geminorvm

[geminorvm]

an observation log: how the sea kisses the sun || Rafayel | Qi Yu

Summary:

an observation log is used to record important instances of peoples lives and their discoveries. this observation log tells the story of how a merman saved you from drowning, in more than one way.

Wordcount: 14.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Merman!Rafayel / f!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! inspired by 'the little mermaid', instance of drowning, thoughts about death but in a comical way, Rafayel cannot talk for a big part of this, teasing, yearning, lots of touches, dressing him up (does this count as dollification?? idk), implication of reader's status and upbringing and hints of misogyny, sharing a pair of earrings, breast sucking, cunnillingus, vaginal fingering, handjob, tail riding, double monster dick, piv, pussy job, implied cock warming, love, too

Note:

happy mermay!! and happy birthday to me!! i love him a lot, do u understand and thank u sm @voidcat for beta readingg, kissing u

The ocean has a way of leading you towards your goal, no matter how much you may resist. My dear, I shall not resist the temptation of your promised warmth, as I have longed to meet you face to face, instead of gingerly peeking my head out of the water. Even if it means risking everything that I am.

—

The water surrounds you, encasing every cell of your being without mercy. Struggle is futile, as the currents only drag you deeper and deeper, disregarding every attempt of yours to escape. The sea simply continues to press down on you with its mighty weight, as if you were nothing but a particle of sand twirling in its grasp. And all you could do is watch the bubbles appear before you, covering your vision with flickers of light, faint; your last lifeline disappearing like it’s nothing. 

It turns out, life is as fragile as these bubbles leaving your body, needing nothing but a touch from a greater being to turn into nothing; and there’s nothing you could do. You could not cling onto them, could not keep them safe and sound from the very thing threatening your own life. So, all there’s left is to simply let go, to submit to the whims of the ocean and to the fate it has given you. Despite everything, you doubt there would be a better way to leave this earthly plane.

Still, your heart wavers, last embers still desperately hoping and burning with a will to live. But you have decided. You quit fighting against the darkness curling around your body, veiling your vision bit by bit. The last thing flickering in front of your eyes is the beautiful purple of the sinking sun – a sight you have forever cherished and loved, reached your hand towards as you traveled over the sea – before everything ceases to exist.

—

Everything is meant to be, or at least that’s what everyone says. In my opinion, life is like a whirlpool in the depths of the ocean, trying to pull you down, that’s what it means to submit to that so-called fate. I’d rather lose this certainty than lose control of everything I intend to make for myself.

—

A gasp. Water is bubbling in your throat, snapping at your insides with a certain viciousness. Your body immediately reacts, as it throws you into a coughing fit. And before you know it, you’re pressing your face against the sand to hack and spit and to get every last drop of the water out of you, leaving you feeling raw and shredded. 

The taste of salt and copper coat your mouth, clinging to every crevice known to you, your tongue, teeth, lips. But the pain doesn’t matter, as you realize that your body has not sunk towards the depths of the ocean just yet. 

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and let yourself fall onto your back, the sand ready to welcome you in its grubby embrace. To shield yourself from the striking rays of the morning sun, you place an arm over your face. The warmth of the new day caresses your wet and sticky skin, the waves slowly lapping against your legs, tickling against your soles, and you realize that you must have lost your boots to the unyielding sea. The very same sea is moving akin to a docile cat, acting like nothing is wrong in the world, like you didn’t lose so much in the matter of hours and bad weather. And yet…

You’re alive. You have survived a devastation storm and the destruction of your ship. Even if you’re not quite certain how that might have happened. The last thing you remember is losing the last bit of breath and the water rushing into you as your body gets carried away by the currents of the sea, presumably towards the depths of the ocean as your final resting place. And no matter how much you ruminate about the possibilities, you don’t seem to have any recollection of what might have happened, much less what might have helped you in such a situation during all that chaos; everyone else also swept away by the mighty waves of the ocean, scattered and lost and in despair. 

It also keeps eluding you, why despite everything, the yearning towards a ship and the open ocean persists, to cruise without a goal in mind, to watch the sunset after an exhausting but fulfilling day. You continue to seek the intimacy of the ocean, to connect with it, to be as close to it as humanly possible, even after its continued rejection, after it embraced you in such a manner. 

With a sigh, you let your arm slump away and slowly begin to blink through squinted eyes to accustom yourself to the brightness of the day once again. Blue skies and sunshine, nothing like the darkened clouds you remember vividly, filled with anger and malice and destruction. Despite the fear it had struck within you, you couldn’t bring yourself to bear any resentment or any prolonged anxiety towards the open sea, even with everything that has happened between you. Not with the way it still can give you that freedom you desire, that freedom you hope and strive for. 

Once your eyes have fully adjusted to the sun and you’re able to open them up normally, you bury your elbows into the soft sand to support you as you push yourself upright. Only to be immediately met with the face of another, barely a couple inches away from you, almost like they have been hovering while you have lost your consciousness. Your eyes meet another pair, and you can’t help but compare the pink hues to the soft clouds floating above the setting sun. The eyelashes haloing these eyes are long and due to the difference in color, they only serve to make the irises much more striking. Stunned by the sheer radiance of these eyes, your eyes continue to wander, and there you find them. Dripping wet strands of hair hanging over said eyes in small curls, sticking to their brows. And even if the water has given them a darker shade, the color is still evident. A beautiful hue of purple. 

Upon seeing this specific color, something in your mind moves, akin to undoing a knot carefully and slowly to allow yourself to follow your own thoughts and to come to a proper conclusion. A conclusion which absolutely makes sense, but it might only do so to you, even if it seems to practically be water-proof. But even if there’s proper reason in your conclusion, the realization still leaves you bewildered, and you can’t help but stutter and gape.

“You– me– uh.. what– huh?”

A smile graces their face, plush lips revealing pearly teeth. This simple change makes them glow even more, practically blinding you in the process. Everything in your brain screeches to a halt as you truly realize the beauty sitting in front of you; your eyes shake and wander, doing their best to avoid direct eye contact, lest it completely knocks you and your remaining brain cells out. 

Until your gaze slips and lands on bare skin, on a bare chest, to be more precise. This sight seems to slowly bring your head back, even if that means you have been staring for a prolonged amount of time. Once you notice what you have been doing, you feel the heat rushing into your head and making your stomach churn, your fingers tremble. Quickly you avert your eyes – even if it seems like there might be an after-image sticking to the back of your eyelids every time you close your eyes – and you hurry to raise your hands to cover the picture unfolding in front of you, even if you wouldn’t mind another look–

You shake your head to get rid of these unnecessary thoughts and to ground yourself back into what you’re supposed to be. “Sir, uh, could– could you maybe wear something? I don’t know what, but… but you simply cannot go around like this!”

Despite your request, there’s nothing but a pause, mere silence, after your words. Worried that he might have left already, moving on while you’re still sitting in the wet sand, you take a peek from between your fingers. Only to be hit with a glance of his gorgeous eyes once again, as he’s still looking at you, his head slightly cocked to the side. This pose gives you some leeway to follow the trail of a water droplet, sliding down his chin and throat, lower and lower, glistening against skin and scales towards his collarbones. And before you manage to see anything more than that, you abruptly look away, before your eyes stick themselves to his perky chest. 

Only for everything to stop at once as you freeze. Did you see that right? There’s no way, maybe it’s just algae or seaweed… Probably just the salt and the sand and the burn in your eyes… right?

For a moment, you stare blankly into the sand in front of you, eyebrows pulled together, your brain just a whirl of nothingness. You can’t make any sense of what’s in front of you, unless it’s your own mind playing tricks on you. 

Maybe another peek can’t hurt. He didn’t seem particularly affected by your less-than-stolen glances. You just need to make sure that what you have seen is simply a mistake, just your imagination running wild, nothing else. Because everyone probably tends to have these romantic images of fantastical and mythical creatures, especially in connection to being saved from mortal peril… right? There are no scales, there won’t be any scales, just a random man stranded with you after the storm, probably from another ship… A man… A human for sure…

Slowly, you lower your still raised hands and turn your head towards him until your eyes can properly focus beyond the blurry figure from the corner of your vision. And the moment everything is crystal clear, you feel yourself getting dizzy at the sight in front of you. Are you dead? Because you’re not asleep or dreaming, that’s for sure. The sand against your skin is itching too harshly for all of that to be a dream. So, that can only mean one thing: you died. This makes more sense. There’s no way you truly would have survived, and as nothing mythical is real, nothing could have saved you either. You drowned while hoping for someone to save you and it seems that that your subconscious delivered. In fact who is better suited to save someone from a storm and the harshness of the ocean than a merman. 

Because how else are you supposed to explain the bare-chested man lounging in front of you, scales scattered across the sides of his neck over his collarbones to reach out over his shoulders, slowly spreading out in small patches. And the lower your gaze wanders – all while ignoring the very realistic looking human parts and how you haven’t ever seen anyone this delicate and yet with a certain firmness and strength in your surrounding life – the more these scales seem to condense and concentrate, all to tail into something much denser, something much bigger than any living being you have ever seen; a tail.

A beautiful tail encompassing the hues of the sea as it stretches infinitely closer towards the setting sun, with hints of the deep deep dark. If you dared to look any closer, you would notice the way the front seems to be lighter than the back, probably indicating something about his way of life, but you lack the knowledge to properly decipher it. So, instead, your eyes keep traveling over the sizable tail – watching the fins along the back fibrillate ever so slightly with barely contained awe – until they stop at the fluke. It’s slightly limp outside of the water, but you still recognize the sharpness of it all, nonetheless, and you can only imagine how beautiful it must look when it’s playfully spread out in the water.

A flutter from these ends brings you back to reality. At least what your mind thinks is real, the rational part in you is still conflicted about how to understand your current situation. 

You turn back to face the merman once again, your lips pushed forward in confusion. All while you still adamantly refuse to look at anything but his face. But as it turns out, even just his face proves to be a challenge for you, as it gives you the feeling of gazing upon a statue carved out of the smoothest marble to ever exist. As if the artist chose to visualize what a flawless beauty might look like; definition, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, but with enough softness remaining to make your fingers itch with the desire to touch and prod.

Not to mention those eyes. Every time you steal a glimpse, you feel their irresistible pull, awakening the need to lock eyes with him and watch the different ways the light strikes those irises. So, you’re unable to directly look him in the eyes due to their brilliance and the swirling colors, afraid it might all swallow you whole in your awe. Still, with every flutter of the dark eyelashes framing and defining the radiance of his eyes even more, it gets increasingly difficult to resist the temptation of looking him into the eyes. The very eyes which awaken a yearning entirely unknown to you, and you’d rather avoid confronting such feelings at this very moment. 

So, you do your best to distract yourself from this being sitting in front of you, and try to face a more approachable problem you’re faced with. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Because there’s no way any of this is real, right? Is this my punishment for ignoring my responsibilities? Death? Isn’t that a bit too much? What do you think, Sir Death-Angel-Merman?

You barely notice how you have begun to lean towards him to bring your point across, how much closer to him you’ve gotten, you think to feel his breath tickling your skin. But once you do, your brain catches up to your vision at the same time, psychologically lashing you with the direct sight of his beauty, and even from a close distance. Such a small distance, you can’t help but note the small moles on his face and the most faint freckles spread over his face. Yet, you would never claim such things are a blemish, rather, discovering such details only serves to enhance your wonder towards his overall charm, blinding you even more in the process.

Hurriedly, you turn your face away, just smooth enough to make it seem like you’re gazing with nonchalance towards the sea, all while feeling the heat simmering underneath your skin. You take a couple of slow and deep breaths to settle yourself and to stop your lungs and heart from shaking with this mix of anxiety and fervor. Despite the whole possibly being dead situation, you can’t deny that whatever all of this is, is totally worth it. You doubt you could have ever gazed upon such a beauty in your entire lifetime, certainly not with the way work has buried you completely. This merman is gorgeous, simple words cannot express how his presence easily stuns you with a simple look. If you were given the chance, you would immediately immortalize his beauty in every way possible, maybe not making art yourself, you’re not sure of your abilities, but you certainly would hire others to fill a hall dedicated to this specific specimen. 

You shake your head. Your thoughts are definitely going overboard, there’s no way you would do that, when you’d rather keep all of that to yourself–

Still, the mere impossibility of it all, brings you back to your current situation.

A sigh. “I guess this is it, huh…”

Before you could further contemplate your situation and understand the possible implications of everything – and try and work out how this place works, because you will be damned if you didn’t take this chance to get yourself a tail similar to his, you want to freely swim in the ocean, among other things – and before you could even start squeezing more information of the merman, who continues to stay silent as he watches you go through the stages of grief, you hear distant shouts. Shouts calling out your name, or rather, your title. 

The voices seem familiar and you immediately turn towards the way they come from, even if your body instinctively tells you to get up and hide before they catch you. But there’s no way they’re calling out for you, only to get you back to the work you have been neglecting, surely. So, even if your body is tense and refuses to calm down, ready to dash at the slightest hint of deceit or any sort of bait, you slowly stand up and wave your arms towards the small bodies moving frantically at the end of the beach.

And because you’re quite sure that these people aren’t dead, as they weren’t even close to any ship when the storm had descended upon you and the sea, you realize you might not be as dead as you thought yourself to be. And that the merman you have been sitting with is very much real.

You immediately stop your motions to turn back around. Only to be faced with the smoothness of wet sand, the smallest of indents left, the last possible trace, vanishing the instant the next wave meets the shore. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to watch the endless motions of the ocean, wondering if everything that has happened to you has actually happened, if it was actually real and you happened to meet a merman, a mythical creature of the deep sea, or if the whole situation is simply a figment from the crevices of your concussed brain mixed with the abnormal amount of salt running through your body. 

Maybe you should read less of these impossible legends before going to bed, or before going to the sea to almost drown and faint and meet your death. No matter, you’re alive and you’re going back, nothing else matters.

Shaking your head, only causing a throbbing pain to ring through your skull, you begin your walk with a slight limp – you hadn’t realized how much every single part of you aches before you tried getting back on your feet. As you leave the ocean to your back, you decisively put the fault onto whatever dreams your soul and mind desire from the ocean. That’s all it was, wishful thinking. You make your way towards the people looking for you and leave that dream behind to get back to the reality of it all.

—

A dream is supposed to be something someone looks forward to, something one should work towards. Who wishes death and drowning upon themselves? What kind of life should a person have lived to desire a certain end more than the chance of being alive and back to where they belong?

—

You should have drowned.

That’s the only thing incessantly buzzing through your mind. Or at least made a run for it when they found you at the beach. If you had done so, you wouldn’t be back behind a desk and buried in piles of paperwork immediately after your too-short recovery period. Your body still aches and throbs, reminding you that a wave crashing into you is definitely stronger than getting run over with a carriage. You wish you could lie down in your bed for some time more.

But you have to push through and continue your work, as you understand its importance for the people due to your family governing and looking out for these endless stretches of lands to make sure that everything is safe and sound and happy at all times. There’s no time or space for you to fall back, to even break a little, because the moment you crumble, everything else will closely follow. And you’re so painfully aware of that, the words of a familiar warning constantly at the back of your head. 

Yet, you also know that you’re not meant for this, your soul yearns for the open ocean, the saltiness on your skin, the wise sky, endless and welcoming. 

But you won’t ever complain. You will finish what you must do with due diligence, always and forever. 

That’s what you’re supposed to do, supposed to think. Despite all the responsibilities you’re shouldering, all your duties, it was way too easy to get away from everything. All it took was a window and the familiar motion of a jump for you to escape that stifling room. Without looking back, you manage to slip behind every obstacle guarding the place to make your way towards the beach.

Normally, you would set direction towards the harbor, maybe even sneak onto the ship you have acquired for yourself and simply enjoy the way it sways with the waves. But as your beloved ship is probably still floating in pieces spread over the big wide sea, you have to be satisfied with a simple walk along the shore. 

You leave your boots at the edge of the beach, just far enough for them to be safe from the devouring waves, and you let your feet slowly sink into the sand, feeling it run and scratch against your skin. In a way, it grounds you, makes you feel like yourself again, unlike the formal wear they always make you wear. Even the simple pants you’re slowly rolling up would be considered a shame and a scandal in society, and worse if anyone saw your bare legs in the first place. But here, none of this matters, nobody but you and the sea are here to bear witness, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

With slow steps, watching your feet leave imprints behind – only for them to disappear with the next caress of the waves, akin to hiding your own traces and history – you wander mindlessly along the shore, simply enjoying the touch of the cold water tickling your skin. Until you notice where you have walked to:

The small spot where you have found yourself after the wreck. 

You haven’t noticed how close it was, how secluded it is, the journey back home nothing but a blur. So, for a moment, you just stay in the small space, hidden behind towerering boulders, similar to jagged cliffs. The time stretches and you feel your pulse drum in your chest, almost like it tries to reach out to something specific, like it tells you to allow yourself to get swallowed by this nothingness surrounding you, like it’s beckoning you to forget everything, even if but for a minute and to indulge yourself in the impossible. 

All it takes is for you to feel the sand rustling between your toes to come back to reality, and you immediately kick up the wet sand, disturbing the small peace for a fraction of time before the sea starts fixing the disturbance bit by bit. How ridiculous, you imagine meeting something out of the world once and you immediately begin fantasizing about leaving everything behind as easily as the mirage had disappeared in the first place. How ridiculous of you to think that something like merfolk exist and that they just might whisk you away, rescue you from everything your life is made of. How ridiculous, as you’re the one who should know best.

You snort at your own train of thoughts. Maybe everyone has been right and you’re dreaming too much, wanting too much, desiring too much. Maybe the whole fiasco of drowning and sinking is actually a strongly worded hint from the world to stop obsessing over things that will never love you back, to stop escaping from everything you’re meant to be. Maybe in some way, this spot turned into your grave, even as fresh air enters your lungs instead of salty waters. 

Suddenly, you feel the goosebumps cover your skin, and you don’t feel like staying anymore, the joy of the ocean’s presence abruptly sucked out of you. So, you swiftly turn around to go back and grab your boots.

Only for something cold to grab your ankle and to pull you into the water. Your scream is muffled by the water freely flowing into your mouth, all that’s left is some warped garble. Luckily, the water is pretty shallow and the sand soft, so the moment you sit up, a big part of your body – mostly fine apart from budding bruises – is still out of the water without putting in much effort. But in doing so, you end up staring into big eyes filled with the rose-tinted clouds of the sunset. 

And all you can do is spit out the water collecting in your mouth. You can’t even scream or say anything, not that you were able to form a coherent sentence to begin with. You’re simply coughing and spitting, doing your best to not shamefully drown in shallow water. All while you feel the weak heat radiating from his body, his tail unmoving but still noticeably wedged between your legs as he leans over you. 

You’re getting a weird sense of déja-vu.

The worst thing is, you’re wet, your clothes stick to your skin, your lungs are rattling with each breath you take, and you most likely look beat up from a little bit of water. A miserable contrast to the otherworldly beauty sitting in front of you, dripping wet, but in the most natural way. Which makes sense, as he is a merman, but you’re too hung up on your embarrassment about being easily caught off guard just like that.

And then, something in your brain clicks into place. “Wait! Woah, you’re real? Like, actually real? Not something I just imagined? Or… Am I going insane? Did I fall asleep over my paperwork?”

You press your fingers against your forehead to try and think of a way to verify the whole situation in front of you. But there’s no chance you’re just going to call someone over to take a look, they would think you insane – or at least more than the usual amount. And the risk of exposing and thus endangering him just to do that doesn’t seem right, because if he actually turns out to be real, then…

Before you could imagine the reaction of any normal human being, much less think of any other way of verification, you feel something warm, yet colder than your own skin, slowly drift over your cheek. Looking up, you see that the merman has tentatively stretched his hand out towards you and gingerly touched your skin with the tips of his fingers. 

“Oh. Oh… I understand… This is the same level of weirdness for you, isn’t it?” You watch as he stops his movements, fingers slightly digging into the softness of your face, and slowly nods. 

For some reason, seeing the beautiful merman hesitate and be unsure about the way he’s supposed to act makes everything more real than any pinch could ever make you feel, and that calms you down significantly. As it turns out, despite his looks and his mythical origin, he’s not perfect either, and he’s in the exact same situation as you, a sudden but curious strangeness in both of your lives. 

This at least is something you share, but you can’t help but cock your head in wonder. Until now, he has not spoken a single word, and as he seems to understand you perfectly fine, it doesn’t appear to be a result of a language barrier. Rather, it appears there’s more to this whole thing than the eye can see. But you’re not going to immediately dive into this mystery and allow yourself to ruminate about it at some other time. 

“I get that, I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw you, you know. And, I guess sorry for acting like that? Uhm, and for calling you Mr. Death-Angel-Merman Sir… Can I know your real name, though? I mean, you’re not a fae, so it should be alright, right?”

Almost like he’s following your lead, his own head sways to the side, strands of hair sliding gently with this move, allowing a cascade of water droplets to illuminate his face even more. His face, which is marked with a frown and a little pout, and you how to straighten your back to distract yourself from staring at those soft rosy lips, akin to the petals of a blooming rose. 

You immediately jump onto whatever other thoughts are jumbling in your head so you can shove your sudden sense of poetry into a far away corner in the depths of your mind. 

“You can’t talk, right? I’m assuming… No, let me not say anything, my mind is muddled with fairy tales. Ugh, I’m so curious about everything! I can’t believe you would do that to me,” you sigh dramatically, only to get water thrown into your face.

Spluttering and yet giggling you wipe your face off. “Fine, I’m sorry! I know you didn’t choose this, at least it’s implied from your actions, unless–”

Before you could even continue to pin some kind of baseless accusation onto him, there’s another barrage of water hitting your face, and laughter just takes over your entire body. For someone who cannot freely express themselves with their words, he has an amazing way of conveying everything, and you can’t help but lean into this teasing manner of talking.

“Okay, okay! I’m not saying anything!” you giggle and hold your hands in front of your face in a weak attempt at protection. “But we still need to find a name for me to call you. There’s no way I’m saying Mr. Merman all the time, it’s just such a mouthful!”

You rest your hands behind you in the sand and put your weight into them as you contemplate the possibility of finding a name befitting the reincarnation of the sun and the ocean lounging in front of you. 

“Oh, what about fi–” You almost topple over with the force of the water this time, and another laugh bursts out of you at his expression: face scrunched together in a deeper frown and a slightly agape mouth; almost scandalized at the mere prospect of your suggestion.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it, it’s just there, you know?” He only humphs at your words, but his expression still softens ever so slightly. 

And it seems like he has lost confidence in your naming abilities, even if you technically only tried one time, because he grabs your hand and turns your palm upward. Pushing your curled fingers outwards, he pressed his index carefully into the sensitive skin. One stroke after the other, his name materializes. 

Of course he already has a name, that should have been the first thing you asked, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, much less expect, that he can write in the language of the land? And with the method the letters are shaped, his literacy seems basic, meaning they’ve got a whole other language of their own. You wonder what kind of words and letters they’re using under the sea. But that thought shifts in importance, as you slowly begin to voice out his name. 

“Rafayel…”

You murmur his name under your breath, the vowels smooth over your tongue, barely noticing the way he immediately pulls his hand away, only lingering warmth at the palm of your hand. For some reason, the knowledge of his name makes you feel much more connected, almost like some sort of bond has formed, and you can’t help but smile widely at him as you share your own name with him. 

Something in him seems to light up, and he nods while his mouth is carefully moving around the syllables of your name. No voice, and yet it makes you shiver. You don’t remember the last time someone simply called you by your name and nothing else. 

The rays of the sun deepen into a soft orange, infusing Rafayel in a soft glow akin to a halo, and as much as you’d love to simply continue observing the play of colors, you realize how much time you spent at this secluded spot. You have been away for too long and your absence has been surely noticed by now. It’s time for you to get back, even if at this moment, there’s nothing you want more than to stay and to watch the light envelop him and to watch his scales shimmer and reflect, to watch his eyes glimmer as he merely gazes into the horizon; where the sea kisses the sun. 

So, you stay, you stay and allow yourself to enjoy a bit of light, a bit of warmth, before you bid your goodbyes to walk back into the darkness. 

—

Writing everything down is meant to help you cope and sort through your own thoughts. But nothing will ever feel the same as voicing them out loud. My voice desires to be heard by you, desires to speak your name slowly and carefully. Curses– [the rest of the text is illegible due to it being struck through multiple times]

—

A lot of things you do don’t make sense to others. But often, that didn’t matter as long as every action made sense to you. That’s the way you have been living up until now. 

Only this time, your own behaviour doesn’t make sense to you either. Still, you haven’t felt this alive, filled with giddiness, like when you were packing the bag you’re currently taking with you to the beach, to the small hidden meeting spot. 

You hope to see Rafayel again. For some reason, the mere thought of him fills you with energy and warmth, something you have missed for a long time. But even with all your excitement, you tell yourself to expect his absence, as there’s simply no way for him to wait at the same spot for days. There’s the possibility of him going back home, and might not be back for some time (you refuse to even consider that he might never come back and allow yourself this tiniest bit of hope). So, you’re absolutely prepared to lug this bag around with you every time you decide to visit the beach until your plan finally works out. 

Leaving your boots behind and pulling the hems of your clothes up, you cross the final stretch of sand. Only to find the shore empty. You figured that this might happen. You can’t expect anyone to wait at the same spot for who knows how long. Hell, you yourself never know when you’ll be able to squeeze some time between your work to visit the beach, nobody would just sit there without a definite timeline.

With a sigh, you let yourself sink into the soft sand. Even if you’re alone, you’re going to enjoy this bit of time nonetheless. Lately, you barely have time outside of your social life and obligations, and you’re going to milk this opportunity out with everything it has got. 

The bag in your lap as you hug it to your body, you watch the rhythm of the ocean, the way the waves come and go, come and go, seemingly stuck in this rotation, yet in truth more free than anyone could ever be. 

You don’t know how much time passed, but according to the evermoving position of the sun, not a lot, when the water breaks apart and a wet mop of hair appears. The color is too familiar to fail to realize that it’s Rafayel, and you immediately feel a smile break out on your face as you make your way towards him. 

“You came! I was worried I might not see you today, I’m glad,” you tell him and lower yourself to take a place by his side. 

At your words, he raises his hands and lets his fingers caress your cheek, and you can’t help but lean ever so slightly into his warm touch, like a moth to the flame. Only for him to grab your face with both hands and to press your cheeks together. Rafayel looks at you with a slight frown and a pout, as if to show his disappointment in your lack of trust in him, as if to tell you that he’s always going to come when you call him. 

And despite your grumbling through your involuntarily puckered out lips, you feel like you can stop your worries and let go as long as he’s by your side. 

After he finally releases you from his grip, you rub your cheek, trying to hide the grin curling around the edges of your mouth. 

“Well, even if you’re here now, you did leave me waiting, sooo, I think you should close your eyes and not open them no matter what happens. As a punishment,” you decide with a resolute nod. 

His expression deepens, his earlier disappointment morphing into something petulant as he gives you a long look. But he only sighs and shakes his head in a show of his mild exasperation, Rafayel still follows your instructions and firmly closes his eyes. Once he does that, his entire face slowly begins to relax and to soften.

For a moment you watch him, but your excitement takes over and you have to bite down on your lower lip to suppress a giggle. You begin to pull out what you have brought with you out of the bag.

A simple linen shirt, one most sailors own, and one you had in the depths of your own closet as well. It’s got wide sleeves with the cuffs carefully collecting everything into neat ends, making it easier to push his arms through them. While doing so, you can’t avoid touching Rafayel directly, and you notice how soft his skin feels and how despite that softness his body is lean and strong, muscles made by the extensive swimming all his life. 

As you’re fixing the way the shirt drapes over him, you’re practically face to face with his upper body, and you have the best view to see his muscles twitch every time you accidentally brush your fingers against his bare skin. Your own heartbeat jumps and you feel yourself getting hot, especially faced with the suppleness and perkiness. 

Before even your mind fully leaves you, you give up on finishing buttoning it up, because the buttons keep slipping from between your fingertips (due to the wetness of the water coating them, not because you keep getting distracted by every little move he makes; you’re the epitome of focus), and put some proper distance between you two. 

Rummaging through the bag, you fish out some of the accessories hidden at the bottom. You’re glad you’ve brought some earrings made to hook into the earshell instead of through the handmade puncture, because the moment you gingerly swipe the wet curls out of the way, you notice the way his ears are fanning out like fins. There’s no way he has been pierced, even if his earlobes look human enough for it to be a possibility.

The ends of his earfins twitch in attention when you carefully take them between your fingertips to hook the earrings into his helix and earlobes. Making sure they’re steady enough to be on their own, before you pull out a finely chained necklace with a little ring-shaped amulet. It’s simple, yet exactly that simplicity is what pulls everything together. And once you have fixed it in place, you take a step back to admire what you have done. 

The shirt had gotten wet in the meantime, and thus sticking to his skin and slightly see-through. It’s barely buttoned up, revealing just enough to make it appear effortless rather than careless. In this empty space, the amulet is taking a proper position as it falls between his pecs, not too low and not too high, thus giving the necessary flair. And the instant the sunlight catches onto the different earrings, their colors reflect beautifully on his skin, adding to the glow he already emits.

For a moment, you’re silent, deep in admiration towards his beauty, enhanced by such simple things. You wonder how Rafayel might look like in properly fitted clothes made of the finest of cloth and intricately woven jewelry, custom made just for him. 

The last item out of the bad, a hand mirror, which you point towards him, you speak up. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

His eyelashes flutter and Rafayel takes his time to open his eyes, slowly adjusting to the difference in light. But contrary to your expectations, he doesn’t look straight ahead, but rather directly at you, missing the reflection in the mirror completely. The sudden intense gaze surprises you, and you feel the heat squirm its way under your skin and collect in your stomach, at the way he simply looks at you. 

You clear your throat. “Uhm, don’t you want to see how you look like?” You raise the mirror to hold it in front of your face to escape his stare, even if it means sacrificing a glimpse of the first impression of his new look. 

So, you can’t help but peek over the edge of the mirror to watch as he inspects every little modification you have made, before you find the courage to speak up again. 

“I would have put some proper earrings in, but you don’t seem to have your earlobes pierced, so I used those… You– You can’t swim with them, because I reckon they’ll probably get lost with the current, I mean…”

Fingertips tap against the edge of the mirror, until he pushes it away to properly face you again. A cock of his head and a touch to the jewelry tell you everything.

“Of course you can keep the stuff, I brought it just for you after all. A poor merman should let himself be pampered by someone like me sometimes, don’t you think?”

The only answer you receive is a wave crashing into you, just small enough to only splash your face, and you giggle. 

You had expected him to grumble or to harumph at your words, but what you did not expect is for him to let his fingers glide over your fingers, the back of your hand, before cupping it entirely to guide it to his face. 

With a near silent sigh, Rafayel nuzzles into your warmer skin, eyes closing slowly. Your heartbeat rushes into your ears, and you fear he might be able to feel it, with the close proximity of his lips to your pulse point. Merely the thought of his lips against your wrist makes it jump and skip. Your heart gives out briefly, when his breath is fanning against your skin, and you can barely suppress the shiver striking you through your nerves.

And maybe he noticed your inner turmoil, despite your silent prayers that he did not, as he opens his eyes as slowly as he closed them, only to look up to you through his eyelashes. From this angle, his eyes seem to be even bigger, and the breath catches in your lungs when the sunlight hits them and they begin to glow and sparkle, akin to a morganite, a color of dreams and desires, and guiding a ship closer to the horizon and the endless pink sky for merely a fleeting touch. 

Keeping this eye contact, keeping you in his trance, Rafayel begins to move your hand over his jaw, fingertips trailing featherlight over the column of his throat, his collarbones. All your senses only focus on him, only perceive his skin against your touch, and your evergrowing heartbeat, and the churning in your stomach. 

He continues until he presses your hand against his chest, and you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or glad that the shirt is sitting between you (your fingertips still grazing his skin, making you so much aware of him). Once you have gotten a bit over the sudden skinship, you notice his heartbeat against your palm.

“Oh…”

His pulse is steadfast, but you realize its speed, beating faster than the usual heart rate, and you’re not sure you can simply contribute that to his anatomy or physiology. 

Just with that, without any big words or actions, you understand what he means to convey to you. Happiness washes over you with this understanding, a small but sincere smile on your face. And there’s that feeling again, your mind calm like an unmoving lake, and the sensation of warmth radiating off another person. 

You doubt anything could ever come close to simply being in this place by his side, a small bubble shielding you and keeping you safe and giving you space and peace. 

—

I once refused to write anything down in any form, why do so when I can express my mind in other ways? But as my voice has left me, albeit temporarily, I need a way to sort through my thoughts. So, I suppose I had to resort to this. And as it supposedly should help to write everything down with a reader in mind, I shall do so, for I cannot make this more difficult for myself than it is already. 

It’s been some time since I have saved you from that shipwreck, and you still come visit me as often as you can. Of course, I’m always nearby, the only thing keeping us apart is the shore itself, so you never have to wait longer than necessary, much less be afraid of being left behind. But I do wonder if you know how you look, how your demeanor changes when faced with the sea, when your eyes spot me in the waters. How bright you seem to shine, how brilliant like the sun above the horizon. When I look at you like that, the way your presence and smile brings warmth, I begin to understand why people have worshipped the sun, as I would worship you if you would only let me. 

So, maybe you can understand the way I feel when I watch as the life gets sapped from you when it’s time for you to go back from where you came from. The way I feel when I watch as you lose your light and there’s nothing I can do to help you, my voice choking me, binding me, rather than offering you comfort. And every time there’s nothing I desire more than to whisk you away, to take you with me and free you from whatever shackles are dragging you to drown, relentless and cruel. 

This desire only intensifies with time, with every minute spent in your presence. I can’t help but wonder what kind of environment you’re living outside of our bubble, what you’re eating, what your daily life looks like. And if you smile at other people the way you smile at me. I hope you do not. 

But I also wonder how much happiness you experience, how much freedom. Seeing as you get excited over the most trivial things.

I won’t even ask if you remember, as I do, and surely you will, too. But I will never forget your expression as I’ve brought some shells and conches to the shore. Your face brightened up, like you’re seeing something for the very first time, and maybe you have. You picked each of them carefully, letting your fingertips trail over them to feel the texture, before holding them into the light to get a better look at the colors. It was absurd to me that you were excited by the smallest of things such as these, empty but colorful and abundant in the sea. But I can’t help but adore exactly that, the way you’re simply filled with life and joy.

And I want to show you so much more, show you the beauty outside of your own world, and be able to stay by your side and watch as you glow and thrive. To never watch you crumple into your own shell as your very own feet seem to take you away by force. 

I wish to embrace you, to kiss every thought plaguing you away until I hear that laughter bubble out of you. I wish for you to take my hand and to allow me to show you what you’re missing. I simply wish for you to feel love, for your love.

I wish for you.

—

Being in a hurry is a normal thing in your day-to-day life. There’s always something to do, someone to talk to, someone to run to, or to run away from. Despite this constant habit of staying on the move at all times, you have never felt the time crunch as much as you do at this very moment. 

You frankly don’t know how you managed to do this with the constant ticking of the clock looming over your head, but you were able to draw away for a moment to get to the beach without anyone’s notice, lest they carry you off for something you should care about. 

Because of that, you’re still strung in your formal wear, and all you can do in this small instant is to kick your high heels away and to hike up your skirt, fixing the layers in a firm hold, to free your legs. You don’t care much about decency at the moment, or generally, especially if the only person to see you will be a bare merman. Highly doubtful Rafayel would even think of commenting on your show of skin

With long strides and hurried steps, you arrive at the usual spot, though you do not sit down as usual but rather just allow the sea to wash over your sore feet. At this very moment, all you want is to spend as much time as possible at this place, with him, before you’re forced to follow due obligations and return once again. In a way, Rafayel is the balm of your soul, the only being able to give you some peace of mind. Not that you would outright admit it to anyone, of course. 

So, it makes sense, to feel this kind of desperation and longing to see him, before you lose your mind. And as luck chances upon you for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to worry about him taking his time, much less not appearing at all, as the next waves effortlessly carry him to the beach. 

With a simple flick of his hand, he swoops his hair out of his face. Without any regard to the amount of times you might have witnessed him like that, there will always be something bewitching about him, freshly out of the water; the droplets heavy and flowing through every divot as he moves, the way Rafayel looks slightly flushed and the slick style of his hair. 

It’s true, you have seen him in various ways and forms, and every time is a novel experience, something permanent in your mind, akin to a mesmerizing art piece you could not forget about. 

There even was a time, where he fully dried out, the sun warming his skin while he spent time with you, until his hair changed forms and turned out to be incredibly fluffy and somewhat wavy, as it immediately started curling around his ears and neck. The slight variation in hair color still makes you wonder how Rafayel might look fully submerged, how the colors of the underwater reflect against his skin and sunken in his hair. 

Technically, you have already seen him in that state before, but that doesn’t really count, you were barely conscious when it happened. Still, you cannot help but dream and fantasize, because you doubt you might ever get to see him in his full underwater glory. 

Clutching the fabric tighter and trying your best to keep your clothes safe from the water, you crouch in front of him, a smile on your face as a greeting. His answer is a slight puff of air, one purposefully aimed at your face, and a smile of his own. 

Your eyes blink reflexively and you chuckle, only to catch his gaze wander over your current look. 

“Ah, I look different, don’t I? I didn’t have the time to change into the usual, and, uh, I really wanted to see you…” your voice loses volume towards the end of your sentence, and you feel your face heat up with the realization of what you have just uttered. Quickly, you avert your eyes to avoid any further complications if you happen to look into his eyes, or at his face in general.

“A-anyway, sorry that I wasn’t here for some time, I was busy… And, well…” you inhale sharply, looking for the right words. “I’m gonna be gone for some time, I have to travel somewhere, away from the sea…”

Even ruminating over these words hurt you, and saying them makes your heart ache and your eyes burn. You don’t want to go away, you don’t want to leave and not be able to see him for an even impossibly longer stretch of time. You’re not sure when you began to feel this way towards Rafayel specifically, but that doesn’t matter. Because you don’t have a choice in all of this. 

A familiar hand touches your hand and guides you to face him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, his touch soft, and his eyes are looking intently at you, as if he’s trying to discern if you’re truly alright. And maybe you’re imagining things, a wishful thinking on your part, but to you, it seems like Rafayel catches onto your feelings. There’s a strange spark in his eyes, a darkening, something gone as fast as it appeared.

His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his palm, a sigh escaping from between your lips, relief flooding underneath your skin. And for a moment, he looks deep in thought, as he simply continues the slow motion carefully, his gaze still glued to your face.

Then, he tilts your head slightly up so you’re able to properly look him in the eyes. His face tells you to stay and wait here until he comes back. You nod, and once he’s sure you’ve understood his intentions, he dives back into the ocean. And then you wait, eyes following the movements of the waves and looking for the wet strands to peek out from between them.

It doesn’t take long for him to be by your side once again, as if he was never gone to begin with, as if he’s right back where he belongs. 

After making himself comfortable, Rafayel stretches his hand out towards you, and without putting much thought into it, you put your hand into his, fingertips on soft skin, against the palm of the other. 

You hear a small puff, and knowing that this noise is his voiceless laugh – how you truly want to hear Rafayel laugh properly, to hear his voice, even –, you furrow your eyebrows. Before you could begin to ask him what’s so funny, he turns your hand around in a way for your palm to face upwards. 

Oh, for some reason you immediately assumed he wanted to hold your hand, even though it has never happened before (at least not outside of your occasional daydreams…). But you barely have the time to feel any embarrassment, because he puts his other hand over your own.

And then you feel it. Something small and cool against your skin, a stark difference to his touch. When he pulls his hand away, barely giving you the time to mourn the loss of warmth, a small sparkle is revealed. A single earring. 

You gasp and grasp it carefully with your fingers to take a closer look. The small jewel is in the hue of the depths of the ocean, and of his eye color. The details of the metalwork are gorgeous, small and finespun parts are twisting around the jewel, akin to corals.

But it’s only part of a pair. With a question on the tip of your tongue, you glance between this piece of jewelry and him. Until you notice a shine from one of his earlobes. Rafayel is wearing the complementary pair. 

At this, your heart skips a beat. Still, you try your best to not read too much into it, but you can’t help your escalating thoughts. This pair is somewhat proof of your connection, proof that everything is real and that there might even be something special between you. 

“Thank you so much, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, holding it against the sun. You’re glad you’re not wearing anything on your ears today. “Could you maybe help me put it on?”

A nod. His fingertips graze over the fingers holding the earring, and you shiver at the way his skin feels against yours. They slip between your fingers to carefully take hold of the earring, then to wait for you to loosen your grasp. You almost fumble and the jewelry just about slips before you pull yourself together and hand it over properly. 

You lower your hand, and while it happens, you make eye contact with Rafayel. But instead of getting startled as usual, you keep holding his gaze and turn your head to the side to give him better access to your ear. 

He raises his hand and his fingertips begin tracing your earshell bit by bit – fascination radiating off his meticulous touch –, until he reaches your earlobe to grasp it carefully. His thumb caresses the soft and sensitive skin. Goosebumps track down your back, your body conscious of his every touch; barely registering the actual hooking in of the earring itself, but rather focusing on the way his fingers feel against your ear.

The very same fingers have dipped behind your ear, touching the soft skin there. Fingertips begin to trail down, nothing more than featherlight touch, yet so much more, as Rafayel lets them follow the shape of your jawline, slowly tracing the column of your neck.

You shiver and sigh, eyes fluttering, yet gaze still trained on him, unable to take them off of him. His eyes are focused on you and you alone, drinking in every detail he can get. There’s something almost ardent in the way Rafayel beholds your figure. Almost as if your existence in itself is a miracle bestowed upon him. 

For a moment, his fingers splay over your throat, only to slowly travel back up to grasp your jaw and to turn your face fully towards him. Your eyes slip towards his lips – soft and wet and you want to know how he tastes like – before you raise them to make contact with his once again. 

The very same eyes which are still running all over your face, admiring every detail, keen on unearthing every aspect that makes you you, and maybe staying a little longer than usual on your slightly agape mouth. 

Instead of returning your look, he closes his eyes and leans slightly forward until your foreheads meet. With his breath on your face, you can smell the scent of the ocean and the sun on his skin; the essence of him and your happiness distilled. 

Meanwhile, his hands have wandered until they’re holding your face, thumbs caressing your jawline and cheeks in circular motions. Your own hands are clasped around his wrists and forearm to hold him close, to feel his warmth under your own fingerprints. Nothing else matters but his touch and this moment. 

With fluttering eyelashes, Rafayel opens his eyes up again, only to nudge you with his forehead. And as if to get his point across even better, he delicately lets his nose nuzzle against yours. You giggle and return the favor and rub the tip of your nose against his. 

“Okay, okay. You know I’m always going to come back. You don’t have to do all that.”

A puff of air against your face, a grumble and a click of his tongue. And then his teeth are suddenly nibbling at the tip of your nose. You gasp and pull away. A smug grin is spread over his face, despite the flush dusting his ears and nape. 

As you’ve broken apart and put some distance between your bodies, you realize how hot you have begun to feel, and you can’t help but immediately look away, lest Rafayel notices anything. 

“Oh, look at the time, I have to go!” you stand up and leave with a wave. 

The moment your back is towards him, you press your palms against your cheeks to cool down as you walk back to your discarded shoes. You can’t believe you ran away just like that, but it’s rather concerning how your heart seems to race and how malleable you become in his presence, unlike how you’re used to your own self.

Not that you hate how Rafayel makes you feel, but rather you want to slowly enjoy everything with him instead of worrying about the time and everything else. But you doubt that this could ever be possible…

—

Time is scarce, and yet, I’d wish to do nothing but spend every second of my life by your side…

—

It’s been far too long since you have felt the sand under your feet, between your toes. The wind is carrying the scent of the ocean with it, and you inhale it, almost as if simply being back here makes the tension in you melt away. 

With slow steps, all while indulging yourself and taking care to enjoy every second of the walk towards the shore, you make your way to the very same spot you have been visiting, the very same spot you have been missing with an aching heart. Yet, despite the lulling hiss of the waves as they turn into foam, you continue to feel some turmoil squirming in your stomach, something left over from your travels, something akin to food poisoning, yet something you cannot just nurse yourself back to health from. 

You try to shake away these lingering feelings with each stride before you plop onto the sand to wait for Rafayel to appear before you once again. And it seems like your efforts at concealing your worries haven’t paid off, because the moment he lays his eyes on you, his eyebrows immediately furrow and his hand is gently cupping your face, a silent question. 

Seeing him care about you like that makes everything in you burst at the seams, your self-control simply gone with a mere gaze of his.

Tears begin to blur your vision and you press yourself closer to his touch, in need of his warmth and presence more than ever.

“Rafayel, I don’t want them… I don’t want them to do that to me… I don’t want to be… to be shackled any further than this… I can’t…” you croak, voice wavering and bordering on a sob, but you’re still desperately holding back, to try and keep yourself from completely breaking apart underneath his fingertips. 

Listening to your every word, sentences fragmented and lacking coherence, and still perceiving you with such clarity, almost like staying under his gaze is laying your soul bare for him to see, his hands slowly take a hold of your hips to pull you closer to him. And as soon as your body is within proximity, his arms are circling around you to press you against him, firm and steady and warm, while his palms rub your back.

Even without uttering a single word, he still manages to give you exactly what you need, the comfort you have been seeking all along, and your tears relentlessly fall with sobs wracking your entire body. You’re clutching onto him; your last lifeline. His presence relaxes and calms you down, allowing you to flush everything out of your system before slowly gathering yourself back together, even if it means that exhaustion is taking the empty space anxiety has left behind.

Rafayel notices the way your breath doesn’t hitch anymore and is evening out, and puts some distance between you, so he can directly face you again. He raises his hand to gently wipe your tears away with his thumbs oh so carefully. 

With a sigh, he kisses your forehead, and then each of your eyes, a cooling touch against your hot eyelids. And with each contact of his soft lips, your heart begins to race for an entirely different reason. 

Your fingers grasp a strand of hair at the nape of his neck and start playing  with it, your focus on the soft silkiness of it rather than the everbeating drum of your heart. 

“I would stay forever by your side, if I could…” you murmur with a small sigh of your own.

At this, he begins to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, his breath hot against your face. And then a sharp pain. His teeth are digging into your cheek as he’s nibbling at your skin, and you’re suddenly so much more aware how sharp his teeth are, but even more conscious about the softness of his lips grazing your face. 

With a gasp, you grab his chin and push Rafayel back ever so slightly away, leading to his head tilting due to your move. And now his breath is fanning over your lips and you can’t help but swipe your tongue over them.

His eyes follow this movement immediately, and before you know it, his thumb is pressing against your lower lip, pulling somewhat, before his eyes move back towards your eyes. The unspoken question makes your breath hitch in your lungs, almost like your heart has knocked all the air out of you, yet you nod without hesitation

Lips meet yours, as soft as you had imagined them to be, touch feather-light. While the hand positioned on your chin is carefully maneuvering around, his other hand is fulfilling miracles and pulling you infinitely closer; and all you can do is dig your fingers between the soft damp curls of his. This elicits a gasp out of Rafayel, before he responds with a bite to your lip.

You hiss, copper and salt coating your mouth. And then he pulls away the tiniest bit, eyes heavy-lidded and face and ears flushed. There are remnant traces of redness on his lips, and you feel your soul leaving you, as you watch his tongue flick out to clean them up. This felt like a final gutpunch, and you deflate against him, head falling knot his shoulder, and you feel like you’re going to combust at any moment, the heat rushing over your skin, pooling in your stomach. 

Immediately, his hold on you tightens, and Rafayel leans his head against yours. A sigh.

“Finally…”

Hearing these words, you can’t help but startle and sit up again. “Wh– huh?”

There’s a small giggle, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. Truly, no composition or instrument could dare to hold a candle against it. 

“You said you want to stay by my side. Do you trust me?

His voice is rough, as lack of use over a longer period of times does that, and yet, the words slipping from between his lips and actually hearing them fills you with unspeakable euphoria, even with the tremble of his voice close to your ear causing you goosebumps.

“I do… I trust you…” And how could you not? You wouldn’t even be here in the first place if not for Rafayel himself. 

Another touch, his lips meeting yours for but a fleeting moment. “Then, do what you must do, and return to me, yeah?”

—

Oh, my love, a kiss as sweet as the air I breathe. Soon I shall embrace you and take you with me to wherever the current might take us. It does not matter as long as I’m by your side.

—

As much as you wanted to work through the endless piles of papers and stains of ink and to make sure every single thing is in order and running smoothly as fast as possible, you don’t want anyone to entertain the notion that you might be able to work more than you already do. Especially as you’re not quite sure what Rafayel is planning, and you’d rather avoid any possible suspicion towards your escapades or your work ethics. 

So, only after doing the necessary, you sneak out to the beach with nothing but the clothes on your back and the earring he has gifted you securely attached, your one and only treasure. 

You arrive at the usual spot and find him to be already there and waiting. Immediately, you lock onto your usual place by your side to take it. But instead of letting you do that, Rafayel grabs your hand to tug you even closer, and his face nuzzles into your neck as soon as you’re within reach, thighs entangling with his tail. A hum against your skin elicits a shiver out of you, your body reacts to his voice, to his breath, to his very existence in itself.

Without any words, he slowly leads you a little deeper into the water, not far enough for you to resort to any swimming, but just enough for you to be submerged to your chest. The cold water envelops you, welcomes you in its embrace once again, and you take your time to grow accustomed to the temperature, to the sea’s temperament. The only source of warmth are Rafayel’s hands holding yours, and his big tail slowly moving around you.

The movement catches your eyes and you take your time to admire it, to admire the way the reflection of the sea turns each scale into a mesmerizing jewel, to admire the deep and rich colors, to admire its sheer size moving easily around you as if it’s nothing.

Once your body got used to the harsh love of the water, you dare to swim closer towards him. And he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his own without hesitation. You feel his tail steadying underneath you, offering you rest and comfort. His head dips and catches your lips in a kiss. One gentle and soft, nothing but a drop and a touch; until the waves of your desires carry you both deeper without any resistance. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, pulling, without drawing any blood this time. You open your mouth all-too willingly and let his tongue touch yours, intertwine and dance, let his tongue explore your mouth bit by bit as you simply taste him on yours, salty and heavy with unspoken promises. You lose yourself in his touch, in the way his hand is resting at the nape of your neck, his fingers travel along the small of your back underneath your hiked up shirt. All thoughts revolve around nothing but him, everything else slowly devoured by his very existence and your desire. 

While drowning in the sensation that is him, you barely notice how he had taken the lead, holding you safely in his arms as he allows the currency to slowly pull you deeper into the sea, deeper into its mighty embrace. Yet, even with the endlessness spreading across the horizon, not once have you felt unsafe. 

You only notice how far the two of you have drifted off when he settles you on top of a jagged rock steadily protruding out of the water. The wind on your wet clothes makes you shiver and you hiss.

But you barely have the time to think, much less worry about your state, as Rafayel begins to press his lips over your chin and your jawline, trailing down your throat with small nips and kisses until he stops at your exposed collarbones. 

Your shirt is still covering you, barely so, as it’s gotten almost see-through when the water penetrated the cloth so thoroughly. The wet fabric sticks against your skin and your pebbled nipples give some resistance as they press against it. 

And apparently, seeing an opportunity, he lowers his mouth over your covered chest and kisses his way to the peak, only to take your nipple into his mouth. The wetness of everything combined with the warmth of his mouth makes you gasp. Soon, you feel the press of his tongue against this sensitive spot and you can’t help but grab his hair, your mind not sure if you want him to be even closer or not, while your body pushes you even closer towards him. 

His hand begins to trace your side slowly, feeling every inch of you, memorizing the paths that make you you, following the swell of your chest until his fingertips stop at your other nipple. Slowly, they take their time drawing circles around it, prodding and pulling gently, before finally taking the bud between two fingers to pinch and twist. 

You squirm and whimper under his touch, tension pooling in your body, following you with the need for more, as you’re unable to do anything but undergo his ministrations; fingers firmly between the strands of hair, nails scratching his shoulder in a desperate attempt to find something to ground yourself on. But there’s nothing but him, and he’s the one you desire oh-so much. Your legs wrap around him to press yourself even closer, to feel him more, to indulge in him even more. 

But once you have done so, he nibbles at you one last time before his mouth leaves your chest. Only to make his way lower, carefully detaching your legs, leaving you empty and somehow aching. 

And then, his hands are on your waistband and they slowly but surely pull everything you’re wearing down, allowing the clothes to get swallowed up by the waves together with your shoes. 

This is where you would have complained under normal circumstances, said something about still needing them, about them being your most comfortable pair, but his lips kiss the top of your foot and every thought in your head freezes. 

His hand glides over your calf as his lips trace your lower leg, until he kisses the inside of your thighs. His hands grab both of your legs and spread them open, revealing everything you are to his eyes. And all you can do is try to calm your breath and grab his hair, words heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the throbbing scattering everything rational and only leaving his touch behind.

“W-wait, what are you–”

His face nuzzles into your thigh, teeth digging and catching onto skin easily. “I’m doing what I need to breathe. Trust me, just let yourself drown in everything.”

Without waiting for you to register the implications of his words, Rafayel dips his head between your thighs, his tongue immediately lapping through your folds. A groan vibrates against you the moment he tastes you, and your body reacts with something he can only gratefully accept. 

He seems to take his time as he enjoys the mix of you and the sea in his mouth. The tip of his tongue runs over your entrance, only for him to slowly lick his way up to your clit, where he flattens his tongue against your throbbing bud. Savoring the moment, he begins to suck and lock at you, taking you and everything you offer him in, groaning against you, making you clench around nothing. 

You feel overwhelmed. You have never experienced such a thing before, and it feels indescribable. It feels like you’re slowly drowning in nothing but pleasure, like the sea is pulling you in and you’re allowing yourself to sink into unknown depths. And you let it take you, let yourself drown in everything he gives you, without inhibitions as you moan his name and buck your hips to get even closer to every touch of his, never leaving him out of your vision. 

His hands are steadily holding you in place, only releasing one hand to let his fingertips glide over your skin closer towards your core. They run through your sticky folds and press ever so slightly against your entrance. And then, there’s the sensation of being filled bit by bit. You tense and feel one finger pressing against your insides, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into you, making sure that you take it well. 

For a moment, there’s no movement as you adjust to the way he feels inside of you, and then your insides ache, a need for more bubbling up, your body moving on its own, grinding against his tongue as he continues to suck and lick and lap at a steady pace. At the same time, another finger joins the first, but instead of waiting, Rafayel pushes them into you, curled up so they can hit that sensitive spot in you just right.

There are stars exploding in front of your eyes and a knot tightening in your belly. You pull on his hair, drawing a mix of a whimper and a moan out of him while he continues to pull his fingers out of you, only to press them back in that specific angle, over and over again, slowly and carefully, making sure that you feel every drag and every touch.

Until his tongue flattens against your clit at the same time as his fingers glide over that perfect spot inside you, and everything crashes over your head like a massive wave over the shore. The tension in you snaps and all you can do is grab his hair and moan his name. 

Even as you unravel, he continues to lick on your clit while he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Almost like he wants no drop to evade his capture. And then he raises his head enough to look you in the eye. Your eyes fall onto his lips, and you feel the heat under your skin when you notice the shimmer on them, and it only gets worse when he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly drags his tongue over them. Meticulously, Rafayel gets everything he has gotten from you and lets it spread over his tongue. And once he’s done, he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting whatever remains are still clinging to him. At this, you feel your insides tingle and throb. 

As careful as he had put you on the rock, he helps you down again, his hands firm against your hips. Instead, he presses you against the rock, his body against yours, as he leans down, lips hovering over your exposed skin. Rafayel kisses his way up until he’s facing you, lips barely inches away from yours. Just as easily, he catches your lips in a kiss, sweet and gentle. But such a kiss does not satisfy you in the moment, body still hot and aching and oh-so empty, and you bite onto his lower lips before sucking on it. 

Almost immediately, he reacts and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing yours in some kind of curious examination. You let yours trace his mouth cavity, every single tooth of his, feeling the snag due to their sharpness. You take him in fully, tasting him and the last bit of you clinging to him. 

You feel the need to be even closer, so you wrap your legs around him. Only for your naked skin to feel the texture of his tail. Lead by some kind of instinct, by the pure lust and desire running through you, you rut your hips to press your clit against the slick scales. With each motion of your hip, you feel the big muscle move underneath you, nudging your clit in a way that sends sparks through your body, in a way that washes everything else away until all that remains is him. 

“Rafayel… Please, let me touch you…” you whimper against his lips, desperate to make him feel as much as you do, to share this moment together in your desires.

A gasp, bordering on a moan. And then you feel something press against your heat. Thoughts drowning in your hazy lust, of your need for him, you carefully grab his length – bigger than you anticipated, yet slender in an unexplainable way, small scales scattered and you can barely feel them against your skin – and caress his pointed tip with your thumb while you begin to grind your stickiness against his base. The constant change between textures as you continue to roll your hips against him, makes everything in you clench and tense, feeling tender. You do your best to multitask as you flick your wrist to pump the rest of his length with a loose fist, with just enough pressure put on him to hear him moan under your touch.

And when you hear him moan out your name, something in you snaps and your hips stutter as everything collapses once again. You whimper his name, haphazardly taking his lips with yours while you press your hips against his tail, not ceasing your movements even as you’re starting to feel overwhelmed with your own body. You continue to ride your climax out, rubbing your clit against him, feeling the slickness of his scales in your folds, until it feels like you’re going to stay at this specific high, until it all feels too much and too intense. But you never reach that threshold, as he unravels underneath your touch and cums all over your hand and stomach.

The water begins to wash it away, but you quickly withdraw your hand to salvage just enough for a taste. While you pant, you take the rest of him in you, small licks to enjoy every single drop. All while looking up to him through your eyelashes. But this was enough. Just this gesture and Rafayel is twitching against you once again.

You feel something in you bloom, and you reach out to him to meet him in a kiss. 

“Let me bare myself to you…”

A breath, fingers against skin.

“There’s nothing on this planet that will drive me away from you…”

A sigh, a kiss.

The longing and the desire grew deeper, and you’re not quite sure who began, but your hips are slowly rolling into each other, taking your time, enjoying the feeling of each other as you got worked up bit by bit. 

You’re already thinking how he might feel, filling you slowly and carefully, carving his shape into you until nothing else could ever dare to compare. So, you raise your hips ever so slightly and let them hover over his tip, looking up to him with everything you need in your eyes. 

He leans closer to you and captures your lips in yet another kiss. And that’s when you feel him pushing himself into you, his tip filling your entrance, spreading you, until he ruts into you, bit by bit until he’s filling you completely, splitting open you over his cock, leaving you breathless as you try to take all of him. 

For a moment, you just stay like that, hips snug against his tail, as close to each other as humanly possible. And then you feel it, something else pressing against your front. With a quick glance, you discover the reason, another cock, one just like the one penetrating you, and it’s throbbing and writhing against your folds. You gasp and look up to him, only to see his cheeks dusted in a slight blush. At the sight of him almost droopy and at the way his eyes are studying your expression, trying to discover something you’re not quite sure of, you giggle. 

With a smile, you kiss him, a kiss filled with everything which does not need to be said. Immediately, Rafayel takes all of you in as he presses your body against the rock once again- Barely restrained, he begins to roll his body against yours, almost fully pulling out before pushing into you again, over and over again. Until he finds a steady pace to fulfill all your desires. 

His other length continues to slide between your folds, caressing your clit with each thrust and sending shocks through your body at the sensation. You feel every vein, every scale, the movements and his form, as your sexes rub together, sticky fluids mixing together. He’s carving you to his shape, making your body only ever desire him and never anyone else. Every touch of him against you makes you clench around him, makes you clutch at him with everything you’ve got. Moaning his name in wanton as he caresses every sensitive part of you, every spot that might bring you pleasure in any way. 

Meanwhile, his mouth is wandering all over you to take his claim over every part of you he can possibly reach, teeth and lips and words marking your body and soul. His teeth dig into the soft flesh between your neck and shoulders, and you tense and feel yourself close to the edge with every snag of his body against yours. 

“Ah, Rafayel, ngh, I-I’m close…” you moan out as you clutch his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin.

Immediately, he envelops you with his body and pulls you closer to share a heated and messy kiss, one filled with drool, moans and teeth, one where you begin and he ends and where you meet to connect forevermore. 

A sharp thrust, and your teeth dig into his lips, drawing blood and coating your tongue with the coppery salty taste of his very existence as you continue to kiss him, to let him devour you, to give him and you everything that is you and him. 

The taste marking even every last bit of you, makes your body feel even hotter, even tenser, until everything reaches a point and erupts and you cum. And with the way you clench around him, he follows you closely, filling you with his essence, giving you a part of him as he coats your insides and your skin with his warmth. 

The tension draining out of you, you slump against him and enjoy the way he feels against you – arms steady and comfortable, body and presence a safe haven, skin on skin, colder than yours and yet warmer than anything you have experienced – and the tingle of the effects lingering as sparks underneath your skin. And you realize that it doesn’t matter if you dissolve into foam if it means to stay by his side for the rest of eternity. 

—

Our destiny does not lay in the foam of the sea, as I will keep kissing you like the sea kisses the sun every day until the end of time and beyond. 

[geminorvm]

there's something about him being buried to the hilt in you, every little twitch eliciting a moan, yours muffled by the way his fingerpads press against your tongue, hand curled around your jaw as you taste him in you, feel him filling you up in more than one way, to see his eyes latch onto you with heavy lids, desire unadulterated

[geminorvm]

i already want to go to the club with sylus twin pleaseeee i wanna to party rock with him so bad

twin i think he’d be so fun . i have been cooking on it and my opinions have changed …

i was like cooking on it . i think of all of the lads men rafayel is THEEE most fun to party with. he’s already around stuff like that as part of his job so it’s actually soooo much more welcome when you’re around. you have your own section and you’re getting very expensive bottles all night. and i think rafayel loves dancing with you. like just for fun but it gets kinda….. You Know fast but not on purpose but you’re just so in your zone… crazy eye contact and maybe bathroom sex 🫵🏽

hilariously i do think sylus is actually second most fun. LIKE. it’s not his scene necessarily but hes around a lot of debauchery anyway so he’s actually sort of comfortable in the environment. and he . Loves seeing you dressed up. you wear a little black dress in heels and he’s losing his mind all evening. kind of like raf in the sense you’re drowning in expensive alcohol but i think it feels more like it’s just you two. sylus actually surprisingly does enjoy dancing with you. not to every song but to some of the sexier rnb ones. i think he particularly enjoys eye fucking you all night and then when you’re kind of sloppy drunk at 3am making you squirt on his leather seats. like he can get down with that lmao

third is caleb. LISTEN. the only reason he is not higher is because he is STRICT!!!!! like it’s the club why am i beefing with you about dressing slutty!!!!!!! once he gets over his like . Issues. i do think it’s fun clubbing with him. it’s a little more causal and i think he’s . So flirty with you. something about the environment just makes him so 😵‍💫😵‍💫. like arm around your shoulder and squeezing your ass sooooo publicly and buying you drinks. He lovessss the way you ask him to dance i will not lie. like specifically when you drag him to dance with you and get to showing off. caleb is strict like truly but for the few minutes he lets go, seeing you grind on him makes him so crazy horny. and he’s very good at dancing i think so he matches your movements in the way that you can . Feel. it’s so crazy

fourth is xav. honestly it’s not that bad!! you can tell it’s not his thing and his jealousy as men ogle you all night …. free u fr. but he likes seeing how happy you seem and indulges you as much as you like. he will not overlook the opportunity for bathroom sex but doesn’t fuck you in a stall - but right in the open!!! where anyone can walk in!!!! he’s fucking you on the bathroom sink after he gets bothered enough but it’s sexy. its not his scene but he doesn’t hate it either yk?

last my sweet handsome man zayne. he loves letting YOU go to the club if you want. like sends you money for the nice ubers and gives you his card for drinks and offers to drop your friends off. he’s perfect in that way. but he does not belong in the club. it’s just not his thing. he honestly doesn’t like hate it or anything i just don’t think he knows how to act and . he feels a little strangely guilty about lusting over your super slutty clothes even though that’s The Entire Point. hilariously and to his dismay he’s also very popular there so he has to turn a lot of people down.

but . BUT . if you manage to get one drink in his system . HAKDJFKSJDKS. like zayne doesn’t drink so he’s mostly sober at the club and a little unsure about dancing to anything very fast. but drunk? he dgaf LMAOOOOO he’s a lot more fun that way i fear. he loosens up a lot and enjoys grinding drunkenly a lot more but he also has less self control so . his hard on is on your ass all night no stops. has the sense to wait till you get home but not enough to wait till the bed. it’s the first time u fuck at an open window at ur place 💀💀

[geminorvm]

"you have to smile~" "i'm going to fucking kill you."

WAAAAAH this lovely kailune... i'll cry. thank you to @scarameownya for this comm ❣️

[geminorvm]

𝑯𝑺𝑹 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕 - 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

"What did you call me? 'Lady of the lake'? Didn't you assume I was a big fish when you snatched me out of the water the very first time we met? It seems you've become quite the sweet-talker recently."

[geminorvm]

i see, you want kaiser to take your fingers in hus mouth huh? to feel him nip and bite at your skin, to leave indents like a ring, marking you as his in every way, to shiver when his tongue caresses your fingertips, the warmth and wetness, to feel him tasting you, devouring you, and you can never escape his grip

??????? Um excuse me what the actual fuck do you want me dead. Just say if you hate me… Sure what the hell… I’ve been meaning to write smt w my stupid finger issues for this bastard too… it was his turn

info: Michael Kaiser/reader. Reader has an unidentified issue with their ring finger which attracts all kinds of wrong assumptions from a certain individual.

Warnings + notes : mentions of red string of fate, implied cutting off circulation and causing ischemia/tissue death, not a healthy relationship these two… Kaiser as his own warning tbh. Nothing in explicit detail as far as I’m concerned but lmk if I should add anything else to warnings

The air is tense, like lacking in the molecules that make of what it is humans normally breath.

Empty space that suffocates, that steals and scratches at your body, lungs aching for a moment of relief— yet all your turmoil is for naught, so long as blue eyes pierce through yours, holding your person in captive until one breaks down.

His hand firm on your wrist, Michael Kaiser watches you with great interest, body moving on command, he doesn’t need to look elsewhere to know where to move and what to do.

It is one thing to have the man clinging to you, nibbling at your skin, but this feels far too intimate, uncomfortable, like he is skinning you alive and getting under, nestling between the warm layers of dermis and epidermis— immortalizing where he stands in your life.

Teeth no longer graze but sink in, bite for the purpose of getting a taste, leaving a bruise. Maybe you will bleed as well, maybe he will taste iron on his lips today. It is equally intriguing and exciting, to be able to break you down in every sense of the world.

Eyes fixated on him, face scrunching up in pain, you cannot hold it in any longer to remain neutral, to show no color.

He thought it’d be aggregating to watch him leave his print on your finger, resembling all to circular indents of a ring too tight, at the root of your ring finger, oh how he was eager to see you squirm in fury and unbelief— he didn’t think you’d come down a lot earlier than this.

Instead, at the tip of your finger, your hand shakes, other fingers twitch, a squeal leaves you and you wince. Teeth biting into the inner side of your cheek, he wonders how the rest of the marks will bloom on your skin later tonight, if you’ll snap eventually, what you’ll sound like when you cannot hold it in any longer.

It is a funny thing he muses, how ring fingers are viewed. They are said to be connecting to the heart, hence the rings worn on them to signal two souls’ unifying. Though not so clear in many of the tells that come and go, the strings of fate are bound there, tied around the same level as the exact spot that draws out the real you, emotions reeking out, too much for your body to contain, too heavy to handle and hide.

Every few seconds, Kaiser disturbs the pace he has set, adding a little more pressure or taking away. He bites a deeper once more, feeling the soft of your flesh knead and take shape under his teeth, following his lead in sweet compliance— he spots tears gathering in your eyes, pooling up but refusing to drag down.

Resilient and stubborn until the very edge, just like the one who carries them with agony and pride.

He watches as a wave of emotions pass through your eyes, fear and pain most prominent. And Kaiser knows, though your eyes refuse to look down, what pushes you down is the growing pain as that string tied around your finger tightens with each pressure, until all there is left is ischemia and a permanent mark of no point of return.

[geminorvm]

licking...

[geminorvm]

Happy Anniversary to Jing Yuan and I ♡

an arranged marriage that crossed cosmos, he fell in love with me at first sight, while my anxious and stubborn rabbit heart kept him at a distance. Little by little, in his patience even while navigating his own growing affections the walls came down (with some hiccups here and there still), i still roll my eyes at him, he still drives me crazy, and i don’t think he’ll ever stop making me shy but ~

i love you. thank you for loving me for 2 years, That Man.

thank you to @insaneption for such a stunning comm of our wedding, you were such an angel to work with!!!

[geminorvm]

essence || Sylus | Qin Che

Summary:

It has been some time since the last message you have received from Sylus. And that's way too long. So, once you check on him, you find him in quite a predicament and decide to help him out a little.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Sylus | Qin Che / f!Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! pwp, mildly dubious consent (bc is any consent ever not dubious if ruts are involved?), aphrosidiacs/sex pollen, he's in a rut, nipple play, cunnilingus, soft femdom (i think lol), thigh fucking, prone bone, praise, piv, cockwarming, soo much desire and lust waow, sprinkles of spoilers of his myth (implied), they're sooo soulmates

Note:

dragon............ yeah *thumbs up*

The N109 Zone is a No-Hunt-Zone. A place that is supposed to be filled with fluctuations and wanderers. Yet, the reason for its name weren’t the wandering abnormalities, but the factions, filled with desire to spread their power, and because of the difficulty entering it in the first place.

You remember how you got yourself into this place in the first place. But now, you don’t need to resort to such actions anymore. Not with Sylus, who will always have your back. Sylus who has not contacted you in some time, leaving you worried and tense, waiting for any sign of life. Until you couldn’t stand staring at your phone anymore. You had to look for him yourself if he didn’t answer your messages. There must be something wrong, right?

Even if you know how capable Sylus is, anxiety is something you cannot simply fend off, not without reassurance that he is safe and sound. And currently, that exactly is missing. This is why you have gotten onto your motorcycle and are racing towards the N109 Zone, your eyes occasionally flitting around, looking for Mephisto. But the skilled crow that is usually observing you at all times seems to have gone up in the air.

There’s barely any time for you to properly park your motorcycle before you practically storm into his home. Opening every door shouting his name, until you stop in front of the one belonging to his bedroom. Despite your hurry, you raise your hand to knock.

“Sylus? Are you there?”

A rustle and a low grunt. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”

Your hand on the doorknob, slowly opening the door. “You worried me… You– you haven’t answered me in two days, what was I supposed to do…”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’ve been rather… preoccupied lately. That’s it. You can go back now.”

His words rough, like he’s suppressing, hiding something. You furrow your eyebrows. This only raises your concern, as there has never been any instance where Sylus, your Sylus would have sent you away, just like that. And even if he did, he would be truthful to you about why.

So, even with his subtle instruction, you enter his room fully. And the heat presses against your skin. The moment you feel the choking warmth, you make your way to the next window to open it and to let some fresh air in. But you barely have cracked it open, when a hand grabs your waist, pulling you towards him.

The heat is pouring out of him, almost like he’s made of fire itself. His arms wrap around you, pressing you tightly to his own body, his face nuzzling into the soft skin of your neck, inhaling sharply.

“This was a mistake, you should have listened to me… I don’t know if I can hold back,” he murmurs, his teeth scraping against your jugular.

“Sylus… What happened?” you ask, hands cupping his head carefully to lead him to look at you.

He presses his face against your palm, eyes half-lidded. “An operation has veered slightly off-course. Nothing major, just brought some bothersome consequences. This should be over soon…”

Before you could offer your help in any capacity, he had already dragged you onto his lap, his lips kissing along your throat. Softness, before the sharpness digs into your flesh, his sharp canines scraping your skin, marking you at the soft spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

A gasp escapes you, and your fingers pull slightly at his hair, making him look up to you once again. Only to be met with hazy eyes, dark and filled with desire, cheeks slightly flushed. The way Sylus looks at you makes something stir in you, and your thoughts disappear in smoke, as you simply sink your lips against his, tasting him and his wants. His slack jaw makes it easier to get your tongue into his mouth, caressing his, exploring him tooth by tooth, their unusual sharpness digging and dragging.

His hands on your hips, moving you so easily with his strength, trapping you underneath him, kiss uninterrupted, his mouth devouring every bit of you. All he can think of is you and the way you feel underneath his touch, the way your body fits against his, like a piece of his soul returned to him.

Weight pressing against your body, comfort yet heady and exhilarating. You take his hand and lead him to touch your skin underneath your shirt, encouraging his raging desires he desperately tried to repress, stoking the flames bubbling in his veins. And it seems to work, his fingertips clutching you, but at the same time, this simple touch is not enough for him; thoughts consumed by you, you, you.

With a single jerk of his hand, Sylus has ripped your shirt, exposing your torso to his blazing eyes trailing over every bit of you; and to his greedy teeth, digging into soft flesh soon after.

“That’s good, take your fill,” you pant, your hand cupping his jaw to allow him to grab more of you.

He murmurs your name over and over again. Until you stop him from descending lower than your collarbones.

“Patience. C’mon, take your clothes off for me,” you direct him softly, tugging at his shirt, raising your foot to press against his bulge. “Show me your desire.”

The simple touch evokes a rumbling groan out of him and you feel him twitch against your sole. His eyes meet yours, hunger barely restrained by your words. Yet, Sylus listens to you, grabbing the hem of his shirt to slowly pull it over his head, muscles moving with each motion, tense and squeezing. Truly what a sight, one meant just for you.

Throwing it aside, he reaches for his belt, unbuckling it with a low hiss, followed closely by the sound of a zipper. With a shuffle, he slides his pants off, and you can see the outline of his length, pressing desperately against the cloth covering him. His fingers find the waistband, but you hold your hand up.

“That’s enough, come here.”

You stretch your arms towards him and he immediately sinks into your embrace, his face nuzzling against your neck, teeth scraping against skin. Your fingers drive through his hair while your leg is applying slight pressure against his bulge, rubbing and nudging, eliciting a groan out of him.

“My darling, do tell, what do you want?” you ask him in a breathy voice, your own needs intensifying just by seeing him in this state, completely in your hand.

“You, I want you, only you, I want to burn in your touch, feeling you, and nothing else. May I, my love? I don’t know how long I can hold out without piecing our souls together…” he murmurs, voice hoarse and it almost seems like his current desire mingles with one from the past, yet still towards you, always you, the only one able to truly touch his essence.

You hum, cocking your head to give him more room for his mouth against your jugular. “Do you want to show me? How you would devour me? Then, I suppose I can give you permission to do what you want, just for now.”

The moment these words leave your mouth, his teeth sinking into your flesh, leaving stinging indents behind; and you wonder if he’s coating his tongue in your blood, if the sweetness of your skin makes his head dizzy, his desires overflowing.

His mouth travels, savoring each inch of you, biting, nibbling, not leaving any skin untouched, aching and desperate. Lips latching on your nipples as soon as he kissed his way towards him, sucking, licking, tasting, his lips teasing and caressing. Meanwhile, his hand has found the other one, fingers pressing delicately, before twisting, feeling the way you twitch underneath his touch, his ministrations. And you feel the pads of his fingers hot against your skin, much hotter than a normal human would feel.

After hearing you gasp his name a couple of times, hands buried in his hair, Sylus continues on his way, leaving a trail over your tummy, a proof of his existence, just for you. And soon, he meets the waistband of your pants, the ones gone as fast as you could even think about them, leaving you with your already soaked panties. His hands grab your thighs to pry them apart and to reveal your desires to him, the way your throbbing core wants him, needs him. He lowers his head, only to nuzzle it against your thigh, looking up to you with lidded eyes, almost like he’s asking for permission.

“You deserve it, take a taste, and please me,” you smile, nodding your head once as encouragement.

Taking your words and immediately diving in, his tongue lapping at your clit over the damp cloth, tasting your desire for him. Despite the slight barrier, he doesn’t take your panties off, rather, he continues to lick your core like that, sucking at your throbbing bud, tip of tongue savoring you with each motion, with each touch. Your thighs are pressing against his head, hips bucking, in need for more and more of him.

You grab his hair and pull slightly at him. “F-fuck. Do it properly, will you?” You try to hide the slight whiny tone in your voice, needy and desperate for more.

Instead of words, his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, at the connection between your pelvis and leg. While putting his mark on you, he slowly slides your panties down to the middle of your thighs, just leaving enough space for him to fit between your legs.

And heeding your words, the moment he’s within reach, his flattened tongue caresses your aching clit, sucking at your most sensitive spot, making you more and more tense with each swipe, with each pass between your sticky folds. The tip of his tongue teases your clenching opening, drawing a moan of his name out of you, highlighting the emptiness inside of you, yearning for him to fill you and complete you.

With his careful ministrations, his knowledge about you immeasurable, touching you in every way you like, in every way leading you closer and closer towards the edge. Until the right time, the right pressure, and the sight of him between your thighs, eyes hazy with lust yet focused on you and your own wants, and you unravel on his tongue, feeling yourself gush over his mouth, and all he does is drink you up, devour you entirely.

You throw your head back, shivering as you continue to feel his tongue against you, licking everything seeping out of you with eagerness, moans vibrating against your skin.

“Ah, Sylus! Fuck… Mmh. Well done…” you murmur, tugging at his hair, only to let your fingernails scrape his scalp carefully. “Hm, what a good boy you are. You can choose how you want to take me.”

After one last kiss, he raises himself, and he’s towering over you, all muscle and strength, and yet powerless underneath your touch and your words. With ease he grabs your hips and turns you around, your chest hitting the mattress. You barely can hold yourself on your knees, as he leads his length towards your entrance. But instead of entering your needy cunt, he lets himself glide through your folds, his tips bumping against your clit, rubbing and caressing, the veins throbbing against you, making you clench around nothing. Desire overtaking him, as he leans down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips touching the nape of your neck, moans of your name filling your marrow, while one of his hands caresses your chest, pinching your nipple.

You whimper at the way he seems to hit your sensitive spots just right. “C’mon, make me feel good, won’t you?”

These words seem to spur Sylus on, as you feel him twitch between your thighs. And at this, you can’t help but rub your soft skin against him. “Hm, show me how you would fuck me, though. Fuck my thighs for me, yeah?” You change directions, feeling excited at the thought of him climaxing purely due to your softness and nothing else.

His hips sputter for a moment, only to pick up the pace, as you press your thighs closely together, leaving just enough space for him to get off on. His cock slides against your softness, twitching and throbbing, hips rutting, seeking his own high, pleasing himself on your body with your permission, enjoying the way your skin rubs against his veins, caressing the tip of his cock; the way your flesh molds to him, and only him. And he can’t help but imagine how it might feel to be enveloped in your warmth, to fill you to the core. Just the picture of his length being buried to the hilt in you instead of just rubbing against your supple thighs, combined with the pressure you have been continuously applying, imitating the clench you have been feeling with each jerk of his, makes him climax, sputtering ropes against your torso, yet he continues to buck his hips, seeking more friction, more you, moaning your name over and over again, his reason to exist.

You don’t give him proper downtime as you rub your hips against his, feeling him harden once again. Your mere existence is enough for him to want and want and want. “Do you want to cum inside me? Do you want to please me, to feel me? Hm? Then do it, let me feel you.”

Teeth sink into your shoulder and he doesn’t hesitate to align his length against your entrance, aching for him. The moment his tip enters you, you feel overwhelmed, his cock filling you slowly with each languid stroke, until you can barely breath, his being taking over you entirely, making your head spin from pleasure and want. His hips against yours, and you can’t help but grind yourself against him, seeking more and more, and Sylus doesn’t want anything more than you and your pleasure, to see you come undone over his cock. So, he begins to move, pulling out carefully, only to push himself back in at the perfect angle, hitting your soft spot, making you see stars and moan his name. With each motion of his hips, the speed takes up until he settles for something you truly seem to enjoy, while taking good care of you. At the same time, he carefully grabs your face, turning you towards him to capture your lips in his, hot and heavy, tongue lapping against tongue, spit and moans, teeth dragging and digging, devouring you with his fierceness.

His weight slowly shifts on you as his hand wanders between your legs, spreading your folds carefully to touch your clit with his fingertips, to draw the motions and get the loudest noises out of you. Each flick and jerk barely controlled, just with the intent to draw out the tension, to wind you up underneath his touch. And with the right pressure and a deep stroke into your cunt, you come apart, clenching around him as you moan his name in wanton. The sudden tightness around him draws a grunt out of him, his lips kissing your shoulders, before letting his incisors once again mark your flesh, his thrusts growing erratic with each passing, until everything releases, flowing out of him and warming you up, his cock to the hilt buried inside you, right where he belongs.

With this, he lets himself slump fully towards you, arms circling your waist, as he drags you down to the mattress, face in your neck, refusing to let go of you, murmuring confessions of love and resonance of your being. And as much as Sylus would never want to part with you, you would never part with him; you both share a soul, living without the other impossible. That is your fate, the one you choose; to be with him for the rest of all times.

[geminorvm]

another doodle from today ദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )

[geminorvm]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭..

                    𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭?

[geminorvm]

an observation log: how the sea kisses the sun || Rafayel | Qi Yu

Summary:

an observation log is used to record important instances of peoples lives and their discoveries. this observation log tells the story of how a merman saved you from drowning, in more than one way.

Wordcount: 14.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Merman!Rafayel / f!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! inspired by 'the little mermaid', instance of drowning, thoughts about death but in a comical way, Rafayel cannot talk for a big part of this, teasing, yearning, lots of touches, dressing him up (does this count as dollification?? idk), implication of reader's status and upbringing and hints of misogyny, sharing a pair of earrings, breast sucking, cunnillingus, vaginal fingering, handjob, tail riding, double monster dick, piv, pussy job, implied cock warming, love, too

Note:

happy mermay!! and happy birthday to me!! i love him a lot, do u understand and thank u sm @voidcat for beta readingg, kissing u

The ocean has a way of leading you towards your goal, no matter how much you may resist. My dear, I shall not resist the temptation of your promised warmth, as I have longed to meet you face to face, instead of gingerly peeking my head out of the water. Even if it means risking everything that I am.

—

The water surrounds you, encasing every cell of your being without mercy. Struggle is futile, as the currents only drag you deeper and deeper, disregarding every attempt of yours to escape. The sea simply continues to press down on you with its mighty weight, as if you were nothing but a particle of sand twirling in its grasp. And all you could do is watch the bubbles appear before you, covering your vision with flickers of light, faint; your last lifeline disappearing like it’s nothing. 

It turns out, life is as fragile as these bubbles leaving your body, needing nothing but a touch from a greater being to turn into nothing; and there’s nothing you could do. You could not cling onto them, could not keep them safe and sound from the very thing threatening your own life. So, all there’s left is to simply let go, to submit to the whims of the ocean and to the fate it has given you. Despite everything, you doubt there would be a better way to leave this earthly plane.

Still, your heart wavers, last embers still desperately hoping and burning with a will to live. But you have decided. You quit fighting against the darkness curling around your body, veiling your vision bit by bit. The last thing flickering in front of your eyes is the beautiful purple of the sinking sun – a sight you have forever cherished and loved, reached your hand towards as you traveled over the sea – before everything ceases to exist.

—

Everything is meant to be, or at least that’s what everyone says. In my opinion, life is like a whirlpool in the depths of the ocean, trying to pull you down, that’s what it means to submit to that so-called fate. I’d rather lose this certainty than lose control of everything I intend to make for myself.

—

A gasp. Water is bubbling in your throat, snapping at your insides with a certain viciousness. Your body immediately reacts, as it throws you into a coughing fit. And before you know it, you’re pressing your face against the sand to hack and spit and to get every last drop of the water out of you, leaving you feeling raw and shredded. 

The taste of salt and copper coat your mouth, clinging to every crevice known to you, your tongue, teeth, lips. But the pain doesn’t matter, as you realize that your body has not sunk towards the depths of the ocean just yet. 

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and let yourself fall onto your back, the sand ready to welcome you in its grubby embrace. To shield yourself from the striking rays of the morning sun, you place an arm over your face. The warmth of the new day caresses your wet and sticky skin, the waves slowly lapping against your legs, tickling against your soles, and you realize that you must have lost your boots to the unyielding sea. The very same sea is moving akin to a docile cat, acting like nothing is wrong in the world, like you didn’t lose so much in the matter of hours and bad weather. And yet…

You’re alive. You have survived a devastation storm and the destruction of your ship. Even if you’re not quite certain how that might have happened. The last thing you remember is losing the last bit of breath and the water rushing into you as your body gets carried away by the currents of the sea, presumably towards the depths of the ocean as your final resting place. And no matter how much you ruminate about the possibilities, you don’t seem to have any recollection of what might have happened, much less what might have helped you in such a situation during all that chaos; everyone else also swept away by the mighty waves of the ocean, scattered and lost and in despair. 

It also keeps eluding you, why despite everything, the yearning towards a ship and the open ocean persists, to cruise without a goal in mind, to watch the sunset after an exhausting but fulfilling day. You continue to seek the intimacy of the ocean, to connect with it, to be as close to it as humanly possible, even after its continued rejection, after it embraced you in such a manner. 

With a sigh, you let your arm slump away and slowly begin to blink through squinted eyes to accustom yourself to the brightness of the day once again. Blue skies and sunshine, nothing like the darkened clouds you remember vividly, filled with anger and malice and destruction. Despite the fear it had struck within you, you couldn’t bring yourself to bear any resentment or any prolonged anxiety towards the open sea, even with everything that has happened between you. Not with the way it still can give you that freedom you desire, that freedom you hope and strive for. 

Once your eyes have fully adjusted to the sun and you’re able to open them up normally, you bury your elbows into the soft sand to support you as you push yourself upright. Only to be immediately met with the face of another, barely a couple inches away from you, almost like they have been hovering while you have lost your consciousness. Your eyes meet another pair, and you can’t help but compare the pink hues to the soft clouds floating above the setting sun. The eyelashes haloing these eyes are long and due to the difference in color, they only serve to make the irises much more striking. Stunned by the sheer radiance of these eyes, your eyes continue to wander, and there you find them. Dripping wet strands of hair hanging over said eyes in small curls, sticking to their brows. And even if the water has given them a darker shade, the color is still evident. A beautiful hue of purple. 

Upon seeing this specific color, something in your mind moves, akin to undoing a knot carefully and slowly to allow yourself to follow your own thoughts and to come to a proper conclusion. A conclusion which absolutely makes sense, but it might only do so to you, even if it seems to practically be water-proof. But even if there’s proper reason in your conclusion, the realization still leaves you bewildered, and you can’t help but stutter and gape.

“You– me– uh.. what– huh?”

A smile graces their face, plush lips revealing pearly teeth. This simple change makes them glow even more, practically blinding you in the process. Everything in your brain screeches to a halt as you truly realize the beauty sitting in front of you; your eyes shake and wander, doing their best to avoid direct eye contact, lest it completely knocks you and your remaining brain cells out. 

Until your gaze slips and lands on bare skin, on a bare chest, to be more precise. This sight seems to slowly bring your head back, even if that means you have been staring for a prolonged amount of time. Once you notice what you have been doing, you feel the heat rushing into your head and making your stomach churn, your fingers tremble. Quickly you avert your eyes – even if it seems like there might be an after-image sticking to the back of your eyelids every time you close your eyes – and you hurry to raise your hands to cover the picture unfolding in front of you, even if you wouldn’t mind another look–

You shake your head to get rid of these unnecessary thoughts and to ground yourself back into what you’re supposed to be. “Sir, uh, could– could you maybe wear something? I don’t know what, but… but you simply cannot go around like this!”

Despite your request, there’s nothing but a pause, mere silence, after your words. Worried that he might have left already, moving on while you’re still sitting in the wet sand, you take a peek from between your fingers. Only to be hit with a glance of his gorgeous eyes once again, as he’s still looking at you, his head slightly cocked to the side. This pose gives you some leeway to follow the trail of a water droplet, sliding down his chin and throat, lower and lower, glistening against skin and scales towards his collarbones. And before you manage to see anything more than that, you abruptly look away, before your eyes stick themselves to his perky chest. 

Only for everything to stop at once as you freeze. Did you see that right? There’s no way, maybe it’s just algae or seaweed… Probably just the salt and the sand and the burn in your eyes… right?

For a moment, you stare blankly into the sand in front of you, eyebrows pulled together, your brain just a whirl of nothingness. You can’t make any sense of what’s in front of you, unless it’s your own mind playing tricks on you. 

Maybe another peek can’t hurt. He didn’t seem particularly affected by your less-than-stolen glances. You just need to make sure that what you have seen is simply a mistake, just your imagination running wild, nothing else. Because everyone probably tends to have these romantic images of fantastical and mythical creatures, especially in connection to being saved from mortal peril… right? There are no scales, there won’t be any scales, just a random man stranded with you after the storm, probably from another ship… A man… A human for sure…

Slowly, you lower your still raised hands and turn your head towards him until your eyes can properly focus beyond the blurry figure from the corner of your vision. And the moment everything is crystal clear, you feel yourself getting dizzy at the sight in front of you. Are you dead? Because you’re not asleep or dreaming, that’s for sure. The sand against your skin is itching too harshly for all of that to be a dream. So, that can only mean one thing: you died. This makes more sense. There’s no way you truly would have survived, and as nothing mythical is real, nothing could have saved you either. You drowned while hoping for someone to save you and it seems that that your subconscious delivered. In fact who is better suited to save someone from a storm and the harshness of the ocean than a merman. 

Because how else are you supposed to explain the bare-chested man lounging in front of you, scales scattered across the sides of his neck over his collarbones to reach out over his shoulders, slowly spreading out in small patches. And the lower your gaze wanders – all while ignoring the very realistic looking human parts and how you haven’t ever seen anyone this delicate and yet with a certain firmness and strength in your surrounding life – the more these scales seem to condense and concentrate, all to tail into something much denser, something much bigger than any living being you have ever seen; a tail.

A beautiful tail encompassing the hues of the sea as it stretches infinitely closer towards the setting sun, with hints of the deep deep dark. If you dared to look any closer, you would notice the way the front seems to be lighter than the back, probably indicating something about his way of life, but you lack the knowledge to properly decipher it. So, instead, your eyes keep traveling over the sizable tail – watching the fins along the back fibrillate ever so slightly with barely contained awe – until they stop at the fluke. It’s slightly limp outside of the water, but you still recognize the sharpness of it all, nonetheless, and you can only imagine how beautiful it must look when it’s playfully spread out in the water.

A flutter from these ends brings you back to reality. At least what your mind thinks is real, the rational part in you is still conflicted about how to understand your current situation. 

You turn back to face the merman once again, your lips pushed forward in confusion. All while you still adamantly refuse to look at anything but his face. But as it turns out, even just his face proves to be a challenge for you, as it gives you the feeling of gazing upon a statue carved out of the smoothest marble to ever exist. As if the artist chose to visualize what a flawless beauty might look like; definition, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, but with enough softness remaining to make your fingers itch with the desire to touch and prod.

Not to mention those eyes. Every time you steal a glimpse, you feel their irresistible pull, awakening the need to lock eyes with him and watch the different ways the light strikes those irises. So, you’re unable to directly look him in the eyes due to their brilliance and the swirling colors, afraid it might all swallow you whole in your awe. Still, with every flutter of the dark eyelashes framing and defining the radiance of his eyes even more, it gets increasingly difficult to resist the temptation of looking him into the eyes. The very eyes which awaken a yearning entirely unknown to you, and you’d rather avoid confronting such feelings at this very moment. 

So, you do your best to distract yourself from this being sitting in front of you, and try to face a more approachable problem you’re faced with. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Because there’s no way any of this is real, right? Is this my punishment for ignoring my responsibilities? Death? Isn’t that a bit too much? What do you think, Sir Death-Angel-Merman?

You barely notice how you have begun to lean towards him to bring your point across, how much closer to him you’ve gotten, you think to feel his breath tickling your skin. But once you do, your brain catches up to your vision at the same time, psychologically lashing you with the direct sight of his beauty, and even from a close distance. Such a small distance, you can’t help but note the small moles on his face and the most faint freckles spread over his face. Yet, you would never claim such things are a blemish, rather, discovering such details only serves to enhance your wonder towards his overall charm, blinding you even more in the process.

Hurriedly, you turn your face away, just smooth enough to make it seem like you’re gazing with nonchalance towards the sea, all while feeling the heat simmering underneath your skin. You take a couple of slow and deep breaths to settle yourself and to stop your lungs and heart from shaking with this mix of anxiety and fervor. Despite the whole possibly being dead situation, you can’t deny that whatever all of this is, is totally worth it. You doubt you could have ever gazed upon such a beauty in your entire lifetime, certainly not with the way work has buried you completely. This merman is gorgeous, simple words cannot express how his presence easily stuns you with a simple look. If you were given the chance, you would immediately immortalize his beauty in every way possible, maybe not making art yourself, you’re not sure of your abilities, but you certainly would hire others to fill a hall dedicated to this specific specimen. 

You shake your head. Your thoughts are definitely going overboard, there’s no way you would do that, when you’d rather keep all of that to yourself–

Still, the mere impossibility of it all, brings you back to your current situation.

A sigh. “I guess this is it, huh…”

Before you could further contemplate your situation and understand the possible implications of everything – and try and work out how this place works, because you will be damned if you didn’t take this chance to get yourself a tail similar to his, you want to freely swim in the ocean, among other things – and before you could even start squeezing more information of the merman, who continues to stay silent as he watches you go through the stages of grief, you hear distant shouts. Shouts calling out your name, or rather, your title. 

The voices seem familiar and you immediately turn towards the way they come from, even if your body instinctively tells you to get up and hide before they catch you. But there’s no way they’re calling out for you, only to get you back to the work you have been neglecting, surely. So, even if your body is tense and refuses to calm down, ready to dash at the slightest hint of deceit or any sort of bait, you slowly stand up and wave your arms towards the small bodies moving frantically at the end of the beach.

And because you’re quite sure that these people aren’t dead, as they weren’t even close to any ship when the storm had descended upon you and the sea, you realize you might not be as dead as you thought yourself to be. And that the merman you have been sitting with is very much real.

You immediately stop your motions to turn back around. Only to be faced with the smoothness of wet sand, the smallest of indents left, the last possible trace, vanishing the instant the next wave meets the shore. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to watch the endless motions of the ocean, wondering if everything that has happened to you has actually happened, if it was actually real and you happened to meet a merman, a mythical creature of the deep sea, or if the whole situation is simply a figment from the crevices of your concussed brain mixed with the abnormal amount of salt running through your body. 

Maybe you should read less of these impossible legends before going to bed, or before going to the sea to almost drown and faint and meet your death. No matter, you’re alive and you’re going back, nothing else matters.

Shaking your head, only causing a throbbing pain to ring through your skull, you begin your walk with a slight limp – you hadn’t realized how much every single part of you aches before you tried getting back on your feet. As you leave the ocean to your back, you decisively put the fault onto whatever dreams your soul and mind desire from the ocean. That’s all it was, wishful thinking. You make your way towards the people looking for you and leave that dream behind to get back to the reality of it all.

—

A dream is supposed to be something someone looks forward to, something one should work towards. Who wishes death and drowning upon themselves? What kind of life should a person have lived to desire a certain end more than the chance of being alive and back to where they belong?

—

You should have drowned.

That’s the only thing incessantly buzzing through your mind. Or at least made a run for it when they found you at the beach. If you had done so, you wouldn’t be back behind a desk and buried in piles of paperwork immediately after your too-short recovery period. Your body still aches and throbs, reminding you that a wave crashing into you is definitely stronger than getting run over with a carriage. You wish you could lie down in your bed for some time more.

But you have to push through and continue your work, as you understand its importance for the people due to your family governing and looking out for these endless stretches of lands to make sure that everything is safe and sound and happy at all times. There’s no time or space for you to fall back, to even break a little, because the moment you crumble, everything else will closely follow. And you’re so painfully aware of that, the words of a familiar warning constantly at the back of your head. 

Yet, you also know that you’re not meant for this, your soul yearns for the open ocean, the saltiness on your skin, the wise sky, endless and welcoming. 

But you won’t ever complain. You will finish what you must do with due diligence, always and forever. 

That’s what you’re supposed to do, supposed to think. Despite all the responsibilities you’re shouldering, all your duties, it was way too easy to get away from everything. All it took was a window and the familiar motion of a jump for you to escape that stifling room. Without looking back, you manage to slip behind every obstacle guarding the place to make your way towards the beach.

Normally, you would set direction towards the harbor, maybe even sneak onto the ship you have acquired for yourself and simply enjoy the way it sways with the waves. But as your beloved ship is probably still floating in pieces spread over the big wide sea, you have to be satisfied with a simple walk along the shore. 

You leave your boots at the edge of the beach, just far enough for them to be safe from the devouring waves, and you let your feet slowly sink into the sand, feeling it run and scratch against your skin. In a way, it grounds you, makes you feel like yourself again, unlike the formal wear they always make you wear. Even the simple pants you’re slowly rolling up would be considered a shame and a scandal in society, and worse if anyone saw your bare legs in the first place. But here, none of this matters, nobody but you and the sea are here to bear witness, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

With slow steps, watching your feet leave imprints behind – only for them to disappear with the next caress of the waves, akin to hiding your own traces and history – you wander mindlessly along the shore, simply enjoying the touch of the cold water tickling your skin. Until you notice where you have walked to:

The small spot where you have found yourself after the wreck. 

You haven’t noticed how close it was, how secluded it is, the journey back home nothing but a blur. So, for a moment, you just stay in the small space, hidden behind towerering boulders, similar to jagged cliffs. The time stretches and you feel your pulse drum in your chest, almost like it tries to reach out to something specific, like it tells you to allow yourself to get swallowed by this nothingness surrounding you, like it’s beckoning you to forget everything, even if but for a minute and to indulge yourself in the impossible. 

All it takes is for you to feel the sand rustling between your toes to come back to reality, and you immediately kick up the wet sand, disturbing the small peace for a fraction of time before the sea starts fixing the disturbance bit by bit. How ridiculous, you imagine meeting something out of the world once and you immediately begin fantasizing about leaving everything behind as easily as the mirage had disappeared in the first place. How ridiculous of you to think that something like merfolk exist and that they just might whisk you away, rescue you from everything your life is made of. How ridiculous, as you’re the one who should know best.

You snort at your own train of thoughts. Maybe everyone has been right and you’re dreaming too much, wanting too much, desiring too much. Maybe the whole fiasco of drowning and sinking is actually a strongly worded hint from the world to stop obsessing over things that will never love you back, to stop escaping from everything you’re meant to be. Maybe in some way, this spot turned into your grave, even as fresh air enters your lungs instead of salty waters. 

Suddenly, you feel the goosebumps cover your skin, and you don’t feel like staying anymore, the joy of the ocean’s presence abruptly sucked out of you. So, you swiftly turn around to go back and grab your boots.

Only for something cold to grab your ankle and to pull you into the water. Your scream is muffled by the water freely flowing into your mouth, all that’s left is some warped garble. Luckily, the water is pretty shallow and the sand soft, so the moment you sit up, a big part of your body – mostly fine apart from budding bruises – is still out of the water without putting in much effort. But in doing so, you end up staring into big eyes filled with the rose-tinted clouds of the sunset. 

And all you can do is spit out the water collecting in your mouth. You can’t even scream or say anything, not that you were able to form a coherent sentence to begin with. You’re simply coughing and spitting, doing your best to not shamefully drown in shallow water. All while you feel the weak heat radiating from his body, his tail unmoving but still noticeably wedged between your legs as he leans over you. 

You’re getting a weird sense of déja-vu.

The worst thing is, you’re wet, your clothes stick to your skin, your lungs are rattling with each breath you take, and you most likely look beat up from a little bit of water. A miserable contrast to the otherworldly beauty sitting in front of you, dripping wet, but in the most natural way. Which makes sense, as he is a merman, but you’re too hung up on your embarrassment about being easily caught off guard just like that.

And then, something in your brain clicks into place. “Wait! Woah, you’re real? Like, actually real? Not something I just imagined? Or… Am I going insane? Did I fall asleep over my paperwork?”

You press your fingers against your forehead to try and think of a way to verify the whole situation in front of you. But there’s no chance you’re just going to call someone over to take a look, they would think you insane – or at least more than the usual amount. And the risk of exposing and thus endangering him just to do that doesn’t seem right, because if he actually turns out to be real, then…

Before you could imagine the reaction of any normal human being, much less think of any other way of verification, you feel something warm, yet colder than your own skin, slowly drift over your cheek. Looking up, you see that the merman has tentatively stretched his hand out towards you and gingerly touched your skin with the tips of his fingers. 

“Oh. Oh… I understand… This is the same level of weirdness for you, isn’t it?” You watch as he stops his movements, fingers slightly digging into the softness of your face, and slowly nods. 

For some reason, seeing the beautiful merman hesitate and be unsure about the way he’s supposed to act makes everything more real than any pinch could ever make you feel, and that calms you down significantly. As it turns out, despite his looks and his mythical origin, he’s not perfect either, and he’s in the exact same situation as you, a sudden but curious strangeness in both of your lives. 

This at least is something you share, but you can’t help but cock your head in wonder. Until now, he has not spoken a single word, and as he seems to understand you perfectly fine, it doesn’t appear to be a result of a language barrier. Rather, it appears there’s more to this whole thing than the eye can see. But you’re not going to immediately dive into this mystery and allow yourself to ruminate about it at some other time. 

“I get that, I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw you, you know. And, I guess sorry for acting like that? Uhm, and for calling you Mr. Death-Angel-Merman Sir… Can I know your real name, though? I mean, you’re not a fae, so it should be alright, right?”

Almost like he’s following your lead, his own head sways to the side, strands of hair sliding gently with this move, allowing a cascade of water droplets to illuminate his face even more. His face, which is marked with a frown and a little pout, and you how to straighten your back to distract yourself from staring at those soft rosy lips, akin to the petals of a blooming rose. 

You immediately jump onto whatever other thoughts are jumbling in your head so you can shove your sudden sense of poetry into a far away corner in the depths of your mind. 

“You can’t talk, right? I’m assuming… No, let me not say anything, my mind is muddled with fairy tales. Ugh, I’m so curious about everything! I can’t believe you would do that to me,” you sigh dramatically, only to get water thrown into your face.

Spluttering and yet giggling you wipe your face off. “Fine, I’m sorry! I know you didn’t choose this, at least it’s implied from your actions, unless–”

Before you could even continue to pin some kind of baseless accusation onto him, there’s another barrage of water hitting your face, and laughter just takes over your entire body. For someone who cannot freely express themselves with their words, he has an amazing way of conveying everything, and you can’t help but lean into this teasing manner of talking.

“Okay, okay! I’m not saying anything!” you giggle and hold your hands in front of your face in a weak attempt at protection. “But we still need to find a name for me to call you. There’s no way I’m saying Mr. Merman all the time, it’s just such a mouthful!”

You rest your hands behind you in the sand and put your weight into them as you contemplate the possibility of finding a name befitting the reincarnation of the sun and the ocean lounging in front of you. 

“Oh, what about fi–” You almost topple over with the force of the water this time, and another laugh bursts out of you at his expression: face scrunched together in a deeper frown and a slightly agape mouth; almost scandalized at the mere prospect of your suggestion.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it, it’s just there, you know?” He only humphs at your words, but his expression still softens ever so slightly. 

And it seems like he has lost confidence in your naming abilities, even if you technically only tried one time, because he grabs your hand and turns your palm upward. Pushing your curled fingers outwards, he pressed his index carefully into the sensitive skin. One stroke after the other, his name materializes. 

Of course he already has a name, that should have been the first thing you asked, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, much less expect, that he can write in the language of the land? And with the method the letters are shaped, his literacy seems basic, meaning they’ve got a whole other language of their own. You wonder what kind of words and letters they’re using under the sea. But that thought shifts in importance, as you slowly begin to voice out his name. 

“Rafayel…”

You murmur his name under your breath, the vowels smooth over your tongue, barely noticing the way he immediately pulls his hand away, only lingering warmth at the palm of your hand. For some reason, the knowledge of his name makes you feel much more connected, almost like some sort of bond has formed, and you can’t help but smile widely at him as you share your own name with him. 

Something in him seems to light up, and he nods while his mouth is carefully moving around the syllables of your name. No voice, and yet it makes you shiver. You don’t remember the last time someone simply called you by your name and nothing else. 

The rays of the sun deepen into a soft orange, infusing Rafayel in a soft glow akin to a halo, and as much as you’d love to simply continue observing the play of colors, you realize how much time you spent at this secluded spot. You have been away for too long and your absence has been surely noticed by now. It’s time for you to get back, even if at this moment, there’s nothing you want more than to stay and to watch the light envelop him and to watch his scales shimmer and reflect, to watch his eyes glimmer as he merely gazes into the horizon; where the sea kisses the sun. 

So, you stay, you stay and allow yourself to enjoy a bit of light, a bit of warmth, before you bid your goodbyes to walk back into the darkness. 

—

Writing everything down is meant to help you cope and sort through your own thoughts. But nothing will ever feel the same as voicing them out loud. My voice desires to be heard by you, desires to speak your name slowly and carefully. Curses– [the rest of the text is illegible due to it being struck through multiple times]

—

A lot of things you do don’t make sense to others. But often, that didn’t matter as long as every action made sense to you. That’s the way you have been living up until now. 

Only this time, your own behaviour doesn’t make sense to you either. Still, you haven’t felt this alive, filled with giddiness, like when you were packing the bag you’re currently taking with you to the beach, to the small hidden meeting spot. 

You hope to see Rafayel again. For some reason, the mere thought of him fills you with energy and warmth, something you have missed for a long time. But even with all your excitement, you tell yourself to expect his absence, as there’s simply no way for him to wait at the same spot for days. There’s the possibility of him going back home, and might not be back for some time (you refuse to even consider that he might never come back and allow yourself this tiniest bit of hope). So, you’re absolutely prepared to lug this bag around with you every time you decide to visit the beach until your plan finally works out. 

Leaving your boots behind and pulling the hems of your clothes up, you cross the final stretch of sand. Only to find the shore empty. You figured that this might happen. You can’t expect anyone to wait at the same spot for who knows how long. Hell, you yourself never know when you’ll be able to squeeze some time between your work to visit the beach, nobody would just sit there without a definite timeline.

With a sigh, you let yourself sink into the soft sand. Even if you’re alone, you’re going to enjoy this bit of time nonetheless. Lately, you barely have time outside of your social life and obligations, and you’re going to milk this opportunity out with everything it has got. 

The bag in your lap as you hug it to your body, you watch the rhythm of the ocean, the way the waves come and go, come and go, seemingly stuck in this rotation, yet in truth more free than anyone could ever be. 

You don’t know how much time passed, but according to the evermoving position of the sun, not a lot, when the water breaks apart and a wet mop of hair appears. The color is too familiar to fail to realize that it’s Rafayel, and you immediately feel a smile break out on your face as you make your way towards him. 

“You came! I was worried I might not see you today, I’m glad,” you tell him and lower yourself to take a place by his side. 

At your words, he raises his hands and lets his fingers caress your cheek, and you can’t help but lean ever so slightly into his warm touch, like a moth to the flame. Only for him to grab your face with both hands and to press your cheeks together. Rafayel looks at you with a slight frown and a pout, as if to show his disappointment in your lack of trust in him, as if to tell you that he’s always going to come when you call him. 

And despite your grumbling through your involuntarily puckered out lips, you feel like you can stop your worries and let go as long as he’s by your side. 

After he finally releases you from his grip, you rub your cheek, trying to hide the grin curling around the edges of your mouth. 

“Well, even if you’re here now, you did leave me waiting, sooo, I think you should close your eyes and not open them no matter what happens. As a punishment,” you decide with a resolute nod. 

His expression deepens, his earlier disappointment morphing into something petulant as he gives you a long look. But he only sighs and shakes his head in a show of his mild exasperation, Rafayel still follows your instructions and firmly closes his eyes. Once he does that, his entire face slowly begins to relax and to soften.

For a moment you watch him, but your excitement takes over and you have to bite down on your lower lip to suppress a giggle. You begin to pull out what you have brought with you out of the bag.

A simple linen shirt, one most sailors own, and one you had in the depths of your own closet as well. It’s got wide sleeves with the cuffs carefully collecting everything into neat ends, making it easier to push his arms through them. While doing so, you can’t avoid touching Rafayel directly, and you notice how soft his skin feels and how despite that softness his body is lean and strong, muscles made by the extensive swimming all his life. 

As you’re fixing the way the shirt drapes over him, you’re practically face to face with his upper body, and you have the best view to see his muscles twitch every time you accidentally brush your fingers against his bare skin. Your own heartbeat jumps and you feel yourself getting hot, especially faced with the suppleness and perkiness. 

Before even your mind fully leaves you, you give up on finishing buttoning it up, because the buttons keep slipping from between your fingertips (due to the wetness of the water coating them, not because you keep getting distracted by every little move he makes; you’re the epitome of focus), and put some proper distance between you two. 

Rummaging through the bag, you fish out some of the accessories hidden at the bottom. You’re glad you’ve brought some earrings made to hook into the earshell instead of through the handmade puncture, because the moment you gingerly swipe the wet curls out of the way, you notice the way his ears are fanning out like fins. There’s no way he has been pierced, even if his earlobes look human enough for it to be a possibility.

The ends of his earfins twitch in attention when you carefully take them between your fingertips to hook the earrings into his helix and earlobes. Making sure they’re steady enough to be on their own, before you pull out a finely chained necklace with a little ring-shaped amulet. It’s simple, yet exactly that simplicity is what pulls everything together. And once you have fixed it in place, you take a step back to admire what you have done. 

The shirt had gotten wet in the meantime, and thus sticking to his skin and slightly see-through. It’s barely buttoned up, revealing just enough to make it appear effortless rather than careless. In this empty space, the amulet is taking a proper position as it falls between his pecs, not too low and not too high, thus giving the necessary flair. And the instant the sunlight catches onto the different earrings, their colors reflect beautifully on his skin, adding to the glow he already emits.

For a moment, you’re silent, deep in admiration towards his beauty, enhanced by such simple things. You wonder how Rafayel might look like in properly fitted clothes made of the finest of cloth and intricately woven jewelry, custom made just for him. 

The last item out of the bad, a hand mirror, which you point towards him, you speak up. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

His eyelashes flutter and Rafayel takes his time to open his eyes, slowly adjusting to the difference in light. But contrary to your expectations, he doesn’t look straight ahead, but rather directly at you, missing the reflection in the mirror completely. The sudden intense gaze surprises you, and you feel the heat squirm its way under your skin and collect in your stomach, at the way he simply looks at you. 

You clear your throat. “Uhm, don’t you want to see how you look like?” You raise the mirror to hold it in front of your face to escape his stare, even if it means sacrificing a glimpse of the first impression of his new look. 

So, you can’t help but peek over the edge of the mirror to watch as he inspects every little modification you have made, before you find the courage to speak up again. 

“I would have put some proper earrings in, but you don’t seem to have your earlobes pierced, so I used those… You– You can’t swim with them, because I reckon they’ll probably get lost with the current, I mean…”

Fingertips tap against the edge of the mirror, until he pushes it away to properly face you again. A cock of his head and a touch to the jewelry tell you everything.

“Of course you can keep the stuff, I brought it just for you after all. A poor merman should let himself be pampered by someone like me sometimes, don’t you think?”

The only answer you receive is a wave crashing into you, just small enough to only splash your face, and you giggle. 

You had expected him to grumble or to harumph at your words, but what you did not expect is for him to let his fingers glide over your fingers, the back of your hand, before cupping it entirely to guide it to his face. 

With a near silent sigh, Rafayel nuzzles into your warmer skin, eyes closing slowly. Your heartbeat rushes into your ears, and you fear he might be able to feel it, with the close proximity of his lips to your pulse point. Merely the thought of his lips against your wrist makes it jump and skip. Your heart gives out briefly, when his breath is fanning against your skin, and you can barely suppress the shiver striking you through your nerves.

And maybe he noticed your inner turmoil, despite your silent prayers that he did not, as he opens his eyes as slowly as he closed them, only to look up to you through his eyelashes. From this angle, his eyes seem to be even bigger, and the breath catches in your lungs when the sunlight hits them and they begin to glow and sparkle, akin to a morganite, a color of dreams and desires, and guiding a ship closer to the horizon and the endless pink sky for merely a fleeting touch. 

Keeping this eye contact, keeping you in his trance, Rafayel begins to move your hand over his jaw, fingertips trailing featherlight over the column of his throat, his collarbones. All your senses only focus on him, only perceive his skin against your touch, and your evergrowing heartbeat, and the churning in your stomach. 

He continues until he presses your hand against his chest, and you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or glad that the shirt is sitting between you (your fingertips still grazing his skin, making you so much aware of him). Once you have gotten a bit over the sudden skinship, you notice his heartbeat against your palm.

“Oh…”

His pulse is steadfast, but you realize its speed, beating faster than the usual heart rate, and you’re not sure you can simply contribute that to his anatomy or physiology. 

Just with that, without any big words or actions, you understand what he means to convey to you. Happiness washes over you with this understanding, a small but sincere smile on your face. And there’s that feeling again, your mind calm like an unmoving lake, and the sensation of warmth radiating off another person. 

You doubt anything could ever come close to simply being in this place by his side, a small bubble shielding you and keeping you safe and giving you space and peace. 

—

I once refused to write anything down in any form, why do so when I can express my mind in other ways? But as my voice has left me, albeit temporarily, I need a way to sort through my thoughts. So, I suppose I had to resort to this. And as it supposedly should help to write everything down with a reader in mind, I shall do so, for I cannot make this more difficult for myself than it is already. 

It’s been some time since I have saved you from that shipwreck, and you still come visit me as often as you can. Of course, I’m always nearby, the only thing keeping us apart is the shore itself, so you never have to wait longer than necessary, much less be afraid of being left behind. But I do wonder if you know how you look, how your demeanor changes when faced with the sea, when your eyes spot me in the waters. How bright you seem to shine, how brilliant like the sun above the horizon. When I look at you like that, the way your presence and smile brings warmth, I begin to understand why people have worshipped the sun, as I would worship you if you would only let me. 

So, maybe you can understand the way I feel when I watch as the life gets sapped from you when it’s time for you to go back from where you came from. The way I feel when I watch as you lose your light and there’s nothing I can do to help you, my voice choking me, binding me, rather than offering you comfort. And every time there’s nothing I desire more than to whisk you away, to take you with me and free you from whatever shackles are dragging you to drown, relentless and cruel. 

This desire only intensifies with time, with every minute spent in your presence. I can’t help but wonder what kind of environment you’re living outside of our bubble, what you’re eating, what your daily life looks like. And if you smile at other people the way you smile at me. I hope you do not. 

But I also wonder how much happiness you experience, how much freedom. Seeing as you get excited over the most trivial things.

I won’t even ask if you remember, as I do, and surely you will, too. But I will never forget your expression as I’ve brought some shells and conches to the shore. Your face brightened up, like you’re seeing something for the very first time, and maybe you have. You picked each of them carefully, letting your fingertips trail over them to feel the texture, before holding them into the light to get a better look at the colors. It was absurd to me that you were excited by the smallest of things such as these, empty but colorful and abundant in the sea. But I can’t help but adore exactly that, the way you’re simply filled with life and joy.

And I want to show you so much more, show you the beauty outside of your own world, and be able to stay by your side and watch as you glow and thrive. To never watch you crumple into your own shell as your very own feet seem to take you away by force. 

I wish to embrace you, to kiss every thought plaguing you away until I hear that laughter bubble out of you. I wish for you to take my hand and to allow me to show you what you’re missing. I simply wish for you to feel love, for your love.

I wish for you.

—

Being in a hurry is a normal thing in your day-to-day life. There’s always something to do, someone to talk to, someone to run to, or to run away from. Despite this constant habit of staying on the move at all times, you have never felt the time crunch as much as you do at this very moment. 

You frankly don’t know how you managed to do this with the constant ticking of the clock looming over your head, but you were able to draw away for a moment to get to the beach without anyone’s notice, lest they carry you off for something you should care about. 

Because of that, you’re still strung in your formal wear, and all you can do in this small instant is to kick your high heels away and to hike up your skirt, fixing the layers in a firm hold, to free your legs. You don’t care much about decency at the moment, or generally, especially if the only person to see you will be a bare merman. Highly doubtful Rafayel would even think of commenting on your show of skin

With long strides and hurried steps, you arrive at the usual spot, though you do not sit down as usual but rather just allow the sea to wash over your sore feet. At this very moment, all you want is to spend as much time as possible at this place, with him, before you’re forced to follow due obligations and return once again. In a way, Rafayel is the balm of your soul, the only being able to give you some peace of mind. Not that you would outright admit it to anyone, of course. 

So, it makes sense, to feel this kind of desperation and longing to see him, before you lose your mind. And as luck chances upon you for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to worry about him taking his time, much less not appearing at all, as the next waves effortlessly carry him to the beach. 

With a simple flick of his hand, he swoops his hair out of his face. Without any regard to the amount of times you might have witnessed him like that, there will always be something bewitching about him, freshly out of the water; the droplets heavy and flowing through every divot as he moves, the way Rafayel looks slightly flushed and the slick style of his hair. 

It’s true, you have seen him in various ways and forms, and every time is a novel experience, something permanent in your mind, akin to a mesmerizing art piece you could not forget about. 

There even was a time, where he fully dried out, the sun warming his skin while he spent time with you, until his hair changed forms and turned out to be incredibly fluffy and somewhat wavy, as it immediately started curling around his ears and neck. The slight variation in hair color still makes you wonder how Rafayel might look fully submerged, how the colors of the underwater reflect against his skin and sunken in his hair. 

Technically, you have already seen him in that state before, but that doesn’t really count, you were barely conscious when it happened. Still, you cannot help but dream and fantasize, because you doubt you might ever get to see him in his full underwater glory. 

Clutching the fabric tighter and trying your best to keep your clothes safe from the water, you crouch in front of him, a smile on your face as a greeting. His answer is a slight puff of air, one purposefully aimed at your face, and a smile of his own. 

Your eyes blink reflexively and you chuckle, only to catch his gaze wander over your current look. 

“Ah, I look different, don’t I? I didn’t have the time to change into the usual, and, uh, I really wanted to see you…” your voice loses volume towards the end of your sentence, and you feel your face heat up with the realization of what you have just uttered. Quickly, you avert your eyes to avoid any further complications if you happen to look into his eyes, or at his face in general.

“A-anyway, sorry that I wasn’t here for some time, I was busy… And, well…” you inhale sharply, looking for the right words. “I’m gonna be gone for some time, I have to travel somewhere, away from the sea…”

Even ruminating over these words hurt you, and saying them makes your heart ache and your eyes burn. You don’t want to go away, you don’t want to leave and not be able to see him for an even impossibly longer stretch of time. You’re not sure when you began to feel this way towards Rafayel specifically, but that doesn’t matter. Because you don’t have a choice in all of this. 

A familiar hand touches your hand and guides you to face him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, his touch soft, and his eyes are looking intently at you, as if he’s trying to discern if you’re truly alright. And maybe you’re imagining things, a wishful thinking on your part, but to you, it seems like Rafayel catches onto your feelings. There’s a strange spark in his eyes, a darkening, something gone as fast as it appeared.

His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his palm, a sigh escaping from between your lips, relief flooding underneath your skin. And for a moment, he looks deep in thought, as he simply continues the slow motion carefully, his gaze still glued to your face.

Then, he tilts your head slightly up so you’re able to properly look him in the eyes. His face tells you to stay and wait here until he comes back. You nod, and once he’s sure you’ve understood his intentions, he dives back into the ocean. And then you wait, eyes following the movements of the waves and looking for the wet strands to peek out from between them.

It doesn’t take long for him to be by your side once again, as if he was never gone to begin with, as if he’s right back where he belongs. 

After making himself comfortable, Rafayel stretches his hand out towards you, and without putting much thought into it, you put your hand into his, fingertips on soft skin, against the palm of the other. 

You hear a small puff, and knowing that this noise is his voiceless laugh – how you truly want to hear Rafayel laugh properly, to hear his voice, even –, you furrow your eyebrows. Before you could begin to ask him what’s so funny, he turns your hand around in a way for your palm to face upwards. 

Oh, for some reason you immediately assumed he wanted to hold your hand, even though it has never happened before (at least not outside of your occasional daydreams…). But you barely have the time to feel any embarrassment, because he puts his other hand over your own.

And then you feel it. Something small and cool against your skin, a stark difference to his touch. When he pulls his hand away, barely giving you the time to mourn the loss of warmth, a small sparkle is revealed. A single earring. 

You gasp and grasp it carefully with your fingers to take a closer look. The small jewel is in the hue of the depths of the ocean, and of his eye color. The details of the metalwork are gorgeous, small and finespun parts are twisting around the jewel, akin to corals.

But it’s only part of a pair. With a question on the tip of your tongue, you glance between this piece of jewelry and him. Until you notice a shine from one of his earlobes. Rafayel is wearing the complementary pair. 

At this, your heart skips a beat. Still, you try your best to not read too much into it, but you can’t help your escalating thoughts. This pair is somewhat proof of your connection, proof that everything is real and that there might even be something special between you. 

“Thank you so much, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, holding it against the sun. You’re glad you’re not wearing anything on your ears today. “Could you maybe help me put it on?”

A nod. His fingertips graze over the fingers holding the earring, and you shiver at the way his skin feels against yours. They slip between your fingers to carefully take hold of the earring, then to wait for you to loosen your grasp. You almost fumble and the jewelry just about slips before you pull yourself together and hand it over properly. 

You lower your hand, and while it happens, you make eye contact with Rafayel. But instead of getting startled as usual, you keep holding his gaze and turn your head to the side to give him better access to your ear. 

He raises his hand and his fingertips begin tracing your earshell bit by bit – fascination radiating off his meticulous touch –, until he reaches your earlobe to grasp it carefully. His thumb caresses the soft and sensitive skin. Goosebumps track down your back, your body conscious of his every touch; barely registering the actual hooking in of the earring itself, but rather focusing on the way his fingers feel against your ear.

The very same fingers have dipped behind your ear, touching the soft skin there. Fingertips begin to trail down, nothing more than featherlight touch, yet so much more, as Rafayel lets them follow the shape of your jawline, slowly tracing the column of your neck.

You shiver and sigh, eyes fluttering, yet gaze still trained on him, unable to take them off of him. His eyes are focused on you and you alone, drinking in every detail he can get. There’s something almost ardent in the way Rafayel beholds your figure. Almost as if your existence in itself is a miracle bestowed upon him. 

For a moment, his fingers splay over your throat, only to slowly travel back up to grasp your jaw and to turn your face fully towards him. Your eyes slip towards his lips – soft and wet and you want to know how he tastes like – before you raise them to make contact with his once again. 

The very same eyes which are still running all over your face, admiring every detail, keen on unearthing every aspect that makes you you, and maybe staying a little longer than usual on your slightly agape mouth. 

Instead of returning your look, he closes his eyes and leans slightly forward until your foreheads meet. With his breath on your face, you can smell the scent of the ocean and the sun on his skin; the essence of him and your happiness distilled. 

Meanwhile, his hands have wandered until they’re holding your face, thumbs caressing your jawline and cheeks in circular motions. Your own hands are clasped around his wrists and forearm to hold him close, to feel his warmth under your own fingerprints. Nothing else matters but his touch and this moment. 

With fluttering eyelashes, Rafayel opens his eyes up again, only to nudge you with his forehead. And as if to get his point across even better, he delicately lets his nose nuzzle against yours. You giggle and return the favor and rub the tip of your nose against his. 

“Okay, okay. You know I’m always going to come back. You don’t have to do all that.”

A puff of air against your face, a grumble and a click of his tongue. And then his teeth are suddenly nibbling at the tip of your nose. You gasp and pull away. A smug grin is spread over his face, despite the flush dusting his ears and nape. 

As you’ve broken apart and put some distance between your bodies, you realize how hot you have begun to feel, and you can’t help but immediately look away, lest Rafayel notices anything. 

“Oh, look at the time, I have to go!” you stand up and leave with a wave. 

The moment your back is towards him, you press your palms against your cheeks to cool down as you walk back to your discarded shoes. You can’t believe you ran away just like that, but it’s rather concerning how your heart seems to race and how malleable you become in his presence, unlike how you’re used to your own self.

Not that you hate how Rafayel makes you feel, but rather you want to slowly enjoy everything with him instead of worrying about the time and everything else. But you doubt that this could ever be possible…

—

Time is scarce, and yet, I’d wish to do nothing but spend every second of my life by your side…

—

It’s been far too long since you have felt the sand under your feet, between your toes. The wind is carrying the scent of the ocean with it, and you inhale it, almost as if simply being back here makes the tension in you melt away. 

With slow steps, all while indulging yourself and taking care to enjoy every second of the walk towards the shore, you make your way to the very same spot you have been visiting, the very same spot you have been missing with an aching heart. Yet, despite the lulling hiss of the waves as they turn into foam, you continue to feel some turmoil squirming in your stomach, something left over from your travels, something akin to food poisoning, yet something you cannot just nurse yourself back to health from. 

You try to shake away these lingering feelings with each stride before you plop onto the sand to wait for Rafayel to appear before you once again. And it seems like your efforts at concealing your worries haven’t paid off, because the moment he lays his eyes on you, his eyebrows immediately furrow and his hand is gently cupping your face, a silent question. 

Seeing him care about you like that makes everything in you burst at the seams, your self-control simply gone with a mere gaze of his.

Tears begin to blur your vision and you press yourself closer to his touch, in need of his warmth and presence more than ever.

“Rafayel, I don’t want them… I don’t want them to do that to me… I don’t want to be… to be shackled any further than this… I can’t…” you croak, voice wavering and bordering on a sob, but you’re still desperately holding back, to try and keep yourself from completely breaking apart underneath his fingertips. 

Listening to your every word, sentences fragmented and lacking coherence, and still perceiving you with such clarity, almost like staying under his gaze is laying your soul bare for him to see, his hands slowly take a hold of your hips to pull you closer to him. And as soon as your body is within proximity, his arms are circling around you to press you against him, firm and steady and warm, while his palms rub your back.

Even without uttering a single word, he still manages to give you exactly what you need, the comfort you have been seeking all along, and your tears relentlessly fall with sobs wracking your entire body. You’re clutching onto him; your last lifeline. His presence relaxes and calms you down, allowing you to flush everything out of your system before slowly gathering yourself back together, even if it means that exhaustion is taking the empty space anxiety has left behind.

Rafayel notices the way your breath doesn’t hitch anymore and is evening out, and puts some distance between you, so he can directly face you again. He raises his hand to gently wipe your tears away with his thumbs oh so carefully. 

With a sigh, he kisses your forehead, and then each of your eyes, a cooling touch against your hot eyelids. And with each contact of his soft lips, your heart begins to race for an entirely different reason. 

Your fingers grasp a strand of hair at the nape of his neck and start playing  with it, your focus on the soft silkiness of it rather than the everbeating drum of your heart. 

“I would stay forever by your side, if I could…” you murmur with a small sigh of your own.

At this, he begins to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, his breath hot against your face. And then a sharp pain. His teeth are digging into your cheek as he’s nibbling at your skin, and you’re suddenly so much more aware how sharp his teeth are, but even more conscious about the softness of his lips grazing your face. 

With a gasp, you grab his chin and push Rafayel back ever so slightly away, leading to his head tilting due to your move. And now his breath is fanning over your lips and you can’t help but swipe your tongue over them.

His eyes follow this movement immediately, and before you know it, his thumb is pressing against your lower lip, pulling somewhat, before his eyes move back towards your eyes. The unspoken question makes your breath hitch in your lungs, almost like your heart has knocked all the air out of you, yet you nod without hesitation

Lips meet yours, as soft as you had imagined them to be, touch feather-light. While the hand positioned on your chin is carefully maneuvering around, his other hand is fulfilling miracles and pulling you infinitely closer; and all you can do is dig your fingers between the soft damp curls of his. This elicits a gasp out of Rafayel, before he responds with a bite to your lip.

You hiss, copper and salt coating your mouth. And then he pulls away the tiniest bit, eyes heavy-lidded and face and ears flushed. There are remnant traces of redness on his lips, and you feel your soul leaving you, as you watch his tongue flick out to clean them up. This felt like a final gutpunch, and you deflate against him, head falling knot his shoulder, and you feel like you’re going to combust at any moment, the heat rushing over your skin, pooling in your stomach. 

Immediately, his hold on you tightens, and Rafayel leans his head against yours. A sigh.

“Finally…”

Hearing these words, you can’t help but startle and sit up again. “Wh– huh?”

There’s a small giggle, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. Truly, no composition or instrument could dare to hold a candle against it. 

“You said you want to stay by my side. Do you trust me?

His voice is rough, as lack of use over a longer period of times does that, and yet, the words slipping from between his lips and actually hearing them fills you with unspeakable euphoria, even with the tremble of his voice close to your ear causing you goosebumps.

“I do… I trust you…” And how could you not? You wouldn’t even be here in the first place if not for Rafayel himself. 

Another touch, his lips meeting yours for but a fleeting moment. “Then, do what you must do, and return to me, yeah?”

—

Oh, my love, a kiss as sweet as the air I breathe. Soon I shall embrace you and take you with me to wherever the current might take us. It does not matter as long as I’m by your side.

—

As much as you wanted to work through the endless piles of papers and stains of ink and to make sure every single thing is in order and running smoothly as fast as possible, you don’t want anyone to entertain the notion that you might be able to work more than you already do. Especially as you’re not quite sure what Rafayel is planning, and you’d rather avoid any possible suspicion towards your escapades or your work ethics. 

So, only after doing the necessary, you sneak out to the beach with nothing but the clothes on your back and the earring he has gifted you securely attached, your one and only treasure. 

You arrive at the usual spot and find him to be already there and waiting. Immediately, you lock onto your usual place by your side to take it. But instead of letting you do that, Rafayel grabs your hand to tug you even closer, and his face nuzzles into your neck as soon as you’re within reach, thighs entangling with his tail. A hum against your skin elicits a shiver out of you, your body reacts to his voice, to his breath, to his very existence in itself.

Without any words, he slowly leads you a little deeper into the water, not far enough for you to resort to any swimming, but just enough for you to be submerged to your chest. The cold water envelops you, welcomes you in its embrace once again, and you take your time to grow accustomed to the temperature, to the sea’s temperament. The only source of warmth are Rafayel’s hands holding yours, and his big tail slowly moving around you.

The movement catches your eyes and you take your time to admire it, to admire the way the reflection of the sea turns each scale into a mesmerizing jewel, to admire the deep and rich colors, to admire its sheer size moving easily around you as if it’s nothing.

Once your body got used to the harsh love of the water, you dare to swim closer towards him. And he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his own without hesitation. You feel his tail steadying underneath you, offering you rest and comfort. His head dips and catches your lips in a kiss. One gentle and soft, nothing but a drop and a touch; until the waves of your desires carry you both deeper without any resistance. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, pulling, without drawing any blood this time. You open your mouth all-too willingly and let his tongue touch yours, intertwine and dance, let his tongue explore your mouth bit by bit as you simply taste him on yours, salty and heavy with unspoken promises. You lose yourself in his touch, in the way his hand is resting at the nape of your neck, his fingers travel along the small of your back underneath your hiked up shirt. All thoughts revolve around nothing but him, everything else slowly devoured by his very existence and your desire. 

While drowning in the sensation that is him, you barely notice how he had taken the lead, holding you safely in his arms as he allows the currency to slowly pull you deeper into the sea, deeper into its mighty embrace. Yet, even with the endlessness spreading across the horizon, not once have you felt unsafe. 

You only notice how far the two of you have drifted off when he settles you on top of a jagged rock steadily protruding out of the water. The wind on your wet clothes makes you shiver and you hiss.

But you barely have the time to think, much less worry about your state, as Rafayel begins to press his lips over your chin and your jawline, trailing down your throat with small nips and kisses until he stops at your exposed collarbones. 

Your shirt is still covering you, barely so, as it’s gotten almost see-through when the water penetrated the cloth so thoroughly. The wet fabric sticks against your skin and your pebbled nipples give some resistance as they press against it. 

And apparently, seeing an opportunity, he lowers his mouth over your covered chest and kisses his way to the peak, only to take your nipple into his mouth. The wetness of everything combined with the warmth of his mouth makes you gasp. Soon, you feel the press of his tongue against this sensitive spot and you can’t help but grab his hair, your mind not sure if you want him to be even closer or not, while your body pushes you even closer towards him. 

His hand begins to trace your side slowly, feeling every inch of you, memorizing the paths that make you you, following the swell of your chest until his fingertips stop at your other nipple. Slowly, they take their time drawing circles around it, prodding and pulling gently, before finally taking the bud between two fingers to pinch and twist. 

You squirm and whimper under his touch, tension pooling in your body, following you with the need for more, as you’re unable to do anything but undergo his ministrations; fingers firmly between the strands of hair, nails scratching his shoulder in a desperate attempt to find something to ground yourself on. But there’s nothing but him, and he’s the one you desire oh-so much. Your legs wrap around him to press yourself even closer, to feel him more, to indulge in him even more. 

But once you have done so, he nibbles at you one last time before his mouth leaves your chest. Only to make his way lower, carefully detaching your legs, leaving you empty and somehow aching. 

And then, his hands are on your waistband and they slowly but surely pull everything you’re wearing down, allowing the clothes to get swallowed up by the waves together with your shoes. 

This is where you would have complained under normal circumstances, said something about still needing them, about them being your most comfortable pair, but his lips kiss the top of your foot and every thought in your head freezes. 

His hand glides over your calf as his lips trace your lower leg, until he kisses the inside of your thighs. His hands grab both of your legs and spread them open, revealing everything you are to his eyes. And all you can do is try to calm your breath and grab his hair, words heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the throbbing scattering everything rational and only leaving his touch behind.

“W-wait, what are you–”

His face nuzzles into your thigh, teeth digging and catching onto skin easily. “I’m doing what I need to breathe. Trust me, just let yourself drown in everything.”

Without waiting for you to register the implications of his words, Rafayel dips his head between your thighs, his tongue immediately lapping through your folds. A groan vibrates against you the moment he tastes you, and your body reacts with something he can only gratefully accept. 

He seems to take his time as he enjoys the mix of you and the sea in his mouth. The tip of his tongue runs over your entrance, only for him to slowly lick his way up to your clit, where he flattens his tongue against your throbbing bud. Savoring the moment, he begins to suck and lock at you, taking you and everything you offer him in, groaning against you, making you clench around nothing. 

You feel overwhelmed. You have never experienced such a thing before, and it feels indescribable. It feels like you’re slowly drowning in nothing but pleasure, like the sea is pulling you in and you’re allowing yourself to sink into unknown depths. And you let it take you, let yourself drown in everything he gives you, without inhibitions as you moan his name and buck your hips to get even closer to every touch of his, never leaving him out of your vision. 

His hands are steadily holding you in place, only releasing one hand to let his fingertips glide over your skin closer towards your core. They run through your sticky folds and press ever so slightly against your entrance. And then, there’s the sensation of being filled bit by bit. You tense and feel one finger pressing against your insides, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into you, making sure that you take it well. 

For a moment, there’s no movement as you adjust to the way he feels inside of you, and then your insides ache, a need for more bubbling up, your body moving on its own, grinding against his tongue as he continues to suck and lick and lap at a steady pace. At the same time, another finger joins the first, but instead of waiting, Rafayel pushes them into you, curled up so they can hit that sensitive spot in you just right.

There are stars exploding in front of your eyes and a knot tightening in your belly. You pull on his hair, drawing a mix of a whimper and a moan out of him while he continues to pull his fingers out of you, only to press them back in that specific angle, over and over again, slowly and carefully, making sure that you feel every drag and every touch.

Until his tongue flattens against your clit at the same time as his fingers glide over that perfect spot inside you, and everything crashes over your head like a massive wave over the shore. The tension in you snaps and all you can do is grab his hair and moan his name. 

Even as you unravel, he continues to lick on your clit while he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Almost like he wants no drop to evade his capture. And then he raises his head enough to look you in the eye. Your eyes fall onto his lips, and you feel the heat under your skin when you notice the shimmer on them, and it only gets worse when he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly drags his tongue over them. Meticulously, Rafayel gets everything he has gotten from you and lets it spread over his tongue. And once he’s done, he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting whatever remains are still clinging to him. At this, you feel your insides tingle and throb. 

As careful as he had put you on the rock, he helps you down again, his hands firm against your hips. Instead, he presses you against the rock, his body against yours, as he leans down, lips hovering over your exposed skin. Rafayel kisses his way up until he’s facing you, lips barely inches away from yours. Just as easily, he catches your lips in a kiss, sweet and gentle. But such a kiss does not satisfy you in the moment, body still hot and aching and oh-so empty, and you bite onto his lower lips before sucking on it. 

Almost immediately, he reacts and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing yours in some kind of curious examination. You let yours trace his mouth cavity, every single tooth of his, feeling the snag due to their sharpness. You take him in fully, tasting him and the last bit of you clinging to him. 

You feel the need to be even closer, so you wrap your legs around him. Only for your naked skin to feel the texture of his tail. Lead by some kind of instinct, by the pure lust and desire running through you, you rut your hips to press your clit against the slick scales. With each motion of your hip, you feel the big muscle move underneath you, nudging your clit in a way that sends sparks through your body, in a way that washes everything else away until all that remains is him. 

“Rafayel… Please, let me touch you…” you whimper against his lips, desperate to make him feel as much as you do, to share this moment together in your desires.

A gasp, bordering on a moan. And then you feel something press against your heat. Thoughts drowning in your hazy lust, of your need for him, you carefully grab his length – bigger than you anticipated, yet slender in an unexplainable way, small scales scattered and you can barely feel them against your skin – and caress his pointed tip with your thumb while you begin to grind your stickiness against his base. The constant change between textures as you continue to roll your hips against him, makes everything in you clench and tense, feeling tender. You do your best to multitask as you flick your wrist to pump the rest of his length with a loose fist, with just enough pressure put on him to hear him moan under your touch.

And when you hear him moan out your name, something in you snaps and your hips stutter as everything collapses once again. You whimper his name, haphazardly taking his lips with yours while you press your hips against his tail, not ceasing your movements even as you’re starting to feel overwhelmed with your own body. You continue to ride your climax out, rubbing your clit against him, feeling the slickness of his scales in your folds, until it feels like you’re going to stay at this specific high, until it all feels too much and too intense. But you never reach that threshold, as he unravels underneath your touch and cums all over your hand and stomach.

The water begins to wash it away, but you quickly withdraw your hand to salvage just enough for a taste. While you pant, you take the rest of him in you, small licks to enjoy every single drop. All while looking up to him through your eyelashes. But this was enough. Just this gesture and Rafayel is twitching against you once again.

You feel something in you bloom, and you reach out to him to meet him in a kiss. 

“Let me bare myself to you…”

A breath, fingers against skin.

“There’s nothing on this planet that will drive me away from you…”

A sigh, a kiss.

The longing and the desire grew deeper, and you’re not quite sure who began, but your hips are slowly rolling into each other, taking your time, enjoying the feeling of each other as you got worked up bit by bit. 

You’re already thinking how he might feel, filling you slowly and carefully, carving his shape into you until nothing else could ever dare to compare. So, you raise your hips ever so slightly and let them hover over his tip, looking up to him with everything you need in your eyes. 

He leans closer to you and captures your lips in yet another kiss. And that’s when you feel him pushing himself into you, his tip filling your entrance, spreading you, until he ruts into you, bit by bit until he’s filling you completely, splitting open you over his cock, leaving you breathless as you try to take all of him. 

For a moment, you just stay like that, hips snug against his tail, as close to each other as humanly possible. And then you feel it, something else pressing against your front. With a quick glance, you discover the reason, another cock, one just like the one penetrating you, and it’s throbbing and writhing against your folds. You gasp and look up to him, only to see his cheeks dusted in a slight blush. At the sight of him almost droopy and at the way his eyes are studying your expression, trying to discover something you’re not quite sure of, you giggle. 

With a smile, you kiss him, a kiss filled with everything which does not need to be said. Immediately, Rafayel takes all of you in as he presses your body against the rock once again- Barely restrained, he begins to roll his body against yours, almost fully pulling out before pushing into you again, over and over again. Until he finds a steady pace to fulfill all your desires. 

His other length continues to slide between your folds, caressing your clit with each thrust and sending shocks through your body at the sensation. You feel every vein, every scale, the movements and his form, as your sexes rub together, sticky fluids mixing together. He’s carving you to his shape, making your body only ever desire him and never anyone else. Every touch of him against you makes you clench around him, makes you clutch at him with everything you’ve got. Moaning his name in wanton as he caresses every sensitive part of you, every spot that might bring you pleasure in any way. 

Meanwhile, his mouth is wandering all over you to take his claim over every part of you he can possibly reach, teeth and lips and words marking your body and soul. His teeth dig into the soft flesh between your neck and shoulders, and you tense and feel yourself close to the edge with every snag of his body against yours. 

“Ah, Rafayel, ngh, I-I’m close…” you moan out as you clutch his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin.

Immediately, he envelops you with his body and pulls you closer to share a heated and messy kiss, one filled with drool, moans and teeth, one where you begin and he ends and where you meet to connect forevermore. 

A sharp thrust, and your teeth dig into his lips, drawing blood and coating your tongue with the coppery salty taste of his very existence as you continue to kiss him, to let him devour you, to give him and you everything that is you and him. 

The taste marking even every last bit of you, makes your body feel even hotter, even tenser, until everything reaches a point and erupts and you cum. And with the way you clench around him, he follows you closely, filling you with his essence, giving you a part of him as he coats your insides and your skin with his warmth. 

The tension draining out of you, you slump against him and enjoy the way he feels against you – arms steady and comfortable, body and presence a safe haven, skin on skin, colder than yours and yet warmer than anything you have experienced – and the tingle of the effects lingering as sparks underneath your skin. And you realize that it doesn’t matter if you dissolve into foam if it means to stay by his side for the rest of eternity. 

—

Our destiny does not lay in the foam of the sea, as I will keep kissing you like the sea kisses the sun every day until the end of time and beyond. 

[geminorvm]

angelcake dynamics ! (sanji x valentine)

[geminorvm]

✨️Aura✨️ <Inprnt> 💓

[geminorvm]

[geminorvm]

CHRYSOPEIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD)

“Stay here, thief of Okhema, and I will not give you riches, but something even more precious — knowledge,” he says. “If you can bear it, I will teach you something far beyond what your unimaginative mind can fathom at present: chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold.”

Synopsis: You try to steal from the wrong man, and he brings you to someone who promises you the impossible — a way to grow beyond your measly station as a petty thief, by taking something as common as mercury and turning it into gold.

HSR Masterlist

Divider: @/thecutestgrotto

Pairing: Anaxa x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: another nonsensical m1ckeyb3rry drop with 0 elaboration just vibes, idk anything about anaxa i was just making it up #allinmyhead, mentions of stealing and punishment and whatnot, castorice + mydei + phainon all make cameos to varying extents, this is like canon adjacent because idt it's fully compliant but whatever, reader is an unreliable narrator, formatted somewhat like a scientific paper but don't be fooled it's just aesthetic there's no correlation or anything i just felt silly, this is very like. wtf is going on yk, the biceps in his light cone overcame me sorry, i don't like him or anything, also i haven't played amphoreus yet LMFAOO I APOLOGIZE THIS IS MID <//3

A/N: WHEN I SAID I WAS GOING TO WRITE MORE OVER BREAK I MEANT IT...i lowkey shit this out in like a couple of hours though so it's very mid HELPME also it's like barely romantic icl but whatever #weup also thank you very much to my dear anaxaloving friends apollo @/hythlodayus and choki @/chokifandom for allowing me to bother them with my questions about their man for (seemingly) no reason...i am sorry for butchering your goat SDKJHLF i will do him better after i have played the game I SWEAR (maybe)

ABSTRACT

Background: Quick fingers are the hallmarks of an average thief; a quick mind is what is necessary for those who wish to last in this profession. Discernment and discretion are required — how many have gotten cocky and attempted to rob the Lady Aglaea, thinking her sightless eyes will render the task simple? As many as have lost their hands for it, you are sure. Yet amongst every crook in the fair city of Okhema, you alone have been brave enough to steal from the Prince Mydeimos, who, upon becoming aware of your wandering touch, only gave you a bewildered look and bade you to return his purse, after which he took out a fistful of coins and dropped them in your palm, his lips pressed together in pity as he told you you were worth more than this.

Methods: Your mother is the one who introduced you to this life, and she is also the one who tells you you must find some way to escape it. She insists you could be something better if you try, a temple maiden or a merchant’s wife or a royal attendant. You do not have the heart to tell her you are too dirty to be a priestess, too wicked to be a wife, and too shrewd to be an attendant, for in her eyes your every flaw is erased, your every virtue magnified. So you only smile when she brings it up, patting her on the cheek and telling her you will consider it well. She does her best to smile back, although you know it is difficult, for there is a knife ever-present in her mind, twisting and twisting with every breath she takes, every flash of light her feeble eyes are exposed to — still, she tries, which you are more grateful for than she can ever know.

Results: Even you are not infallible. Even you make errors in judgement. Less so than most, less so than any, but it is this perceived perfection which is your downfall, which drives you to pride and carelessness. It is a white haired man who catches you with your hand in his pocket, his eyes widening like he cannot believe it, and then he is frowning with a great, profound sadness. Your gaze flicks to the sword at his hip and you wonder if he will draw it; his trails after yours and his brow furrows, but he shakes his head as he takes your wrist, telling you that he will not be the one who decides your fate, that he does not trust himself to have that discernment, that discretion — traits, you suppose, that are as necessary for the judges as they are for the judged.

You are sure he is taking you to the Marmoreal Palace, where the Lady Aglaea will put you down for this great crime, this attempted pilfering of a golden Chrysos Heir, and you curse yourself with every step, wishing you had instead tried your luck with the prince of Kremnos again; for all his renowned barbarism, at least he would have to deal with you in his own way instead of bringing you to Lady Aglaea, for fear of his people losing what little faith they still had left in him. Yet to your surprise, the Chrysos Heir, who does not give you his name, takes you out of Okhema altogether, and so it is that you find yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, standing before a one-eyed madman.

Conclusion: “You attempted to steal from my pupil,” says the professor, his voice passionless and bland. He does not assign any moral value to the fact simply for stating it, and anyways, you have no grounds upon which you can deny it, not when your ring finger still itches and the white-haired Chrysos Heir’s face is still solemn. 

“I would’ve gotten away with it,” you say, quiet at first and then certain, sure. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t,” he says, and that is all. “So you are entirely consumed by the pursuit of wealth. How weak-minded.”

“It is not wealth but life I am interested in,” you correct him. He frowns; at your side, the white-haired Chrysos Heir clears his throat uncomfortably, though he does not move to interrupt the exchange.

“Well. And do you know what alchemy is?” the professor says.

“A fairytale for children,” you say promptly, for you have heard the stories of water turning to wine, of dirt to chocolate and death to life.

“I am only concerned with reality,” he says. “You are right — much of it is fantastical and wrong, or not worth pursuing. Who amongst us has any interest in mundane experiments that help no one? Yet even in fiction, there is truth to be found, and if it is wealth you want, then I will give you an endless amount.”

“You’re…rewarding me?” you say, and you cannot help but turn to the white-haired Chrysos Heir, thinking that he will surely be indignant. Yet he is placid and does not complain; when he notices you looking at him, he even smiles slightly, like he knows something you don’t.

“Make no mistake,” says the professor. “This is not a reward. It will destroy you, and you will fail, and this failure will destroy you further. You will become a shell of yourself, and you will do so willingly, for it is the price you must pay in order to ever attain success.”

“I don’t understand,” you say nervously, for you cannot tell yet if this is a better or worse fate than whatever Lady Aglaea would’ve sentenced you to. “What riches can possibly be worth that much?”

“Stay here, thief of Okhema, and I will not give you riches, but something even more precious — knowledge,” he says. “If you can bear it, I will teach you something far beyond what your unimaginative mind can fathom at present: chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold.”

1. Background

You report to Professor Anaxagoras’s lab five minutes after you are meant to, for you still cannot quite believe that it is real, that you have found yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, working alongside a Sage. He is hunched over a vial of some shimmering, flame-like liquid, his face pale as he scrutinizes it, and you stand in the doorway, wondering if you should introduce yourself. Before you can, however, he’s putting the vial away and pulling another out, rolling it between his fingers.

“Mercury,” he says. The liquid metal is runny and bright, a silvery egg-yolk that writhes in the glass he’s trapped it in. “Do you want to touch it?”

“No,” you say, because there’s something vile about it, about the trembling mass that almost has a life of its own. You think that he must be angry at you, for he stares at you, marveling at your hasty, blunt manner, but then he hums appreciatively.

“Good. It’s poisonous,” he says. 

“It is?” you say, and you wonder, then, how he can manage to handle it so casually. He shrugs.

“Not everyone agrees with the theory, but it’s an unavoidable truth that everything it touches is ruined, so how can it be anything but? That’s why I keep it contained whenever possible,” he says, setting the vial down on the table before you. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” you say, leaning forward in the anticipation of some showy form of magic or mystique. Yet all he does is look at you, and then he frowns, an expression which you are coming to find makes its home on his face more often than not.

“Do you not find my work noteworthy?” he says, motioning towards your empty hands. You don’t know what he means at first, but then, when you realize, you shake your head.

“I can’t write,” you say.

“If you are lacking in materials, I will tell Phainon to bring some for you,” he says.

“No,” you repeat. “I can’t write.”

What you want to say is that you are not a scholar, you are a thief, a girl his student brought from the streets for him to punish. Perhaps this is a part of that punishment, because you have never felt so humiliated as you do in that moment, the hot shame of it washing over you, and so you set your jaw and resolve not to defend yourself. You will not give him the satisfaction of it, of knowing that he has, with such a simple statement, already left you reeling, so you cross your arms and wait for him to continue.

“I see,” he says. “Very well, then. You can go.”

You return to your room, secure in the knowledge that you will be free to go home soon instead of keeping up this charade of intellectual pursuits. Indeed, that night, there is a knock on the door, and you are sure it is that white-haired Chrysos Heir, Phainon, come to take you to Okhema for your true reckoning.

And it is Phainon, but he is dressed casually, not in the way an official escort would be, with a scroll in one hand and a pen in the other. He is awkward when he enters the room, and when you do not greet him, this awkwardness only doubles.

“Professor Anaxa sent me,” he says, putting the scroll and the paper alike on the small, bare nightstand you have been provided with. “Castorice will come by tomorrow to help you.”

He bows in deference then, jauntily and unsure, before backing out of the room. You reach your hand out to stop him, and he does so at once, cocking his head at you, waiting for you to speak.

“Don’t you hold a grudge against me?” you say.

“For what?” he says. “Oh, my wallet? I don’t have anything in it, anyways. You would’ve been disappointed even if you were successful.”

“What?” you say, utterly taken aback. He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Being a Chrysos Heir isn’t exactly a paying job,” he says. “I’m closer to being like you than being like, say, Aglaea.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you say.

“I guess so,” he says. “Something about the look in your eyes seemed to remind me of the professor. I thought he would better know how to handle…all of it. I’m not so good with these things.”

“Do you still think he does?” you say. Phainon squints at you, and then, to your surprise, he nods.

“Yes, I do. Rest well,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

The next morning, a woman with mournful irises and gloves pulled up to her elbows comes to your room and introduces herself as Castorice, telling you she will help you learn how to read and write. You think of asking her why Anaxagoras himself will not, but you stop before you can. You’re not sure the answer is one you will like, anyways.

2. Methods

Castorice agrees to draft a letter to your mother, telling you Phainon himself will deliver it — he doesn’t have much better to do, she confesses, giggling shyly like the two of you are old friends poking fun at a third, Professor Anaxa will be glad to be rid of him for a while — and then she brings you to the laboratory, keeping you an arm’s length away from herself the entire time. You almost want to beg her to stay, for now that the veil of arrogance has lifted from your eyes, you are faced with the naked truth that Anaxagoras is a frightening man, perhaps as frightening as Lady Aglaea herself, but you have not lost that much of your dignity yet, so you keep your mouth shut, returning her farewell with one of your own and waiting until she rounds the corner before you enter the laboratory.

“Good morning,” Anaxagoras says, though as before, he does not look up from whatever he is absorbed in.

“It’s afternoon,” you say. He glances out of the window.

“And so it is,” he says.

“Is that gold made from mercury?” you say, pointing at the cup from which he is drawing little droplets and smearing them on blank parchment. It is sparkling and luxurious, but he only laughs at the question.

“In a sense,” he says. “This is what the principles of alchemy were founded on, some would argue. So, you can call it that if you’d like.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it?” he says. “I often wonder myself.”

“For you, I suppose it is meaningless, but to me…” Your words drift into a sigh. “How many cups of the like could I fill with medicine for my mother, just from the contents of that one?”

“Don’t presume things about people you don’t know,” he says. “And you’d be surprised to know the answer is very little. This isn’t the kind of gold that sells for very much.”

“What kind of gold doesn’t sell for very much?” you say incredulously, and now you are in the mood for fighting. “What sort of world are you living in, where such an amount of something so precious is meaningless? For I would like to pay a visit, I think!”

“The kind of gold that isn’t gold at all,” he says, and then the cup is in your hands and it’s warm at the bottom, you realize, warm unlike the clammy coolness of his palms. “This isn’t some metal. It’s infinitely more precious, and yet common despite that — ubiquitous, even. Blood, you insolent thief, this is blood.”

“Phainon’s?” you say, for he is the first you can think of, and you are immediately disgusted by the idea that you hold his life-force in your hands. Anaxagoras’s face mirrors your disgust, though the subject of his ire is you, like you have said something so horrible he cannot stand it.

“My own,” he says, curt, precise, cutting. “Put it down.”

You do so at once. You have known, as all do, that there is a Chrysos Heir in the Grove, but when you were so busy with the activities of daily survival, you had never had much interest in learning more than that basic knowledge. When the Grove was so far removed from you, when you had never believed you would see its fabled halls, why would you care? But now you are regretting your ignorance, for you have committed a grave sin and will surely be punished for it.

“Are you going to send me away?” you say.

“Do you want me to?” he says. You don’t even consider it before you’re nodding your head, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Then go.”

“Thank you,” you say, eager to escape the crushing atmosphere of the room.

“Wait,” he says before you can vanish entirely. “Did Castorice and Phainon bring you what I told them to?”

“Yes,” you say. 

“If you ever need anything, go to them,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll find them far more approachable than I am.”

He’s right, of course, but you don’t have enough mettle to tell him that in as many words, so you only mumble that you will before maintaining your composure for just long enough that the door can shut between you. Then you are running and thinking to yourself that no knowledge or riches are worth this, that maybe you should just seek out Lady Aglaea and submit to her yourself so that you can end whatever torment you have found yourself in.

3. Results

“What are you helping Professor Anaxa study, anyways?” Castorice says to you, pausing in the middle of tracing words on a page for you to copy. “He just said that you’re a trusted expert helping him make a scientific breakthrough, and that was that. I tried asking Phainon, but he said he had no idea either, or at least none that he could understand.”

“Trusted expert?” you repeat. She blinks when you drop your pen, bending to pick it up and setting it in front of you as you snicker. “What sort of a joke is he playing? What, do you think I’m some renowned scholar, too? When I can’t even read or write!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not smart,” she says quietly. 

“I appreciate that,” you say. “But I’m just a petty thief from Okhema who tried to rob the wrong man.”

“You tried to rob Professor Anaxa?” she says, eyebrows raising.

“Phainon,” you say, shaking your head and taking the pen, tracing the letters of the name she wrote for you, C-A-S-T-O-R-I-C-E. “Actually, I would have gotten away with it if, at that moment, he hadn’t dropped the juice he was drinking and therefore noticed me…”

“So he brought you here instead of taking you to Lady Aglaea. I understand now,” she says. “You’ve got a lot of courage for even trying that with a Chrysos Heir.”

Her nonjudgmental tone heartens you, and you double down on your writing with a small grin. You’ve never told anyone of your exploits, not even your mother, who would likely only grow more ill if she knew the truth; of course, they’re not something to be proud of, necessarily, but they’re all you have, and you’re suddenly filled with the need to brag to someone.

“I even stole from Prince Mydeimos once,” you say.

“You were successful!” she says with a gasp. You think back to the day, the disappointment on the younger man’s face, the dinner you bought with the coins he gave you, and then you nod. 

“Indeed,” you say.

“Most impressive,” she says. “So you are teaching the professor of larceny and whatnot?”

“It would be better if I was,” you say. “But no. He just says vague, cryptic things while I stand there and think it’d be better if I just asked Lady Aglaea to kill me instead.”

“I think most people get that sense from him,” she says. “Why do you stick around, then? You’re not like Phainon and I, who are trying to study and graduate. You’re not a student at all, so naturally, you can leave whenever you want.”

She is right. There is nothing tying you to the Grove, except that it is warmer here, the blanket thick, not threadbare, the room lit with cheery candlelight, your meals coming with a punctual regularity even if you do nothing but lie around all day, as you sometimes are prone to doing. And, too, there is that promise which Anaxagoras made to you — chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold. If such a miracle is possible, you want to see it. Even if you never learn how to accomplish it yourself, you think that just witnessing it might be enough to push you forward, to keep you from giving up entirely.

“Why did you tell me you would teach me about chrysopeia?” you ask Anaxagoras one day, while he is furiously scribbling equations with a piece of chalk that grates on your nerves with its every scrape against the black board. “In all the time I have been here, you haven’t even shown me anything about it. You tell me other things, about pricks of fire in the sky and the way the world will end, but that’s not what I was promised.”

“You’re still interested in that?” he says without turning around, though his handwriting grows exponentially messier, to the point that you cannot even hope to decipher it, if you ever could. “I thought you didn’t care for it any longer.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you say.

“You can read now, and you’re even beginning to write a little,” he says. “You know truths about our place in the universe that most can’t handle even beginning to consider, and you have taken them into consideration with a gameness that only someone with a uniquely open mind could. After all of that, how can you go back to living as a thief? How can you go back to who you used to be?”

Now that you have met him, how can you leave? It’s not what he’s saying, but it’s what you understand, or at least what you want to. You shake your head, because this is not something you should want, and then you draw your arms around yourself in an embrace.

“My mother needs me. I have spent so long here without checking on her, and I cannot in good conscience continue to leave her alone. As soon as you teach me, I will go from this place,” you say.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says calmly, blithely. “Be here punctually. I don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Right,” you say. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

Yet the next day, he says he does not have time, and the day after, he spends so long explaining the history of alchemy that he must sprint to his next lecture in order to avoid missing it — not that he does, of course, preferring to show up late than in a hurry — so on and so forth until you are sure he is doing it on purpose. 

“I’m serious,” you snap when you walk in on the day that you find yourself fed up with his dallying. “Whether you show me or not, I’m leaving after — hello?”

The laboratory is empty, eerie and haunting without Anaxagoras’s biting words slicing through the silence. You furrow your brow, and for a moment you are irritated to the point of leaving for Okhema then and there. Who is he, to make these arbitrary decisions about your own life? Phainon has long ago forgiven you, if he ever even held a grudge in the first place, and Castorice has never had any ill-will to you to begin with. It is only he who is stubbornly keeping you here, Anaxagoras, who keeps promising you something that he is determined to never follow through on, dangling it before you to tease you in the way one might tease a young Dromas with an overripe peach. 

Something stops you before you can, though, and then you’re tiptoeing further into the room with a thief’s well-trained footsteps, soundless like a whisper carried away by the wind, searching for the source of that urge, that odd sensation that you have never felt before.

You come across a small notebook, and before you can stop yourself, you tuck it into your pocket, close to your hipbone for safekeeping. It is not enough to calm the drumming of your heartbeat, but you feel as though it is important, so you keep it as you continue in your search.

Then you are gasping, for you see him on the other side of the desk, collapsed and pale, gold dripping onto the marble floor from a wound in his forearm. It’s mesmerizing, how the rivulets gleam in the dim light, how they still darken his sleeve the same as any normal person’s blood might. There is a deathly pallor cast over his slumbering form, his hair sticking to his brow, and it’s an opportune moment for you to take everything from him, to take the heavy ruby from his ear and the metal embossed onto his eyepatch and flee. They’ll never catch you, they’ll never even think to, but when your fingers reach for him, it is not to abscond with his adornments but to shake him by the shoulders and whisper wake up, wake up, over and over until he does.

“Are you alright?” you say when he clutches his head, sitting up with a groan.

“I’m fine,” he says. “What a waste. So much blood, and I didn’t even get to collect any of it.”

“This is how you gather your materials to experiment on,” you say rhetorically. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I told you back then, didn’t I? You have to destroy yourself if you want to succeed. To obtain knowledge, you must first become a shell of your former self. Only when you have sacrificed enough will the truth reveal itself.”

“You’re telling me to sacrifice more, aren’t you?” you say, because you’ve learnt about more than just the universe in the time you’ve been here. “I have to be like you if I want what I truly desire. But what else can I give up?”

You help him stand and give him water; he sips on it pensively before telling you once again that he’s alright and you can leave for the day, if you’re so inclined. You’re about to hesitate, but then you remember it’s not your place, so you raise your hand in farewell and promise him you’ll come back the next day, your irritation forgotten in favor of something that you have only ever felt for another once in your life — your mother, who you worried over incessantly all through your youth and well into your adulthood. But this is different, because he is not your mother, he is no one in particular, and so you have no reason to worry for him at all.

Yet you do, and of the many things you have gained from the Grove, this is the one you abhor most and welcome least, although cruelly enough, it is also the one that you are sure you will forget last.

4. Conclusion

The journal you took from the laboratory taunts you, but you know you do not yet have the skill to read it, and you are reluctant to ask Castorice for help. It feels like something you should keep to yourself, so day in and day out, you shirk your duties at the laboratory, instead practicing your reading diligently, so that you may one day understand the sloping, elegant words.

This is a double victory, because you are then also able to avoid Anaxagoras, who you cannot imagine facing after you have stolen from him in this way. It occurs to you, a few days later, that this is your second victory over the Chrysos Heirs, and for some reason, the thought that you, a mere petty thief, have managed to steal from those destined to be gods, sends you into peals of laughter. You cannot tell Castorice about this, you cannot tell anyone, so you keep it next to the journal under your pillow, petting the triumph alongside the letters of the title page with your index finger, trying to sound it all out and getting further with every subsequent attempt, until at last you are able to read the entire account in one go.

5. Afterword

CHRYSOEPIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD):

Phainon has brought me a thief from Okhema. I would call him a fool for it, but between the two of us, the greater fool is me, for I have come up with this way to keep her here, although she clearly has the barest amounts of interest in it. But I cannot help myself — she is inquisitive, albeit mistrustful, and I do not think I can leave her to die, as she inevitably will if left to her own devices.

I had Castorice and Phainon inquire into the thief’s background under the guise of a class assignment. She is a slippery and elusive thing, but the two of them have access to that accursed Aglaea Okheman resources that are not available to me. Phainon found her mother, and so I have tasked him with the upkeep of the ailing woman; he is stupidly eager to be of assistance, which I find somewhat infuriating, so I have told Castorice that she is to teach the thief how to read and write. In the meantime, I have continued my experiments, although mercury is proving to be difficult to work with, and I must take breaks frequently enough that it bothers me to no end.

The thief is interested in my blood. I suppose to the unknowing, it does look like something precious, and I commend her for never being afraid to ask her questions. She is right in one sense, as well — it is golden, and after all, the study of alchemy was once nothing but the study of the Chrysos Heir’s mysterious origin, that inexplicable shine in their veins, so perhaps there is some merit to the line of inquiry?

It is true! Aside from simple heat, if the mercury comes into contact with a sufficient amount of that, it will indeed transmute into gold. I have always known there was something missing from the simplistic equations and theories presented in textbooks on the matter, but to think that that final piece was in front of me the entire time, a separate branch of study that, were it not for her, I would never have attempted to connect with the first…

To all those who did not believe, this diary is the proof that chrysopeia is real. If you mix the blood of a Chrysos Heir with mercury over an open flame, it will first blacken, as the impurities of the mercury die, and then it will turn white. If you stop here, you will be left with a silver that never tarnishes, but if you wait, it will turn to a fiery red, and that is when you can be assured that you have made gold. If you doubt me, then you may try it yourself, though it will be difficult to find anyone willing to give up so much of their blood in the pursuit of proving a mere blasphemer wrong. 

In order to create the amount of gold necessary to become wealthy, one would need an entire body’s worth of blood. I have attempted to adjust the ratios, but it seems to be an exact and set proportion that resists change. This discovery is ultimately a useless one. I will have to keep trying, but I am not optimistic, and I have other things I must attend to, so I may soon abandon this study.

I can never give her what I promised her, but I hope that, whether she knows it yet or not, I have given her what she wanted all along. 

[geminorvm]

hes not beating the multiverse allegation