking with measured steps towards the kitchen bar counter. My fingers embraced the wine bottle with a gentle yet confident grip as I remained to ponder. Perhaps he was right; my habit of smoking had become too uncontrollable. With every puff, a silent betrayal unfolded, the toxic smoke infiltrating my once vibrant lungs, slowly eroding their vitality, choking the very breath of life from within, consuming me whole, drowning my sorrows— seeking to forget as I slowly continued destroying my very own body and mind with unhealthy habits.

 ''You need to let me go, Charlotte.''

My ears perked up, the bottle slipping from my grip, crashing upon the ground, glass shards scattered as my body froze. An eerie silence settled upon the room as if even the air held its breath. The absence of sound was deafening, creating an unsettling void that amplified every creak and rustle.

''What are you talking about?'' 

A faint whisper escaped my lips, choking on my words as I held a tight grip on the edges of the counter. Reality beckoned like an insistent call, drawing me back from the depths of my imagination. The images that had danced before my eyes dissolved like smoke, my world crumbling apart all over again. Eyes once full of life— bright and sweet like honey, the sparkle that once kindled my gaze had dulled, replaced by a haunting sadness.

Like crystalline dewdrops forming on a delicate flower petal, tears welled up within the depths of my eyes, transforming the honey-brown irises into a liquid haze, blurring my vision. My emotions overflowed— consuming my mind whole as the glistening droplets clung to my eyelashes, my body trembling in fear as I desperately gasped for air.

''John?''

I had now burnt out like a fading star— the gentle yet once fierce flame within me had now dimmed to a mere ember, as my once radiant light now flickered weakly, like a celestial body finally nearing the end of its life cycle, leaving behind a hollow emptiness, now replaced by a dim, distant twinkle. The moon shone upon my figure as I dropped to my knees, tears overflowing, dribbling down my cheeks, as the firewood persisted in crackling gently, our record on repeat.

And in that solitary moment, my heart shattered as I finally grasped that the dance I had cherished so dearly was a tender embrace with his ghost, forever lost to the depths of my own imagination.

[gointothevvater]

MTL OC WEEK DAY: Style Swap

You know I couldn't not use @dolly-macabre's Dolly for this! 🖤 . "The white looks fantastic on you!"

Dolly stood before the massive mirror in St. Cecilia's bedroom, turning this way and that, marveling at her reflection. She murmured, "I look like a bride." She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose when St. Cecilia laughed at her.

"Darling," she said, "no bride would ever wear that."

Dolly stuck out her tongue and gave a petulant twirl, shooting back, "No?"

"No, I don't think so." She looked gorgeous, of course, but as much skin as was revealed, St. Cecilia had no choice but you point out, "For the honeymoon, maybe."

Feigning offense, Dolly clutched at invisible pearls, gasping, "You saying I look like a slut?"

She was trying very hard not to laugh, but where she succeeded, St. Cecilia failed, giggling, "The slut look works for you."

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 41

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: Iris, Daryl and Beth continue on their journey, slowly finding ways to agree with one another. Iris and Beth quickly find a way to entertain themselves. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; arguments; discussions of drinking; drinking moonshine (homemade fermented alcohol, potentially dangerous); excessive strain on mental health (could be said about the whole series, but it feels relevant here as I'm looking for warnings to tag)

Chapter 41 - Bonding

They broke through another tree line and found themselves on a golfing green, a beige golf cart overturned in the middle. A small country club house sat waiting just down the fairway, taunting them with its four walls and the beckoning temptation of alcohol. 

“Golfers like to booze it up, right?” Beth asked. Iris raised an eyebrow. Stale pretentious golf beer? Ugh… Daryl didn’t answer, his gaze glued across the green to the six walkers headed their way.

“We’ll find out.” Iris replied. They trudged across the overgrown fairway to the country club house, the sign out front reading Pine Vista. They stopped at the landing outside the front door, a walker leaning against the railing. It looked almost like a halloween decoration, but the smell indicated otherwise.

“Might be people inside.” Beth murmured. Iris nodded. They walked up the steps, Daryl stooping to frisk the walker for anything useful while Beth yanked on the doors. The windowpanes rattled loudly as she did, newspaper preventing them from seeing through to any walkers or survivors that might be there. It seemed empty enough. Iris looked back, frowning at the walkers that chased them ever so slowly across the fairway. There were about twelve now. 

“Let’s see if theres a back door.” Iris suggested. They strolled around the side of the building, finding a second set of doors almost hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Daryl grabbed a stray golf club that had been abandoned on the walkway, intending to use it as a crowbar. He put a finger to his lips as he tested the door. It was open and unlocked.

“Come on.” He whispered as the snarls of walkers drew nearer. They ducked inside, the house appearing like some survivors had already stayed there at some point. Newspapers, sheets and strips of fabric covered all windows, sleeping bags and survival supplies intermingled with the old luxury furniture that must have been there originally. There were stacks of furniture piled in front of a few doors, and a few bodies in the corner. They didn’t move.

As they went in further, Iris realized the place was a damn pig sty. There was shit everywhere, just stuff. Things. And a soft snarl rang out, drawing their gaze to three walkers, hanging from two ropes around their necks. Iris cringed at the state of things. This was not a nice place to be. More bodies, bloodstains. They were lucky there weren’t more walkers. Daryl knelt to the ground, picking up a woman’s backpack, jewelry, pearls and cash strewn around it on the floor. He gathered it, stuffing the bag full.

“What are you doing?” Iris asked, frowning. He looked up, opening his mouth only to be interrupted by the walkers from before catching up to them. They slammed into the door from outside, the golf club the only thing keeping them from being cannibalized by the undead. Daryl shrugged the backpack on and they hurried through a pair of doors at the end of the room into a hallway. 

They continued onward into what seemed to be the kitchen, industrial equipment and old food materials strewn about. Beth got out her flashlight and her knife, beginning her hunt for booze while Daryl and Iris peered around for any nonperishable foods. It was mostly garbage. Pans clanged softly from the other room, followed by a ghoulish grunt and a small shriek from Beth. Iris ran over, hauling the walker off of her before putting an end to it. She held a tall green bottle in her hand, which she smashed over the head of a second walker, using the sharp end of the glass to stab into its face. Iris lamented over the wasted wine, finishing the walker off quickly.

“Thanks for the help.” Beth murmured, breathing heavily. Iris hummed in response, heading down a flight of spiral stairs going into the basement. There was broken glass all over the place, a toppled trophy case blocking their path. They clambered underneath, Daryl taking the time to right a fallen grandfather clock. They emerged into a gift shop, polo shirts and khaki shorts galore. Daryl stuffed his pockets full of matchbooks while the girls perused the available clothing. Iris would always take what she could get, but she definitely drew the line at frilly pink cardigans. Beth helped herself. 

Iris meandered over to Daryl, pausing to admire the disemboweled and cut-in-half torso of a random woman. She was stripped down to her bra, gold jewelry dripping off of her. One of her earrings had been ripped off and used to tack a piece of paper to her sternum, reading Rich Bitch. Daryl pulled a cinnamon stick out of his pocket, stolen from the kitchen upstairs, turning to look at it too. Beth came to see what they were staring at, now wearing a yellow button down and white cardigan.

“Help me take her down.” Beth muttered, trying to cover the walker up with its sweater. 

“It don’t matter. She’s dead.” Daryl grunted. Beth scowled at him.

“It does matter.” She insisted. He huffed, ripping a blanket from the wall of souvenirs and wrapping it around the walker, covering her face. That seemed to satisfy Beth enough that they could keep moving. Back into the hallway, past the clock. It chose that time precisely to gong loudly, chiming three o’clock. Iris grunted, Daryl motioning for them to leave it. Which would have been appropriate, had the loud noise not called walkers from every room in the basement toward them.

They rushed through the hallway, finding themselves in a large open room with wood-panelled lockers. With the open space, Daryl and Iris turned, facing the walkers as they came, two on seven. With one left, Daryl moved forward, picking up a golf club and beating the ever living shit out of the walker until it collapsed. 

Even on the floor, half groaning, Daryl continued to whack at him. He wasn’t aiming for the head, grunting as the blood began to spatter all over him. Iris let him take his anger out on the thing. After a week of wandering through the woods, he was entitled to show a little fury. Beth came forward to get him to stop, but with one final swing to the head, Daryl lobbed the insides of its brain directly into her path, blood and gore splashing all over her new shirt. He said nothing, panting as she unbuttoned the cardigan and left it on the floor with a scowl.

They moved onward, turning one final corner before reaching a large ornate, a stained-glass window illuminating the long bar top. Scattered tables and chairs, a pool table. Fanciest bar Iris had ever seen. The room was littered with bottles and broken glasses, but there was bound to be something left. After all that.

“We made it.” Beth said gleefully, setting down her bag before turning to Iris and Daryl. “I know you think this is stupid. And it probably is. But I don’t care. All I wanted to do today was lay down and cry, but we don’t get to do that. So beat up on walkers if that makes you feel better. I need to do this.”

She turned into the room and Iris watched as she climbed behind the counter, searching for something. Daryl found himself a table, pulling a metal bowl out from somewhere, and using the butt of his crossbow to smash a frame on the wall.

“Did you have to break the glass?” Beth asked, annoyed. 

“No. Did you have your drink yet?” Daryl retorted, pulling the paper from the frame and folding it.

“No. But I found this. Peach schnapps.” Beth replied, putting a bottle on the countertop and finding herself a clean barstool. “Is it good?” She asked. Iris snorted loudly, covering her mouth.

“Sorry.” She said, pressing her lips together to try not to laugh. Peach schnapps? 

“No.” Daryl said flatly. Beth’s nostrils flared in frustration, watching him wander over to the pool table and test the weight of the balls in his hand before moving to the dartboard and taking the darts. 

“Well it’s the only thing left.” She snapped. Iris went over, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Iris said, smiling softly. She found a clean-ish teacup, wiping it out with a rag before handing it over. 

“Who needs a glass?” Beth murmured, grabbing the bottle by the neck. Iris chuckled lightly. Daryl ignored both of them, throwing the darts into a large picture frame. Each dart perfectly found the faces of the country club’s founders, making Iris roll her eyes. 

Beth sat still for a moment, holding the bottle as her face contorted. She began to cry softly before burying her face in Iris’ shoulder. Iris pat her back, letting her cry. She understood. Daryl stormed over, grabbing the bottle and throwing it at the wall, the glass shattering as the liquid dripped to the ground.

“Ain't gonna have your first drink be no damned peach schnapps.” Daryl grunted. Beth sniffled, looking up at the remains of her plan. Iris smiled softly, rubbing her back.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s find you some whiskey or something.” Iris said quietly, wiggling her eyebrows. Beth huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she wiped her tears. 

“Come on.” Daryl called, jerking his chin at the open back door. Iris kept the tone lighter as they moved back into the woods, chatting idly with Beth about whatever kept their minds off of things. The topic of conversation eventually drifted to boys. 

“So have you ever had a boyfriend?” Beth asked. Iris chuckled.

“Yeah. Never any good ones, though. And I never brought any home to my dad. He was dangerous even when he didn’t have a weapon on hand.” She replied. She looked down at Beth, who walked with her hands idly in her pockets. “Was Jimmy your first?”

“Second.” Beth corrected, humming. She smiled to herself. “He and Zach were complete opposites.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen.” Iris laughed. “You think you want one thing, and then decide on a dime that you want something different. My last boyfriend, well… honestly, he was a lot like Shane.” Beth sputtered, her eyes wide. Iris didn’t miss the casual glance Daryl snuck over his shoulder either. 

“Shane? Like, that Shane?” Beth asked.

“Yep.” Iris whistled. “Real militant, hardcore, good boy. We broke up after he called me ‘mom’ once. It was after we’d been kissing. A lot.”

“Ugh.” Beth replied, scrunching her nose. “Gross.”

“I’ll say.” Iris laughed again. 

“I never really saw anything happening with Zach.” Beth mused. 

“Oh?”

“He was really into his car. Too much.” Beth explained. Iris chuckled.

“Well, we crashed it somewhere on the highway, so…” Daryl trailed off, Beth giggling. 

“He was a good kid.” Iris said, somewhat sadly. Beth nodded, pondering.

“I have a guess.” She stated. “Motorcycle mechanic.”

“Huh?” Daryl asked.

“That’s my guess. For what you were doing before the turn. Did Zach ever guess that one?” Beth asked.

“Nope. But that was my gig, not his.” Iris replied with a grin.

“It don’t matter.” Daryl grunted. “Hasn’t mattered for a long time.”

“It’s just what people talk about.” Beth sighed. “You know, to feel normal.”

“Yeah, well, that never felt normal to me.” He grumbled. They pulled out of the forest, Daryl leading them up a small dirt path to a cabin. “Found this place with Michonne.”

“I was expecting a liquor store.” Beth stated, making a face.

“No, this is better.” Daryl replied, jogging up to the cabin. They walked around to the back, Daryl peering in the windows before opening the door to a shed. He pulled out a crate, loading it with various bottles and jars of clear liquid. Iris blanched, feeling her stomach turn in anticipation. 

“What’s that?” Beth asked.

“Moonshine.” Daryl answered, handing her the crate. He led them into the house, checking the bedroom briefly before clearing off the table. He found Beth a glass, cracking open one of the jars and pouring out two fingers’ worth. “Now that’s a real first drink right there.” Beth paused, staring down at it. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing…” She started, huffing. “It’s just… my dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind.”

“Ain’t nothing worth seeing out there anymore anyway.” Daryl grunted. Iris rolled her eyes, putting her hand on Beth’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. That’s mostly prohibition bullshit but folks that live out here usually know how to do it right.” She assured, offering a wink. Beth huffed, picking up the glass and taking a tentative sip. Her face twisted up in disgust, putting the glass back down.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.” She murmured.

“Should be. It’s like drinking peroxide.” Iris grumbled, taking a whiff of the jar and recoiling. Beth went back in for more, finishing the glass.

“Second round’s better.” She stated, reaching for the jar. 

“Slow down.” Daryl advised.

“These ones are for you two.” She declared, pouring out two more glasses.

“I’m good.” Daryl shook his head.

“Why not?” Beth asked, frowning.

“Someone’s gotta keep watch.” He answered. She scoffed.

“So, what? You’re like my chaperones now?”

“Just drink lots of water.” He grunted, walking past them both.

“Yes, Mr. Dixon.” Beth replied in a sing-song voice, mocking him. Iris said nothing, taking a small sip from her glass. Ugh. Beth was right. It was disgusting.

They relaxed into it as Daryl began walker-proofing the house, Beth moving over to the couch and looting through the pile of things belonging to whoever lived there. Iris plopped herself down on the couch, sighing. Beth snorted, pulling something out from behind the sofa.

“Who’d walk into a store and come out with this?” She asked. Iris opened one eye to see a hot pink ceramic pot holder, shaped like a bra. The plant inside was long dead, the rest of the pot filled entirely with cigarette butts. Daryl looked over his shoulder from the window.

“My dad, that’s who.” He replied. Iris snickered, shaking her head. “Oh, he was a dumbass. Used to set those up on top of the TV set, use them as target practice.”

“He shot things inside your house?” Beth asked, wide-eyed.

“It was just a bunch of junk anyways.” He shrugged. “That’s how I knew what this place was. That shed out there? My dad had a place just like this. That’s your dumpster chair. That’s for sitting in your drawers all summer, drinking.” He said, pointing to the chair across the room filled with junk. “Got your fancy buckets for spitting chaw in after your old lady tells you to stop smoking. You got your internet.” He held up a newspaper. Iris grinned, rolling her eyes. A walker snarled from outside and Daryl peered through the window. “Just one of ‘em.”

“Should we get it?” Beth asked.

“If he keeps making too much noise, yeah.” Daryl nodded.

“Well, if we’re gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it.” Beth decided, grabbing another jar of moonshine. She held it out toward him. “Unless you’re too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon.”

“Hell. Might as well make the best of it.” He echoed, grabbing the jar. Iris smirked as he plunked down on the sofa beside her, crossing his legs. “Home sweet home.” He murmured, saluting the jar before taking a swig.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

[braveclementine]

Victoria Tries Killing Me With a Soccer Ball

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Twilight characters or locations. I do own Davina Mikelson and Marcel. I also own the backstory for my OC. I do not condone any copying of this.

Davina P.O.V.

It's been about a week since we got back from Kentucky and both sides of the field- Vampire and Werewolf- was filled in about everything on the trip.

I was preparing for a date tonight with Carlisle. Alice had dropped yet another dress off at the house for me to wear. Honestly, it was starting to get ridiculous. My closet was more full of Alice, Rosalie, and Esmes' left over things than my own.

The dress was Jade green- the best colour on me- and had almost no sleeves and a very swishy skirt. I wore silver jewelry, held a silver purse, and wore silver heels with this outfit. Not to mention after I finished curling my hair, I put in silver pins to hold some of it up. Pearl earrings though.

I was nervous because Alice seemed so overly excited for this date which made me wonder what was going to happen.

Probably nothing.

She was probably just glad that Carlisle and I were going out on a date. We hadn't been on one since we'd gotten back from Italy.

Carlisle showed up, wearing a tight sweater with a white shirt underneath and a tie. He was always wearing ties. He reminded me of Elijah Mikelson sometimes- just without the three piece suits.

Which reminded me! We had binged watched Vampire Diaries ever since I had gotten back from Kentucky. The guys watched it in interest, mostly to see what us girls liked about it. Bella watched some of it, but it wasn't really her thing.

However Esme, Alice, Rosalie, and I couldn't get enough of it.

We knew the guys got easily jealous and were comparing the guys in the TV show to the guys in real life and saying who we'd rather date. Carlisle especially hated it whenever I fawned over Damon Salvatore- probably because Carlisle was blond and was starting to wonder (according to Edward) if he was even my type.

It was quite fun.

Of course, even if Damon Salvatore existed. . . okay so maybe I'd have to have both Damon and Carlisle but that wasn't really a problem, was it?

Oh well.

I headed down the stairs, making sure the lights and stove were turned off before I answered the knock at the door.

"Hey." I said happily, letting Carlisle scoop me up and zoom to the car. It was raining and vampire speed was far more effective than an umbrella.

Carlisle sild into the other seat.

I stared at him, wild ideas swimming through my head and he glanced over. "What?"

"Just thinking." I said with a small smile.

"About what?"

"If you can drive and cuddle at the same time." I admitted, flushing slightly.

He chuckled lowly. "Vampires can multitask."

And in a flash, I was sitting on his lap, my face, facing towards him as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other around my waist. I rested my forehead on his shoulder so that he could still see the road.

I snuggled into him, feeling his cool, but strong arm around me. "I love you Carlisle. I love you so much."

He pretty much purred into my ear, "I love you too Davina."

After a few minutes of content silence I whispered, "I think I understand why I was so at home with the wolf pack now. It's because I should be one of them."

"I'm glad you're not though." Carlisle said softly. "It would very hard to be together. Not because I wouldn't like you for being a werewolf, but it's very hard for a werewolf and a vampire to be in the same room together."

"I know." I whispered. "I'm glad I've never transformed either. Although now I'm afraid that I might either not be able to become a vampire at all, or I'll have to become a vampire sooner than I wished so that I don't turn into a wolf."

"I'll keep you happy enough that you won't be angry enough to turn." Carlisle kissed my cheek, slowing down. "We're here."

He pulled into a parking space and I saw the fancy restaurant in front of us.

"Don't worry." Carlisle murmured, running his lips from my ear, down my jaw, to my neck and up again. "Just dessert. Nothing else."

I giggled. "Am I dessert?"

Carlisle's eyes flashed black before turning gold again. "You could be. . . if we don't hurry."

He licked slowly up my neck with the tip of his tongue, making me giggle again and shiver. I pressed my lips to his in fervor. I felt his tongue swipe across the bottom of my lip and opened my mouth slightly, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth, swirling around, colliding with my tongue, fighting for dominance that I knew he would win anyways.

I pulled away slowly, breathing for air. "Dessert. Sounds good."

Carlisle chuckled lowly, pecking my lips before pulling the keys out of the ignition, and opening the door. I climbed out of the car, fixing my dress as he stepped out as well, slamming the door shut, and locking the car.

He held out his hand which I took. The rain had stopped, the clouds swirling above us.

"What's the last name?" The hostess asked promptly without any gawking at Carlisle which was a first.

"Cullen." Carlisle replied.

She looked at the computer, tapped the screen a few times, gathered up two menus, and said, "Right this way."

"All business, I like her." I muttered under my breath for only him to hear.

He chuckled lightly as we followed her through the quiet, romantic restaurant. He squeezed my hand as we got a table in the back which was very close to being empty.

He slid into the seat with his back to the wall, while I slid in the seat across from him, facing the wall.

"I already ordered, just so you know." Carlisle said softly, reaching across the table to take my hand. "I know what you like."

I smiled gently, slipping my heels off, placing my feet on his legs, out straight, one foot on each leg.

"You're very touchy tonight." Carlisle said with a smirk, but also honest curiosity in his voice, "Is anything wrong?"

"No." I said, shrugging, running my thumb over his knuckles. His skin was so smooth. "I just. . . I want to be as close to you as I can get."

The waitress came out a few moments later with the dessert, setting it down in front of us. I smiled down at it as she walked away. "You do really know me." I admitted.

The Hot fudge cake looked so appetizing. The large dollop of whip cream on top of the large chocolate brownie and vanilla ice-cream sandwich. The cherry leaked juices, penetrating into the whip cream, dying it a red and probably tainting the taste. Chocolate sauce leaked over the edges of the cake, pooling on the plate.

[I'm honestly craving these now that I'm writing about. Someone help!]

"It does look good." Carlisle admitted.

I picked up the spoon, carving into the dessert, popping a piece in my mouth and closing my eyes, nearly moaning at the decadent tastes that melted in my mouth. "Carlisle, this is so good. Thank you."

He chuckled, squeezing the hand that wasn't holding the spoon.

I opened my eyes. His gold eyes seemed brighter, a new emotion I'd never seen behind them. "Say. If you added blood to food, would it taste like anything?"

Carlisle thought about it. "I have no idea."

"Hmm," I thought about it. "I mean, maybe not normal solid foods. But like. . . I don't know. Adding blood to a chocolate smoothie or something. I don't know if it would work. I should experiment later with that."

He chuckled, "Making sure you can get your chocolate after you're a vampire?"

"Exactly." I winked at him.

I finished off the dessert rather slowly. For one thing, I didn't want to look like a slob eating it. For another, I wanted this date to last as long as possible.

"Davina. . ." Carlisle said softly as I finally put the spoon down and dabbed my mouth with a napkin.

I looked at him, wondering what he was thinking about. He stood up and I was going to get to my feet before he got down on one knee, pulling a box out from his pocket.

Oh.

"Davina," Carlisle's golden eyes were burning. I was frozen in my seat, my heart beating harder than I could've thought possible without bursting out of my chest. "I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. I fell in love with your beautiful onyx eyes and your quirky personality. The way that quotes just roll off your tongue, even if I don't completely understand where they come from. I love the way that you know exactly what to say when I feel down to make me feel better. Your touch makes me feel alive in ways I haven't in nearly three hundred years. I will never love anyone the way I love you. I need you in my life. So, Davina Hermione Michaelson. . . Will you Marry me?"

So many emotions were conflicting in my chest as I stared at Carlisle. Azim's face popped up, the first person that I thought I would marry. But Carlisle wasn't like that. Carlisle was different. Carlisle was my soulmate.

I swallowed. "Yes."

Carlisle carefully took the ring out of the box. It was rather large and definitely old fashioned and he looked at me, slightly apologetic. "I know it's not. . . in the fashion. It was my mothers."

I was getting a ring from the 1640s? Wow.

"That's alright." I whispered. "It's not the ring I care about you know."

He smiled as he slid the ring onto my left hand ring finger. It had a simple gold band with an intricate. . . almost flower like design with a large diamond in the center. Smaller diamonds circled around the large one.

"It's beautiful." I murmured. "I love you Carlisle."

"I love you too." Carlisle murmured, bending down to kiss me. I leaned into the kiss eagerly. The ring rested easily on my hand. "I suppose I should've asked Sam for permission first though."

I chuckled, "He's my brother, not my father."

Carlisle nodded a little. "Ready to go home?"

"Yes." I said softly, standing, taking his arm and we went home.

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

"Stay in La Push today." Carlisle warned.

"I know." I said sincerely.

Alice had foreseen that Victoria would be coming back today. Edward and Bella were in Florida at the moment. Edward had wanted to get Bella out of Forks when she came. Meanwhile, the others would be hunting Victoria. Alice knew exactly where she was going to be.

"Please stay safe." I said, kissing Carlisle fiercely. He wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"Carlisle, we have to go." Alice said. "We have twenty minutes."

"I'm going." I murmured, hurrying from the house, climbing on to the motorcycle, and taking off for La Push. I arrived there in under ten minutes, pulling up to Harry's house. Seth was already waiting for me with his soccer ball.

"Hey Mom!" Seth said happily as I climbed off the motorcycle. "Are you ready to see my wicked moves?"

"Of course." I grinned. "But we should stay along the treaty line."

I had already called Sam and let him know that Victoria was going to be here. Seth wasn't allowed to participate which was slightly annoying to him.

"Come on buddy." I said, ruffling his hair.

We headed into the forest, laughing. We were going to head to the creek and stand on either side and make ridiculous throws at each other for the other to catch. It was going to be fun. Alice hadn't seen any problems, so there shouldn't be any.

We arrived at the stream and there were no problems. The water was rushing past quickly though. "You gotta be on the other side." Seth said. "You know, treaty line and all."

I giggled, "Sure thing werewolf boy."

I walked evenly across one of the logs, making it to the other side of the river. The water wasn't too deep, maybe six feet. Swimmable, but not drownable.

"Alright Seth! Let's see what you can do." I said with a grin.

Carlisle P.O.V.

We waited, still and silent, in the place that Alice had said Victoria would come to. Alice was in front, Jasper closest to her on her right with me on the outside of Jasper. On the left side of Alice was Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett.

I tugged the sleeves of my navy blue sweatshirt up slightly.

Alice was staring out into the woods while we checked the surrounding area. I was nervous- not for myself and only a little bit for my family- but say Victoria crossed the treaty line. . . would the wolves be able to protect Davina?

I liked to think so, especially after they'd discovered about Sam, Davina, and. . . Embry being connected by the same father.

"Are you sure this is where you saw her?" I asked Alice.

Jasper stepped closer to Alice who said, "She's almost here."

Everything stayed silent. I didn't even hear any animals, much less a vampire rushing through. But we were counting on Alice for that part if we didn't catch it.

"On your left!" Alice shouted.

I turned, running as fast as I could towards my left. This was near the werewolf territory, near the treaty line. That was most definitely worrisome.

I was gaining on Victoria, but Emmett got closest. He reached out for her, not breaking speed, grabbing down on her shoulder until she flipped him over it and he crashed into the nearest tree, tumbling to the ground.

I sped up, trying to gain on her. I had to kill her- Lord and I both agreed on that- for Davina's sake. And for Bella's too.

And then, we neared the treaty line and she jumped, landing on the wolves territory. We skidded to a stop. "Wait. She's on their territory now." I said, holding out my arm. I knew she wouldn't go in deep, and we could track her from across our border.

And then the worst thing imaginable happened. A voice- a human one- was carried upstream.

"Wow Seth! That was a good one!"

It was Davina's voice.

Victoria's head snapped up, lips curling back into a grin, and she took off running. We ran parallel to her and I had to hope that Davina was on our side of the treaty line or else I was going to break the treaty.

"She'll get away!" Esme shouted.

And that was when two wolves hopped down. They were the larger ones, the older ones and I knew they cared about Davina greatly.

"NO SHE WON'T!" Jasper and Lord roared together.

We didn't see Davina or the boy she was hanging out with for a long time. She jumped back to our side, far ahead of us, to avoid the wolves snapping at her feet. That was when the soccer ball came out of nowhere, almost hitting Victoria in the face.

Victoria snatched it out of the air- I couldn't see her face.

"SETH LOOK OUT!" Davina screamed and then I saw her go flying through the air, the soccer ball to her stomach. I leaped, away from Victoria and everyone, as Davina plunged into the water, after her.

Davina P.O.V.

Seth had kicked the ball high and I laughed as it disappeared into the forest.

"Well damn," Seth said, crossing over to my side. I gave him a warning look which he ignored. "We're going to have to-"

And then he froze, "Vampire."

"Well, duh." I chuckled, ruffling his fur. "The Cullens-"

And then the redheaded blur came towards us, holding our soccer ball tightly in her hands. She flung it with vampire speed.

"SETH LOOK OUT!" I screamed, pushing Seth into the trees, catching the soccer ball in my chest.

The breath was knocked out of me, and the force that the soccer ball hit me in the stomach sent me flying off my feet. I had definitely broken a rib or two. I flailed around before I hit the water.

The cold water shocked my body, making me inhale the water, I tried coughing, but as I was underwater, all I did was succeed in getting more water into my lungs. I thrashed around, trying to break surface, panicking.

Something else hit the water, I could hear it. Something else had entered the water. Something smooth so it definitely wasn't a werewolf.

Victoria.

Of course, I doubted Carlisle would let her get close to me. I hadn't thought there would be a problem along the treaty line? Especially not out here. . . but maybe out here was exactly where a problem would have been.

My vision started to go black and fuzzy as two hard arms pulled me closer to their body, erupting out of the water. I tried to inhale the air, but I couldn't.

I was flung onto the rocky ground, hard hands pressing against my chest, hard lips on mine, trying to get me to breathe.

"Come on Davina." Carlisle begged.

"Mom!" Seth's voice was frantic and I felt a warm hand on my arm.

"What happened?" Sam's voice roared across the river.

I could hear growling from a wolf and Emmett. "Paul, back down." Sam ordered.

"Emmett, come back here." Alice's voice said, laced with worry.

Had Emmett tried getting across the treaty line? Where was Victoria?

Water trickled from my mouth and I gasped, starting to cough. I spit the water out of my mouth, sitting up.

"Ow." I said, gingerly putting a hand to my stomach.

"You've got a broken rib." Carlisle said, his golden eyes laced with worry but also professionalism. "We can get you back to the house and I'll wrap it up."

"Are you okay?" Seth asked, his eyes round with worry, shaking but only slightly.

I reached out, ruffling his hair. "I'm alright. You okay?"

"Perfectly fine. I could've taken her."

I chuckled, "I'm sure you could've. Speaking of which, is she dead?"

I looked from my vampire family, to Sam, Jared, Paul, and Embry.

"Well. . . no." Carlisle said, looking between the wolves- specifically Paul- and Emmett.

I got to my feet gingerly. "What do you mean no?"

Carlisle sighed, "Emmett tried leaping the boundary line to go after her. One of the wolves stopped him. The two of them bickered instead of going after her. She's gone."

"It's not my fault." Emmett muttered.

I stood there for a second, looking from Emmett to Paul, and then I said angrily, "Are you kidding me?"

All the vampires quickly backed away from me and I knew why. If I got angry, there was a chance I transformed, and none of them wanted to be to close when I did that. Seth on the other hand, stepped closer, and Carlisle wouldn't step to far away from me.

I turned to Paul, "Emmett wouldn't have magically turned from hunting Victoria to hunting La Push residents! And you-" I turned to Emmett and gave him an annoyed look, "-you knew where the treaty line was. You shouldn't have tried crossing the river."

"Sorry Mama bear." Emmett muttered.

"Sorry mom." Paul muttered.

I sighed, turning to Alice. My anger was completely burnt out and Carlisle wrapped his arms around me loosely, not wanting to hurt me, "When is the next chance she's coming back?"

Alice made that head movement like 'I don't know.'

I sighed, "Alright, Carlisle, take me home."

I didn't even get to say good-bye to the other wolves as Carlisle was already running through the forest back towards the house.

He yanked the door open, bringing me to his study, settling me down on the long, soft couch he had in here.

"Well today was very fun." I muttered, trying to sit up, but he kept a hand on my upper chest, forcing to me to continue to lay back.

He pushed my shirt up so that only my stomach was exposed. He grabbed the bandages, feeling deftly along my ribs, noting when I winced.

"It's just the lower one." He sighed, finally allowing me to sit up so that he could wrap it tightly. When he was done, he sat down on the couch and carefully pulled me onto his lap, my back flush against him. "That. . . don't do that to me ever again."

I chuckled, "Don't worry. I don't plan on being near Victoria ever again. I hadn't planned on it today either."

He shuddered, holding me closer. "I should've sent you to Florida with Bella and Edward."

I snuggled into his chest, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "No thanks. I'd rather be here with you."

He sighed, "Me too."

I turned around completely so I was facing him. He lowered his head slightly, bringing our lips together. I wrapped my arms around Carlisle head while he wrapped his under my shoulder blades, pulling me closer.

My fingers delved in his hair, ruining is normal wavy hairstyle, and when we broke away from the kiss- so I could breathe- I ruffled his hair to make it messy. He grumbled lightly, but didn't try to fix it.

I chuckled lightly.

"Do I look like that Elijah guy now?" He asked, raising his eyebrows which made me giggle.

"Maybe a little. But you know I love you the best." I said, holding his stone cold yet smooth face in my hands. "Oh, and you should know that Alice plans on having us married in two weeks."

Carlisle sighed, "If only it could be sooner."

I chuckled. "If only."

"You're letting Alice plan the whole wedding?"

I was silent for a moment. "I told her to invite only people in Forks. I think Marcel likes me and I don't want to hurt him. I definitely don't want to invite Joshua. And I told her that every wolf was invited along with the council elders. Oh and that you could invite the Denali clan if she wanted. And. . . I told her to send an invitation to the Volturi so they knew. I thought that might stop them from coming."

"I see." Carlisle said, his arms tightening just slightly. "You should invite Marcel. Jasper read his emotions and doesn't believe he read any emotions of lust or love. Not that kind of love anyways, though he cares for you like a little sister."

"Well that's good. I'll let Alice know." I murmured.

"Are you staying the night?" Carlisle murmured, brushing black curls back from my face.

I smiled up at him, "Sure. Why not?"

He leaned down to kiss me again.

[teenietinytangerine]

THE TRUTH UNTOLD part 1. chapter 1. "lust at first sight."

content disclaimer: hints at smut but none, yet... pairing: gumiho!yoongi x oc (saein) ------

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll feed you."

"Do you even know what that means?"

"I did my research, I know."

He crossed his arms over his chest, not unamused. In front of him, there she stood, the Venus de Milo, on the wane of the theaters of horrors, too at-ease in its throes to shiver at the sight anymore.

"Why would you do that?"

"You're a picky eater, aren't you?"

"I'm being careful with spicy food. Especially ones that leave me with souvenirs." The Gumiho pulled his shirt with one of his claws to expose the scar she had left above his collarbone a couple of days ago.

She grimaced. "Right, sorry. That's part of the reason, I mean you're stuck here because of me, and you asked me if you should just starve now so... "

"So? You're going to..."

"Not let you starve."

This time, Yoongi burst out in incredulous laughter. The slayer was messing with him, showing up with all five feet of snark at his door and empty promises in a leather trenchcoat.

She never lacked confidence, Saein, but that was a bold move. Thankfully, every doubt she had was obscured by the sheer strength of her stubbornness to the point that, when the Gumiho, disguised as a man, approached at an excruciatingly slow pace, all he could read on her face was her provocation to take her at her word.

He bent over, squinting. "Really?"

He looked otherworldly, with a hint of depravity, but she knew that already.

She looked delicious, with a hint of sardonic, but he knew that already.

"Really." She only needed to whisper for him at this distance. And now, she was the one smiling for there was no hiding from him of the hunger that had risen at the mere thought. She could swear his pupils had grown bigger.

She pulled on the pearl necklace to bring him closer and repeated, softer. "Really."

But, as her eyes fell on his lips, he pulled back.

"If you're not interested-"

"That's not- You are serious."

"I am... curious."

"You trust me?"

" ... For this, yes. It's your expertise, isn't it?"

"It is."

He smacked his lips, seemingly deep into the unraveling of his dilemmas while she was fighting off her pride, only pulled back by the more nustled in feeling she had denied and still does even though it murmurs with honey its spelling to her ear: lust.

She had a way about her, the Slayer, a tranquil confidence enveloped in fiery defiance and here she was standing, offering herself up an unbearable human fragility that was, oh, so tantalizing, the sweetest trap that just might be worth the sugar it held.

He couldn't help himself but fall in it.

His fingers tucked back a strand of her hair behind her ear, and the first skinship came with the promise of her anticipation. She wasn't lying. She wanted this. His thumb fluttered along her jaw all the way to her lips.

Saein, like hypnotized, held her breath, and instinctively came closer, her nose nearly touching his, she leaned and-

"Not like this." His fingers locked around her wrist, and a grin stretched on his lips. "I've got a ritual of sorts."

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 21: Swoon ~ James Norrington/OC [1,414 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨

Notes: So the storyline I’m building here is kind of referenced in the “Playing With Hair” Christmas fill, in which Theo expresses a bit of insecurity over not being the typical wife a man would seek in this time period. The "problem" (as she sees it) is shown from James’ POV here, and then we get the conclusion of it on the fill for day 30. It’s not exactly a high-stakes action-packed plotline or anything, but it’s just a continuing theme that’ll work best when you have all parts – so if things feel a bit vague or like there should be more here, it’s because there should, and there will be, on day thirty.

Governor Swann insisted on granting them the use of his London home for the duration of their time in the south of England, and while James had been reluctant to agree – a reservation Theodora shared – for a grand townhouse brimming with servants hardly seemed to lend itself to the kind of privacy and solace they sought on this honeymoon of theirs, he could not pretend he was not happy for it when they arrived. Mostly because it meant large hot baths and lavish meals with delightfully little effort.

Of course, it also lended itself rather nicely to their goal. To schmooze London’s high society, acquire further backing and connections for Norne Maritime Protection, and – perhaps most importantly – to show those here that, whatever the rumours drifting out of the Caribbean, he and his wife were of the good sort, and simply could not have acted wrongly in what occurred, nor brought it down upon themselves in any way. The latter goal was rather the trickier one. And Theodora was anxious.

She hid it, of course, even from him. When he asked if she’d been in London before (or, well, after – technically), she murmured the affirmative, along with expressing doubts that she would be able to snag Lion King tickets this time round. James, by that point, confessed himself an expert on discerning when she joked from true levity, and when it came from discomfort, and he knew that to be the product of the latter. And who could blame her? Those gathered in Port Royal had not been particularly kind to her – writing her off as a feral creature, perhaps somewhat soft in the head, who possessed just enough beauty and feminine wiles both to somehow ensnare him along the way. They did not see that he was the lucky one in the equation because they simply did not want to see it.

But her arrival in London was somewhat smoother than the way she’d been catapulted into their lives in Port Royal, she was used to this time now…and they were a team. This would be different. He had faith in that, and in her. Always in her.  Not just because she was charming, but because she was clever. Before there was full transparency between the two of them, he’d sometimes been half-tempted to regret that cleverness. Usually for fear of her safety. But now? Now he was free to be thrilled by it at all times.

For she did know how to play a good game.

On the first night they were set to host, she came downstairs bedecked in a gown of soft light floral fabric, contrasting the darker, bolder colours she usually favoured. Her hair was bound up with only a few soft curls left about her neck, white porcelain flowers set amidst the deep red of her hair and a string of pearls about her throat. Beautiful, she looked – beautiful she always was – but not like herself. None here would look at her and guess she was playing role. None here could look at her and possibly think that any of the rumours surrounding her were true. He allowed that fact to ease his sadness at how she clearly thought she had to hide herself to make a good impression.

Save, perhaps, for when it came to the white glove on her right hand, hiding nails that had not yet properly grown back. She hid it where she could – betwixt her skirts, behind her back, beneath anything she held – and when she was asked about it, she grumbled something about looking like Michael Jackson. Given that James had never heard of such a fellow, he could neither support nor reject her conclusion. But he wished he could ease her nerves.

James himself did not consider him adept at people-ing, as Theodora had once referred to it with great distaste. Oftentimes he was perceived as too serious, too dour, too unable to loosen up and give into revelry. He’d just been rather lucky in that all of those things were fine for a man and a soldier to be. But a hysterical once-tortured woman who was either a witch, mad, or both? Those were heavier burdens to bear for his wife. Judging by the pale cast of her face as they waited to make their first impressions on potential backers, she was keenly aware of that.

So James said the only thing he could think to – lowering his head as he heard the butler let the first of the guests in and murmuring to her.

“Ireland, after this.”

And it gladdened him to see that it cheered her.

When all had arrived, James was certain none would be able to guess at the doubt and trepidation that had shown on his wife’s face just before they’d walked in – at which time she’d straightened, offered one of those brilliantly warm grins of hers, and greeted them as though they were old friends.

She was not quite herself – more subdued even down to her accent – but none were at social events such as these, James himself included. And she was candid, warm, and lovely. That was all Theodora. He soon found that whenever he looked to her to see how she was faring, he had difficulty looking away. Even those who had arrived with a blatant nose to find gossip would share looks with one another as though surprised to find her qualities so abundant.

It had been difficult not to smile his pride at that. To know that not only did others finally see his wife as he did – others who were not pirates, at least – and to see that he had somehow managed to win the hand of such a woman. He couldn’t help but think of all the many times his wife had set those piercing eyes of hers upon him before proclaiming herself very lucky, laughing at the thought that she truly had no idea that he was the lucky one.

The door closed behind the last of the guests, Theodora’s shoulders dropped and she sighed her relief. James’ hand found the small of her back, entirely sharing in the sentiment she’d so silently expressed.

“Nightcap?” she turned a tired smile in his direction, leading him back to the drawing room.

James was not content to allow her to brush off her victory so readily.

“You’re a force of nature, do you know that?” he asked as she poured them a drink each.

“Oh, har-har,” she snorted fondly.

“Lady Montague made no less than three further appointments to see you while we remain in London,” he pointed out, pulling her to sit with him once their glasses were in hand.

“She was kind. And her husband liked you.”

“They liked you. They liked us. They’re backing us, Lord Montague as good as said so tonight - already. In part because of my very charming wife.”

Her eyes lit up at the first part, but at the second she rolled her eyes – albeit kindly – steadfastly refusing to believe that she might be greeted with anything other than scorn in “polite” society. It was a defence strategy, he knew that, so she mightn’t care when people – when fools – did dislike her. But it grieved him to see it warping her perception so.

“We found the one crowd in London who find the Irish foundling thing to be a cute novelty rather than an omen of doom, then?”

“Do not discount your victory here, Theodora.”

“Is that an order, husband?”

“On this occasion, I’m afraid it is,” he teased. “I will not hear it. You were magnificent tonight. I very nearly swooned to witness it.”

Another eye roll – but accompanied by a blush. And James was fine with that. He was patient, and he knew their victories would only increase from here. She’d see his point before long. He’d make sure of it.

And until then, he’d marvel at his wife enough for the both of them.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[rarepairronpa]

an ideal date

The people are yelling, copycats of her beloved and crude. Nothing like them, nothing like the real thing. Imitating both her beloved and their group, but inferior to both. Not worth her time. She ignores the screaming, ignores the pleas. People in pain are everywhere. That never changed from the start. She, chosen and holy for it, could only shake her head in disgust and a little pity. She ignores their cries, clutching her phone as she turned up her headphones. (Blocking out them begging for help like they ignored her.) Junko’s voice, bright and peppy and out of place, comes through like music on the other side. “Mikan-senpai, Mikan-senpai, aren’t you excited?!” They squealed, and Mikan smiled fondly. “Of course,” she murmured into her headphone’s subpar mic. “I’m with you, after all.” - Mikan and Junko hunt down her past bullies. [Dangan WLWeek day 5: The Tragedy/Ship With A Trans Headcanon.]

Junkan for day 5 of @danggirlronpa 's WLWeek! This is actually an idea I've had for a long time- Junkan hunting down Mikan's past bullies. I originally wanted to write it for my BNHA/DR crossover (with Izuku tagging along), buuut I don't think it'll work for the already established timeline of that work, so I had to scrap the idea. Still! I was super fond of the idea of it, that when I saw the prompt "Tragedy", my mind immediately went to that. This is Junkan, so they are an unhealthy relationship in this, BUT they're also very sappy and cute, in a morbid way- so I think people who like fluffy Junkan might like this one too, along with people who like the more toxic yuri aspect. It is ultimately unhealthy, because Junko is encouraging Mikan to be her worst self, buuuut there's definitely moments in it that I go, "oh, that's sweet". It has layers! Is what I'm saying! Sometimes what makes toxic relationships so hard to get out of is that they have moments of tenderness and genuine love.

This one is also, obviously, a no brainwashing video AU. I leave Chiaki's fate ambiguous; whether she's dead, never existed as human Chiaki, or is a Remnant that will eventually betray them isn't... known in this. I feel like any could be applicable, so go crazy with whatever interpretation you want. I don't go into detail how Mikan became a despair, either, just that it's not through brainwashing. I also mention that she knew about Yasuke- in my head, she had him kinda had a Greg and Pearl (from Steven Universe) dynamic. Which she thinks she's "won", as Yasuke was killed by Junko.

As for Junko, they're nonbinary in this- I'd say close to a demigirl, though she's never defined it. They use she/they pronouns and feminine terms such as "girlfriend". I explain it a bit in my notes. If she doesn't read as feminine aligned enough, I will be willing to edit it to make this more clear.

Also- there's no actual graphic torture in this. Because. I didn't want to write that for a fun ship week. And that would also involve a lot of OCs to fill out Mikan's bullies. It's more of a lead up to Mikan finding her past bullies than her actually confronting them. So, if you're faint of heart, you'll still probably be fine with this one as it's mainly implication.

Over all, this is my favorite of what I've written for this week (with my first day nanamiki one being my second favorite). It has a concept I've been wanting to do for ages, mentions of Yasuke and Mikan knowing each other (which I eat up), and has nonbinary Junko, a headcanon I love. I also think the Junkan has a nice mix of being both disturbing and cute. So, if you're going to read any of what I've written for this week, I definitely recommend this one!

[astarionsblueundies]

Just a little snippet from the fic. Astarion in full on annoying seduction mode with my dumbass silly girl Tav/OC, Ashe.

Word count: 560 Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/OC Summary: Astarion is an insatiable flirt with ulterior motives. Ashe thinks she's got this. She does not.

“Your words are pretty, Astarion,” she sighs, giving him credit where credit is due. “As is your face.” She reaches up and pats his cheek with a smile.

“Well, don’t stop there,” he murmurs with a downward tilt of his head, looking at her intently from beneath his snowy lashes. “Surely you have thoughts about the rest of me.”

Ashe smiles sweetly. Nice try, buddy. She may be naive 90% of the time, but this is the 10%. She’s not falling into whatever trap this is. Not this time. No, sir. 

“Sorry, Astarion,” she apologizes with one last little pat, rubbing the apple of his cheek fondly, “but alas, this is the part I look at the most.”

“Most,” he latches onto the word like he’s caught her in some sort of fatal technicality. “Most is not all, darling.”

She stares for a moment, just trying to keep a straight face. He’s absurd. With a click of her tongue she admits, “Yes, I’ve seen your full body, Astarion. If you can believe it, when I’m standing really far away…” she casts a furtive glance left and right, leaning in to whisper, “I can see the whole thing.”

He flashes her a pearl-clutching look, hand to chest. “Scandalous… and, well, since you brought it up, you may as well tell me your thoughts on it.”

Incorrigible, this man.

“I think…” humming with a thoughtful cock of her head, she steps back to look him up and down. “That your body is extremely… amazingly…” she grabs at the air with a huff, searching for just the right words and settling decidedly on, “perfectly efficient at disposing of our enemies. Highly appreciated, Astarion.”

“Hah!” he barks out a laugh. “Not what I was hoping for, perhaps, but I’ll certainly take it.”

“Mm. Best not to be a choosy beggar.”

“Oh, I'm hardly concerned about that,” he says flippantly with a roguish smile. “I’ve certainly been worse things.” 

Ashe doesn’t doubt that for a second.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion…” she sighs, looking him over, hands on her hips. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, I have plenty of suggestions,” he says, doing that thing he does with his face—yes, that one—and languidly steps right into her space like he belongs there. Ashe does precisely nothing to stop him. He looks down at her. Takes her chin in his long, cool fingers. Thumbs at her bottom lip as he tips her head up to meet his gaze. Eyes heavy-lidded, he murmurs low, “If you’re in need.”

Ugh. And she made it so far without letting him fluster her.

She stares. She blinks. She forgets the entire common language, apparently. 

Her cheeks color up in a flash, and when his lips twitch into a knowing smirk, it dawns on her just how long she’s been embarrassingly non-verbal.

“Wh–No!” she suddenly blurts in a red-faced rush, as if spitting the word out like a stupid watermelon seed somehow makes up for her previous brainlessness. “Not in need! No suggestion box! Nope. I, um–you know what? I actually just remembered I forgot to do something.”

Before Astarion can so much as raise a brow at her, Ashe marches away like that’s actually true.

It is not.

She just doesn’t want to see his smug, smarmy face. Flustering her is practically a competitive sport to him and he’s the undefeated champion. 

She swears, just one of these days she’s going to fluster him.

[stesierra]

Do you have any OCs that are fun to write about but you wouldn't want to spend time with in real life?

Nilower is fun to write but I'd find him as pretentious as fuck. Also, he's not a very good writer, although he thinks he is. Here's an excerpt from the terrible book he's writing.

"'Areh, you should not tempt me so,' Siavad murmured, his eye caught by the gorgeously sensuous curves of her generous cleavage, his imagination seized by the glimpses he caught through the soft sheer crimson silk of her frock.

The seductress breathed, 'Aran Mahil, it is I that is tempted. What woman could resist you? What woman would want to?' She leaned closer, her pomegranate-red lips parting before his greedy eyes, revealing teeth like square pearls and strong breath as sweet as cinnamon. He inhaled that godly aroma and felt himself enchanted by the unnatural green sparkle of her eyes. They caught and held him as close as a hug, and he could not move away as she settled herself down onto his couch, as graceful and dangerous as a leopard. He was a man trapped by his own desires and a woman's beckoning finger.

She smiled into his face, perfection in flesh, and her long-nailed hands rose to caress his clean-shaven face.

He leaned into her touch like a cat eager to be petted but questioned, 'You are engaged to be married, areh. To a member of a key family, no less. Is this appropriate?'

Her questing fingers ran around to trail across the silky nape of his neck, and she uttered, 'A woman may love whomever and wherever she pleases. Always it has been so in Sakhder.'

Siavad shivered and trembled and shook as her sinful hands ran down his sides, tickling him through the thin silk of his embroidered golden tunic. He found himself pulled closer and closer, like a loadstone drawn towards the north. He avowed, 'I would never seek to deny a woman her rights, areh, but neither do I want to be murdered by an angry suitor.'

She scoffed, the noise melodious as the song of a lark, and sighed, 'The marriage is arranged by our parents, and neither of us care for each other. I am not drawn to him, not the way I am to you. Now come to me, you beautiful man.'

He fell into her plump, dusky arms, his heart swollen with love in his chest, and breathed in the smoky perfume of her shining hair. She smiled at him, the smile of a goddess. And then her poisoned fingernails drove into his back, spreading paralytic venom through his blood. He froze like a statue, rigid as a board, his muscular hands still wrapped around the vixen's waist.

'Now, Siavad Mahil,' purred the betrayer, 'I believe the Abolbak family will pay dearly for your breathing body. But that doesn't mean I have to give them what they want right away.'

She kissed him with her lush red lips, and he was helpless--"

[raccoonfallsharder]

puntkick.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 9/6] ✩‬

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 20/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard. ART: pearl's character design | pearl & rocket's bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch | rocket & pearl snuggle

diplomacy is attempted. 

“Your Terran is strange,” the Priestess muses.  Rocket will admit — to himself, and himself alone — that Ayesha is far more intimidating when he’s facing her by himself. Her headdress glints as dangerously as a circular saw-blade, studded with chips of sharp diamond. As if her Royal Golden Bitchiness didn’t set his teeth on edge enough, she’s still flanked by her cortège, all clad in funereal black, with the Guard lingering at the hems of the room.  As far as Rocket’s concerned, it feels like being in front of a firing squad — which he had been, once, on Sibilax-4. Still, he drags up a smirk from the bottom of his twisting belly. “Yeah, well. You won’t hear me say otherwise.” The Priestess tilts her head musingly, a knifelike glint in her eye. “I almost thought I recognized her.”

The galaxy tilts and Rocket has to struggle to keep his feet under him, blood roaring in his ears. “But no,” she hums laconically, eyes flicking away in dismissal. “She looks — far healthier than that girl ever did.” Her eyes slide back and she raises one golden brow before Rocket can be sure he’s got his balance back. Does that mean Ayesha didn’t recognize pearl? Or that she did and she’s acknowledging — what, exactly? “She thinks she can protect you.” He bares his teeth distractedly, mind bouncing between jump-points, trying to keep up. “Yeah. She’s a frickin’ idiot.” Ayesha snorts — the first sign of inelegance he’s seen from the Sovereign priestess. She leans forward intently: elbow to knee and chin to fist, the same way she’d swayed toward them a cycle earlier when pearl had declared she’d wanted the Luphomoid. In this moment, the Priestess reminds Rocket of one of the auric snakes from Indigarr: gleaming, and cold-blooded, and always ready to strike. Predatory intrigue, Rocket recognizes — because he’s felt it in himself, on more than one occasion. Especially when it comes to pearl. “And who will protect the little Terran from you?” the High Priestess murmurs, her smirk widening.  His stomach clenches. Fuck this broad. “There’re worse monsters than me out there,” he hisses.

from chapter twenty-one. puntkick. ✩‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

WARNINGS for this chapter: heightened trauma-related anxiety. general insecurity. 

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto