#splendour of the seas

[runariya]

🥸🪄🤫

Merman JK who placed a courting offer on a rock for a potential mate and human reader takes it. She also goes willingly to the mating cove not knowing JK prepared it for their mating. JK's yandere show at the end when the reader tries to leave him after 🤫

Note: JK wasn't really yandere for reader unti the end. He really just want a mate but because reader took his courting offer, she's it for him.

Thank u soo much for accepting reqs! And u write so fast how do u do that? Your writing is also marvelous!

(yandere+fantasy+smut) part of the prompt game pairing: merman!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, S2"L", yandere, merman!AU, dark romance warnings: oblivious reader, fluff, language barrier (merman-language is italic and blue), smut, a little bit of fingering, big cock JK similar to the shape of a whale idk man..., unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, panic, realisation, yandere, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.375

a/n: aaaah thanks a lot for your lovely words anony! I hope it turned out just as you imagined it 💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The ocean is beautiful. 

You remember a film once, where the male lead whispered that the moon is beautiful as a stand-in for "I love you," but for you, it's always been the ocean. The sea is your love. The scent of briny air, the soothing rhythm of waves unfurling endlessly against the shore, the gentle nibbling of curious fish as they dart around you in the cool, embracing water—all of it anchors you, providing solace in moments of sadness or joy alike. It's what love feels like, or at least what love should feel like, wrapping itself around your soul, calming yet oh so profound.

You always marvel at the depths of the sea that stretch out before you, boundless and mysterious, and yet infinitely captivating. Sometimes, in those quiet moments when the world recedes and you find yourself alone, you long not just to stand as an admirer of its splendour, but to be one with this vast and enigmatic force of nature. 

And so, as you walk along the shoreline, as you do almost every day, your bare feet sinking into the warmth of the sand, you're taken aback when you stumble upon a bracelet resting on the stone where you so often sit to gaze at the waves. It appears pristine, otherworldly, with pearls and shells glistening in violet hues beneath the afternoon sun, a beauty far too rare to be discarded by chance on a lonely shore like this.

Your fingers trace its entchanting form, marvelling at the craftsmanship—the smoothness, the intricacy, though curiously lacking any engraving. You glance around, noting the empty expanse of the beach, and let your eyes wander across the vast waters; there is no one else here. The bracelet appears to be yours now by some strange serendipity, still, you hesitate for a moment, torn between leaving it behind and taking it with you, a part of you reluctant at the thought of it being swept away by the tide or snatched by a passing gull. In the end, you slip it over your wrist. But it doesn’t fit—too loose, and as you allow your hand to tilt, it falls away.

You frown, perhaps the universe is nudging you to let it go. But then, as you glance at the bracelet, now nestled near your foot, it occurs to you that perhaps it's meant to be worn as an anklet instead. That makes sense, and so, convinced by this thought, you sit down upon your stone and fasten the jewellery around your ankle. It fits perfectly now, shimmering with a quiet elegance in the sunlight. And as you lean back, stretching your arms behind you, allowing the coolness of the water to caress the tips of your toes, you know that it is, without a doubt, a beautiful day, and this small discovery seems to elevate it to something extraordinary.

It’s not long after when, suddenly, something stirs the stillness of the moment. You sit up straight, eyes wide, as not far from you, without so much as a splash or ripple, a human head breaks the surface of the water. Instinctively, you pull your feet close, nerves bristling slightly from the scare. “C-can I help you?”

But the man remains silent, drifting in the water, and as you squint against the sunlight to study him more closely, you spot what seem to be scales glistening on the back of his neck. Your mouth falls open in an instant—this can't be real. Yet here he is, a creature from tales of mermaids and mermen you once dismissed as fanciful myths. And here you are, unable to tear your gaze from his face, dark wet hair framing features both familiar and otherworldly, his violet-tinted eyes locking onto yours that sends a strange thrill through your veins. His smile, too, is not quite human but not wholly alien either, a delicate balance of sharpness and charm you think. 

“Wow,” you breathe, unable to conceal your awe, the astonishment spreading across your face in a grin of its own. He moves then, slowly, swimming a little farther away, and you feel a pang of disappointment, a pout forming unbidden on your lips. But just as quickly, he beckons you to follow, his gesture smooth and inviting as he stays near the shore.

Without a second thought, excitement bubbles up within you and you spring to your feet, hastily dusting the sand from your dress as you jog alongside him, eyes transfixed by the way his body moves through the water with such fluid grace. His tail—large, powerful—propels him effortlessly, and you're left torn between admiring his handsome face and the hypnotic sway of his tail. He makes it look so easy, this gliding through water, while you're struggling to keep pace, panting and stumbling to catch up with him. 

Soon, you find yourself before the entrance of a vast cave, its shadowy maw framed by a path of few smooth, small stones that allows you to cross where he has already vanished beneath the surface. Nothing would have prepared you of what you’re met inside. The cave is nothing short of paradise—sunbeams slanting through narrow crevices, casting a thousand reflections on the water’s surface, turning the space into a living kaleidoscope, while droplets of condensation plop gently from the stone ceiling, adding their own melody to the serene ambiance.

The merman is there, resting near a platform, still smiling that beguiling smile, making you approach slowly, leaving a respectful distance between you as you settle yourself against the cool stone wall. “It’s so beautiful,” you whisper, your voice hushed in the face of such breathtaking beauty.

He regards you warmly, then speaks in a language that dances on your ears like music, though you can’t understand it. Still, there’s an unmistakable sense of warmth in his tone. “I hoped you would accept my courting offer.”

You smile, pointing to yourself. “I’m ___,” you say simply, hoping the meaning translates through gesture. 

He nods, understanding the basics of this exchange, replying, “Mate.”

Thinking he’s simply stating that you’re human, you enthusiastically reply, “Yes! ___ mate. And you?” You point towards him right after.

His expression brightens once more. “Jungkook mate,” he responds, nodding firmly. 

It takes you a moment, puzzling over his words, and then the realisation dawns on you—he doesn’t mean ‘human’. He means ‘friend’. Of course! A wave of happiness washes over you at this revelation, more than happy to be friends with him. “Yes! ___ mate, Jungkook mate,” you repeat, beaming.

His eyes glisten even more at your response, and you can’t help but smile back, the sheer magnetism of his presence holding you in its thrall. It’s as if he’s cast a spell over you, drawing you into his world, his realm. But the moment is soon broken by the buzz of your phone, vibrating in the pocket of your dress, reminding you of your upcoming dentist appointment. Regretfully, you rise to your feet, an apologetic smile on your lips as you back towards the cave’s entrance.

Jungkook looks visibly disappointed, or so you think, as his brows are furrowing ever so slightly, though his expression is still one you're learning to decipher. 

“I have to go,” you say softly, “but I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.” You gesture as you speak, hoping he might understand. “___ mate, Jungkook mate. Tomorrow, sun down, sun up, I here.” You gesture dramatically to emphasise your words, and to your relief, his features soften, his nod of understanding clear.

With one last glance at him, you turn and make your way back out into the light, already counting down the hours until you return.

🌊

And so, seven days drift by, each one seeing you return to the cave, where Jungkook awaits with that silent patience of his, the two of you growing ever closer, your understanding of him deepening with each shared glance, each exchange of words. With every moment together, the awkwardness ebbs away, replaced by a gentle ease, as if you’re learning to interpret the language of his quiet gestures, his lilting voice that carries meanings beyond the reach of words.

It’s on the eighth day, after you’ve spent enough time together to almost convince yourself that you can read the currents of his mind, that something shifts between you. The anklet around your ankle, the one you now realise must have been crafted by Jungkook’s own hands, seems to have inspired you to gift him something as well.

“Kook?” you call softly as you step into the cool shade of the cave once more, a bracelet for Jungkook clutched in your palm, something you’ve carefully chosen, a small token of gratitude for all he has given you. You shouldn’t have called out, though, for there he is, as always, waiting by the platform, his strong arms draped languidly over the stone, his face splitting into a wide smile the moment he sees you.

“Mate!” he calls in return, the word making your heart twist in a way you shouldn’t feel. He means friend—but the taste of it is bittersweet now, the small seed of longing inside you growing with each encounter, but you push it aside.

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce quietly, lowering yourself to sit before him, close enough to feel the cool mist of water from his skin as his hand instinctively reaches out, resting lightly on your legs, as if needing to sate his curiosity for your strange, warm softness. You take his hand in yours—his skin wet, cold beneath your touch—and fasten the bracelet around his wrist. It’s titanium, chosen for its strength, its resilience against the sea, knowing it will last, just as you hope this tenuous connection between you will endure. “A courtship gift,” you murmur, the words familiar now—he used them himself every time he pointed at your anklet.

Jungkook stares at the bracelet, turning his arm this way and that, admiring it from every angle, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He whispers the word that has become his tether to you: “Mate.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if the gift means far more to him than you had imagined, and his gaze, filled with such raw affection, causes a flush to rise to your cheeks, a smile tugging at your lips at his sentimental reaction. 

But then, before you can make sense of it, his hands cup your face with a suddenness that takes your breath away, and his lips press forcefully against yours. The kiss is so unexpected, his pull so swift and sure that you lose your balance, your arms flailing before they instinctively loop around his neck as you tumble into the water.

He holds you effortlessly, keeping you afloat as his lips claim yours again and again, his cold mouth moving over yours with an intensity that blinds you to the cold water. You had wondered, more times than you’d care to admit, what he might taste like—whether the salt of the sea would be a part of him—but reality is sweeter than fantasy. There is a hint of salt, yes, but beneath it lies something sweet, something intoxicating, that makes you crave more as his tongue slides against yours.

His hands roam your body, sliding over the wet fabric of your dress, exploring with a curiosity that borders on obsession. His fingers press into your skin, kneading the softness of your breasts as his breath grows heavier, more laboured. You can’t help but let your hands wander in turn, feeling the smoothness of his scales beneath your fingertips, the hard muscles that ripple beneath his skin, as solid as the stone walls of the cave.

When you finally pull away, gasping for much needed air, your eyes meet his, and up close, they are even more mesmerising—violet speckled with flecks of black and blue, like galaxies swirling in the depths of his irises, and you reach up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, his lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss, and you imagine your own must look much the same.

Your peaceful moment is shattered when something thick and solid brushes against your thigh beneath the water, and with a startled shriek, you push away from Jungkook, not sure if your heart starts racing or stops altogether. But his arms tighten around you, keeping you from sinking beneath the surface, his expression shifting to one of sadness as he realises he’s frightened you. The panic ebbs as quickly as it came, replaced by a curious calm as you peer down into the water, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had startled you.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly, your surprise evident as you realise it wasn’t some sea creature that had brushed against you, but rather, something that extends from Jungkook’s tail. And again, you’re not sure if your heart starts racing or stops, when you realise what it is. “Oh!”

His arousal is unmistakable—large, thick, and utterly unlike anything you’ve ever seen, more like that of a whale than a man, and you swallow dryly as you force your gaze back to Jungkook’s face. He watches you intently, waiting for your reaction, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with an intensity that sets your skin aflame despite the chill of the water and his skin.

A deep heat begins to pool within you, your body responding to the sight of him, the proof of his desire for you undeniable. It would be a lie to say you aren’t tempted—to say he doesn’t stir something similar within you, something that makes your skin prickle and lungs work overtime. The wetness gathering between your thighs is evidence enough of that.

“Are you sure?” you murmur, your voice still echoing in the cave, your gaze searching his as if hoping he’ll understand the question without needing words. And perhaps he does, for his eyes darken with something unmistakable—an answer, a promise—before he nods, pulling you closer once more.

His lips find yours again, kissing you with a hunger that speaks of deep, aching need, his teeth grazing your skin, his rough tongue lapping at your lips, your neck, as though he can never get enough of your taste. You lose yourself to it, the world melting to nothing but the feel of his mouth on yours, his hands on your body, the heat of his desire coursing through you like a you imagined devotion would feel like.

You help him rid yourself of the soaked fabric of your underwear, Jungkook’s hands exploring your thighs with barely concealed curiosity before his fingers find the sensitive skin of your cunt, teasing your clit until soft moans escape your lips, your grip on his shoulders tightening without much thought.

But you pull his hand away, knowing the water will only wash away your arousal, leaving you wanting. Instead, you reach for him, your small hand wrapping around the thickness of his cock, marvelling at its size, the way it seems to pulse beneath your touch. Jungkook groans silently, his eyes never leaving yours as you guide him towards your entrance, the size of him daunting but the ache of desire overpowering any trepidation.

You take him slowly, gasping as he stretches you wide, the burn too much at first but quickly giving way to a deep, overwhelming pleasure as he begins to move inside you with the little bit of his cock that fits, each thrust sending sparks flying behind your pupils. He holds your legs tight, forcing your thighs together around the remaining part, the friction equally becoming almost unbearable for you, his cock filling you to the brim, and before you even realise it, you’re crying out his name, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his movements relentless as he fucks you with abandon, whispering words in his strange tongue, words you don’t understand but that seem to echo with a raw, untamed passion that makes your heart race all the faster, imagining he’s praising you, thinking that you’re such a good girl for him. 

You lose track of time, of the number of times he makes you cum on his cock, your mind a haze of bliss, his name the only thing you can remember to say. Each time you think you’ve reached your limit, he pulls another climax from you, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy, his low groans and moans clouding your mind even more.

Finally, you feel him tense, his body shuddering against yours as he buries himself as deep inside you as your physique allows, his release coming in thick, powerful pulses that fill you to the point of bursting. The sensation sends you spiralling into yet another orgasm, your body trembling uncontrollably, your mouth parting without a sound, as pleasure consumes you yet again.

When at last Jungkook pulls back, placing you gently on the platform, you collapse against the cool stone, utterly spent. It takes all your effort for the world to slowly come back into focus—the soft hues of the cave ceiling, the gentle lapping of the waves, the quiet drip of water from the ceiling above. 

You lie there, breathless, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, like the restless waves outside the cave, wondering what you’ve just done, what it means, and whether you’ll ever be able to return to the life you knew before.

But your mind can’t settle.

The realisation of your stupidity and naivety crashes over you in waves—the impossible reality of sharing yourself with a creature of myth, the deep-seated regret that gnaws at you like a tide pulling at the shore, whispering that this was a mistake, that you should have known better, should have resisted. 

You find yourself wondering absurdities—whether a morning-after pill could possibly work against the seed of a merman, or if his essence would simply fade away inside you like mist, dissolving with the salt water, leaving no trace behind. Your body feels foreign, strange now, as if you've been altered by his touch, by the unearthly pleasure that coursed through you, and an instinctive panic rises, setting your nerves alight, urging you to flee. 

Your limbs still tremble from all the orgasms as you push yourself upright, hands unsteady as you try to find your balance, desperate to extricate yourself from the surreal haze that envelops you. Jungkook is still there, watching you with those mesmerising eyes, his fingers gently tracing aimless patterns along your exposed thigh, as if nothing in the world could be more captivating than the feel of your skin beneath his touch. His gaze is so tender, so filled with awe, that it only deepens the ache of guilt growing in your chest, highlighting the dangerous ground you’ve ventured onto. 

You attempt to pull away, to create some distance between yourself and the fantasy you’ve allowed to take root, knowing full well that this is a world you cannot inhabit, a dream too fragile to hold in the blinding light of reality. But Jungkook’s hand is faster, catching your ankle in an instant, right above the anklet he gifted you—an innocent token that now feels like a binding chain, keeping you bound to something far beyond your understanding. 

You struggle, trying to shake him off, beginning to feel more panicked than you ever been in your life, but his strength is undeniable, your efforts feeble against the power of his hold, of the very being he is. 

And then, he speaks—softly, with that strange lilt of his voice, but this time, not in his tongue. The word that falls from his lips is yours. The sound of it stops your breath, chills not only the air around you but you too. And in that moment, you realise what you should have known from the beginning, what you should have seen the moment you clasped that anklet around your leg—you’ve crossed a threshold that cannot be uncrossed, a line that cannot be erased. 

“Mate.” 

[stjohnstarling]

We really don’t talk enough about the spleen these days. People used to talk about the spleen like it was the king of organs, Shakespeare wrote it verse, these days you’re lucky if someone even knows they have one. Moby Dick opens with Ishmael going to sea to drive off the spleen, what have you done for your spleen lately? I want to be complemented on the splendour of my spleen, just once. I want to taste splenetic delights.

[peppermintsparker]

there's a music store in my town that's holding a midnights listening party tomorrow and obvs i'm going and i am going to look so fricken cute!!!

[skzdarlings]

omg that sounds so fun!!!! (Sorry if this was quick I have your post notifs on) imma jump on this early!!! can we get “do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” W changbin? 😩😩😩

summary: you are in love with the son of your family's greatest enemy. he sneaks into your room one night after a party.

pairing: seo changbin/reader content info: petite!reader. mentions of past body insecurities. romeo-and-juliet style love affair. sneaking around. gun play that is somehow more romantic than kinky but still kinda kinky. explicit sexual content. word count: 2900 words.

-

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

-

You catch his eye across the room. 

There are a hundred people between you, bustling in their designer gowns and glittering in their jewels.  The hotel ballroom is an incandescent chamber of silver light.  The sun has long since set but the party plays on in its excessive splendour, never tiring of itself. 

You are tired of it.  The glamour of this lifestyle has turned more tedious than not.  At the centre of all this majesty is money, and everyone in this room prioritizes their wealth and capital above everything else.  They have fought and slandered and killed each other and they will do it all again, but they throw their galas nonetheless. Places to celebrate themselves and their so-called achievements, to flaunt their successes in self-congratulation. Everyone laughs and dances, spinning around the ballroom, sipping their champagne. 

You smile and demur, pretending you are having a good time.  You sit with your family and only interact with their trusted allies or those who would be. 

He is vehemently not included in that. 

Seo Changbin. 

He is across the room with his family, your family’s greatest enemy.  Your father and his father are titans of business and the family rivalry spans generations.  It started with your great-grandparents and you are destined to uphold it.  You will marry an appropriate man of standing, someone who will expand the empire, someone whose allyship is worthwhile in both the monetary and social strata.  You will have children and raise them to take your place, to inherit your name and all the blood and money that comes with it.  

Those same expectations are on your enemy.   You hold gazes across the sparkling sea of people.  You look away first. 

You are coerced onto the dance floor by one of your father’s chosen men.  You join that sparkling sea. It is always bizarre to brush elbows with these people, knowing very well they would not hesitate to put a bullet in your head under any other circumstance.  You catch the sight of a few discreet weapons as you are twirled around the dance floor.   Ostensibly, weapons are not allowed inside the gala as fighting is prohibited, but these people always take their precautions. 

Your dance partner spins you.  You twirl as per the dance, then stumble to a halt because Changbin is standing there.  He is dancing with someone too, has them spun out the opposite way.  You stand in the middle of the ballroom looking at each other, faces equally stoic. 

He is dressed in all black, austere and intimidating.  His black hair falls in a sweep across his forehead, just this side of too-long so it obscures his eyes if he tilts his head a certain way.  He is always so meticulously hidden in public, nothing but a walking shadow.  He is a dark reflection of his family and their grim reputation.

But his jovial laughter is in your mind, his witty quips, his jokester nature.  He is devastatingly charming and endlessly humorous. 

You would never know just looking at him.  Changbin is not the tallest man in the room but he more than compensates with his bulk and power.  Pretty much anyone would be big next to you, but you know what your hand looks like when laid against his, how all encompassing the breadth of his big arms feel when they wrap around you. 

He does not touch you.  He looks.  He smirks, like he knows your heart is racing.  Then he spins away.  Your partner pulls you back. 

The dance continues.

-

You say you are sick and leave the party early.  You are escorted back to the house with your usual security flank, sitting in the backseat of your limo with a guard on either side of you.  They wear bulletproof gear under their uniform, matching pale blue in the family’s colours, and wearing bulky glasses to shield their eyes.  They are all armed to teeth, wearing their holsters and belts.  They dwarf you almost comically.  They do not speak to you.

When you reach the house, you go straight to your bedrooms.  You have three rooms to yourself, each lonely space spilling into the next.  You dress in your closet, leaving the gown pooled in a silk mess on the floor.  You discard your jewelry and amble to your main room in a satin nightdress and robe.

You almost miss it, the sound so faint, but you swear a gentle knocking comes from your balcony doors.  They are still sealed shut.  Security did not notice anything remiss upon arrival, but there is a blind spot in the security camera on your balcony.  There are no cameras inside your room for privacy purposes.  But no one would know that unless you told them.   

And you have only told one person. 

You approach the balcony doors, wary.  You peer into the night, eyes roving the grand expanse of the brightly lit garden and swimming pool.  Wind rustles through the leaves of the trees and a security guard is finishing his round. 

You step onto your balcony slowly.  The security guard can only see you when you lean over.  He waves at you before leaving the yard, continuing the rest of his patrol elsewhere.   You watch him go. 

The world is quiet as it ever is.  You can hear the buzz of the pool lights and the tinkling of your wind chimes, little else.  You lean against your balcony railing and look over the yard.  You weigh the luxury of the estate against its cost.  Not for the first time, you ruminate on how it is absolutely not worth it. 

You sigh and turn.  Then you freeze at what, who, you find. 

You mistake him for a security guard for half a second, which nearly gives you a heart attack because they are never on your balcony.  But he is just wearing one of their uniforms.  You are not sure when he stole it, tonight or previously.  

Seo Changbin stands there in the blue uniform shirt and gun holster, winking at you behind bulky glasses.  He is pressed against the wall in the solitary blind spot, nodding his head to your balcony door.  If you open it a little wider, he can sneak in undetected. 

Like he has done a dozen times before. 

You feign nonchalance for the camera, humming to yourself as you step into your bedroom.  You push your door open all the way, positioning yourself in distracting view of the lens while he sneaks inside.   Then you follow and slam the door shut.  You both take a curtain and draw them together, meeting in the middle. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.  It is not what you want to say.  You want to say, thank god you are here.  I missed you so much.  But that is an utterly foolish proclamation.  You know better.  You have always known better. 

But the son of your family’s greatest enemy is standing in your bedroom anyway.  He looks at you, at where you clutch your robe, at where you wet your lips.   He removes the glasses and tosses them aside, as if to study you more closely. 

“I shouldn’t,” he says.  You cannot tell if it is an agreement or a question. 

“No, you shouldn’t,” you say.  You take a step back, because every second in his proximity only compels you closer.  It is surer than a planet caught in a gravitational pull, threatened to be shattered by the sheer cosmic power of the star holding it in orbit.

He steps with you.  When you take another step, he follows.  Back and back and back.  He feels big in this space.  Even though your room is massive, his presence shadows your little world.  When your back hits the wall and he looms in front of you, he is all you can see.  Nothing else exists beyond him. 

“Changbin, we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say, though you know it is useless to protest your liaison with any logic, because this is a matter of the heart and not mind.  That rebellious heart of yours beats faster.  “If anyone found you here… we’d both be in so much trouble.” 

“I won’t let them hurt you,” he says.  He speaks with such easy confidence, like it is a matter of fact and not hope.  He says it so certainly that you almost believe him. 

“You can’t promise that,” you say. 

“Yah, shame on you,” he teases.  “You know I always keep my word.” 

It is true.  Though Changbin has a formidable reputation, it has little basis in actuality.  He is a man of strong moral principle.  He does not like the fighting and brawling and warring.  He does not hurt innocent people, nor does he put civilians at risk for the sake of a stupid business. 

And he has treated you with more loving respect than anyone else in your life. 

Of course you surrender to him, again and again, sighing now as you lean against the wall and release your robe.  It falls open and reveals your little nightdress.  His gaze dives down your body, igniting sparks inside you.  You were once insecure about your appearance, taking to heart your mother’s admonishments, that you were scrawny and gaunt, nothing but a burden as they struggled to find a match for you. 

It is no struggle for Changbin.  He curses even though he has seen you a dozen times.  He holds your hips, then runs his strong hands up your body so you shiver all over.  He cups the back of your head and draws you close, like he intends to kiss you.  You are ready for it, eyelids heavy and lips parting. 

With his other hand, he reaches for his chest holster.  You blink as he slowly draws the gun, as he brings it closer to you.  It feels like your whole body turns to liquid heat, heart thundering as he rests the barrel so delicately against your temple. 

“See, baby,” he says, “if they find us, they’ll blame me.  What was a little thing like you supposed to do, ah?  Fight me?” 

You are breathing harder, already so hot with anticipation.  You gasp when he tugs you closer still, the gun still tapping your temple. 

His lips are so close to yours, they almost touch.

“Poor baby,” he says.  “She’s so good to her family.  It’s not her fault Seo Changbin climbed in her window and fucked her in her little nightdress.”  He moves the gun, making your breath catch again.  The barrel touches your lips then moves down, down.  It brushes a sensitive nipple, then moves lower still.  The cool metal brushes your inner thigh under your nightdress and your knees starting shaking, a delicious heat twisting in your belly.  “Tsk, tsk,” he says.  “No panties.  Maybe it’s not my fault completely.” 

“We really shouldn’t do this,” you say, but it is still not what you want to say. I want you, I need you, so so badly.

He smiles and lifts the gun again, all the way up to your mouth where he taps your lips.

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” he asks.

It is so funny; Changbin is holding a gun to your lips but you feel more safe than dancing among those people at the party.  You trust him so completely, so irrevocably, that you do not feel truly threatened for even a moment.  There is something so liberating and joyous in allowing your body to go completely lax, in forgetting all your many grievances for the short but blissful time you have with him.  Your heart is so full you could burst. 

You kiss the tip of the gun, then smile. 

“Well,” you say.  “What are you waiting for?” 

He tosses the gun onto the bed so he can hold you with both hands when he kisses you.  You moan against his lips.  His searching hands are careful where he touches you, squeezing and loving. He cups the small curve of your breast in his palm, rubs there until electric desire shoots to every extremity.

You shrug your robe off and he wastes no time gathering you into his arms. He holds you so securely, picking you up with no effort at all.  Then you are pressed against the wall with him pressed against you. 

“Yes, yes,” you say, gasping, as he kisses down your neck.  He hikes you higher, catching you effortlessly, guiding your legs around him as he kisses down to your breasts.  He wraps his lips around a nipple through your dress, making you clench your thighs around him, which makes him giggle like the maniacal tease he is. 

“You like that,” he says, and tugs your dress down to get his mouth on you properly.  He is so good with his tongue.  You feel a little giddy, thinking to yourself that it is his true weapon.  Fast, precise, teasing you and working you until you are tugging at his head and grinding against him. 

“I need you,” you say, breathlessly, “Changbin, Changbin—”  

You seldom take your time, given the danger of the situation.  With the house empty and both your families occupied, you have time tonight to go a little slower, but you simply cannot wait.  You are both accustomed to instant satisfaction when together.  Your body feels wrong without him inside it.  You need him like a breath of air. 

“Please,” you say.

You do not have to beg much.  He fiddles with his belt and his zip, then he repositions you.  You cover your mouth to catch your squeal when he pushes inside you.  He moans into your neck to stifle his own sounds. 

“Baby, so good for me,” he murmurs, sounding intoxicated from the silky feel of you, wrapped around him so completely. 

You know the feeling.  You are incapable of forming sentences, clinging to him desperately as he fucks you steadily against the wall.  He holds you with just one arm, the other palm planted flat to the wall, near your head.  You clutch his big bicep while your other hand sinks in the hair at his nape.   You fuck until he is close, when he carries you to the bed and lays you out. 

You lean forward and take him in your mouth, sucking him down until he comes.  He bites his wrist to keep his volume down. 

You wipe your lips, smiling.  Then you sprawl back on the bed, nightdress turned to little more than a sash around your middle.  You slide it off completely.  Even though he just came, he is already looking you with hungry eyes.  He puts a knee on the bed, evidently ready to pounce.   

You pick up the gun and point it at him, quirking a playful eyebrow.  He blinks at you, surprised, then smiles as well. 

“Baby,” he says.  “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” you reply. 

It just makes him laugh.  The sound makes your heart gush with sentiment.  He looks so handsome and sweet, hair pushed back, a light sheen of sweat on his neck.  He is still mostly dressed, tucked back into his pants, but they are open and slung low, his shirt all untucked. 

He gazes at you with deep, dark eyes, nothing but affection on his face.  He plays your game and strips his shirt off, then he crawls across the bed until he is close enough for you to rest the barrel of the gun against his temple. 

“Go on,” you say, nodding. 

Truly, his tongue is the greater weapon.  The gun does not stand a chance, falling out of your hand, forgotten, as he descends between your legs.  You feather his hair through your fingers, then dig into his scalp, riding the motion of his mouth as he licks and sucks and kisses you down there.   You come with a shivering sigh, your legs shaking. 

He lifts his head and wiggles his eyebrows.  “Good?” he asks, to which you can only nod.  “Ha-ha,” he says, lightly slapping your thigh.  “Of course it was.  It’s me.”

You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes. 

“You are incorrigible,” you say. 

He climbs up your body and kisses you on the lips, tasting of you.  It makes you whimper, delighted. 

“I think you meant to say incredible,” he teases.  “That’s okay, I understood you anyway.” 

“I’m sure you did,” you say.  Because there is a great deal of truth in that statement.  You and him are on opposite sides of this ridiculous feud, but you are in exactly the same place.  No one understands you better than him. 

That understanding is written all over his face.  He smiles tenderly, cupping your cheek in his hand.  His next kiss is the definition of romance itself, sweet and long, enough to make you swoon. 

“How much time do you think we have?” you ask.

“Not much,” he answers, then kisses you again.  “Don’t think about it now.  It’s okay, baby.  I got you.” 

“I know,” you say.  You wrap your arms around each other and hold tight, kissing again while you can.  The truth is, neither of you is in any position to dictate your fate.  But he kisses you like that does not matter, with no past and no tomorrow on the horizon.   You take control of this moment and consider it a happy ending for as long as you can.   

[itsswritten]

when the sea calls for three | intro

Paring: Azriel x Reader x Eris

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

I need you.

Those three words were all it took.

༄ 

In the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the room, flickering reflections of pinks and purples across the walls. Dawn Court had always been radiant, the sky, cobalt and rose. A sunrise all day long. You were proud to call it your home. 

You stood before the ornate mirror, fingers delicately adjusting the intricate buttons of your tunic. 

The decision to choose neutral clothing had been yours, a deliberate choice born from the realisation of what your new role weighed. You were to be a mediator, a peacekeeper, it only seemed fitting to don a uniform that symbolised your neutrality and dedication to maintaining balance among the realms.

The fabric shimmered with a subtle elegance, adorned with delicate motifs that whispered of the courts you now served. The tapestry of symbolism spoke something that words could not, of a new beginning, a new chapter– a time of peace.

The design along the back of your tunic, three majestic mountains rose proudly, their peaks reaching towards the heavens. Behind them, the sun emerged, casting its golden rays that spread warmth and light– a nod to your home.

In the left above, a fully fleshed sun beamed down upon the mountains, radiating its brilliance and vitality. To the right, three stars and a crescent moon were sewn with meticulous care, representing the rest of the solar courts and their celestial splendour.

On your left sleeve, leaves were hand stitched along your cuff,  bronze thread danced in a graceful swirl, climbing upwards towards your elbow, mirroring the silver icy shards that adorned the right sleeve. Autumn and Winter in perfect harmony. 

Around your collar, a delicate pattern of vines and roses intertwined, symbolising the beauty and vitality of the Spring Court's bloom. And along the trimmings of the tunic's bottom, waves swirled in a mesmerising dance, evoking the Summer Court's boundless energy and fluidity.

Your tunic jacket cascaded gracefully, halting just at your hips, while beneath it, a long, flowing cream pleated skirt billowed elegantly to the floor. With your hair initially draping freely, you gently pulled it forward, ensuring the intricate details adorning the back of your tunic were given their rightful moment to shine.

As you smoothed the fabric, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the role you had been given. Playing a bridge between courts, and worlds. A mediator between the people. 

Politics had never really been something you relished in, but you were good with people, and good with your words. Qualities that your friend desperately convinced you, were integral to this role.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your reverie, and you turned to see Lucien, your friend, standing in the doorway. His mechanical eye wiring at the sight of you. He was wearing a similar tunic, one that was longer on his body but mirrored the designs of your own.

It was Lucien who had told you he needed you. 

I need you.

He had written to you one evening. His correspondences were usually lighthearted and filled with friendly banter, but this weighed heavily in a way that was so unlike him.

“I could really use your help.” Lucien had breathed, when you came to visit after his letter.

I need you. I need my friend. I need someone to lean on. I need someone to laugh with. It’s been too long. I miss you. 

Was what you heard. His message had been simple yet poignant, a plea for assistance and companionship.

You had always had a way with words and sounds. Understanding the gaps in between the breaths, the underlying emotions and intentions woven into each syllable. Most didn't realise what could be revealed in their words. How the octaves and melodic tones of their tongues sung of unspoken truths.

Lucien and you had shared a friendship that spanned many years, reaching back to your earliest memories of childhood. As children and teens, you had been inseparable, playmates in a time that now felt like a distant memory. However, when borders grew stricter and tensions mounted, those days were abruptly halted.

It wasn't until the dark days of Amarantha's reign that fate brought you back together, through the intervention of Nuan, a mutual friend. She was a skilled Alchemist of your court, who had aided Lucein in his healing, crafting his beautiful golden eye. And because he was no longer a part of Autumn, you were able to reconnect and your friendship flourished, even if it was predominantly through ink and parchment.

"Ready to face them?" he asked with a tight smile, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

I’m nervous. Is what you heard under his words.

You returned his smile with a nod, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Of course, I was born ready Lucie” you replied, effortlessly flicking his nickname with a casual ease. 

Despite having a smart mouth now, Lucien was a name you often got tongue-tied in your younger years. Lucie had been a much easier sound to make, and you didn’t hesitate to use the endearing name when wanting to tease.

Lucien rolled his eyes, but your casual demeanour softened the nerves that had laced his previous words. That had been your intention.

Just one example of how your intuition always left you saying the right thing. Of course there were times this didn’t happen, but those occasions were extremely rare.

“We should decide which courts reside under our care before the meeting” Lucien began, striding in front of the mirror to adjust his own tunic. “And I have to say you’ve made more progress with Tamlin these past two months than I have in the past year," Lucien breathed, a hint of admiration in his voice while he smiled at you through the mirror.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "What, like it was hard?"

Tamlin's stubbornness had been a challenge, but your natural charisma and persuasion had proven effective in bridging the gap between his court and the others. His residents had at least started returning home, and thanks to your work, there was actually something for them to return to.

You huffed, before turning your friend around, pulling at his collar to adjust. Before tidying up his long auburn hair. 

"I can’t do both though Lucien. I'm not dealing with your brothers and Tamlin. That's too much, even for me” You remarked.

Lucien’s relationship with his brothers remained strained, the scars of their shared trauma running deep. Despite Beron’s demise, Eris was now Autumn’s High Lord. The brothers wounds were not so easily healed, and the weight of their history continued to cast a shadow over their interactions.

“Plus I do believe some forced proximity may do you and Tamlin some good” you pointed a look at him, referencing their damaged friendship.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at you. He couldn’t help but envy how effortlessly you seemed to navigate the complexities of every situation, every conversation. Always knowing the right words to say, and the right actions to take. Qualities that had undoubtedly drawn him to seek your assistance in the first place. 

Qualities he forgot he would also be susceptible to.

"I'll look after Autumn and your hotheaded brothers. You deal with the depressed blondie," you suggested, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes.

"Fine," Lucien conceded, begrudgingly acknowledging the wisdom in your words.

“I want Dawn, it’s my home and Thesan would be heartbroken if I wasn’t his courtier,” you asserted confidently.

"Then I'll have Day," Lucien negotiated, a hint of determination in his tone.

As the conversation turned to the remaining courts, you paused, considering the options carefully. The Night Court held a particular significance for Lucien, given his mate's presence there, but you were keenly aware of the tension that still lingered between them.

"I can take Night if that helps. I've already been the one updating their Spymaster recently anyway," you offered, your voice steady as you finally finished straightening up Lucien. Pulling your hands swiftly behind your back.

He mirrored your pose "Then I will manage Winter," Lucien conceded, a sense of resignation colouring his words. He wasn’t very fond of the cold, but neither were you. 

But he was happy to take this one for you, as you had taken Autumn and Night for him.

"Summer is mine. You can have the humans, your Band of Rejects or whatever they're called," you remarked playfully.

"Exiles," Lucien corrected with a humorous purr, a brief flicker of amusement softening his eyes.

“Apologies…band of exile…-d rejects” you humoured, before you felt him nudge you with his shoulder.

Your soft laughs filled the room before you tilted your head to look at your dearest friend “Look at you now. Exiled no more. Mr. Emissary of Peace” 

Lucien smiled proudly at the title, he had come a long way. This new chapter for Phrytian was daunting, but he was grateful to have you by his side “You ready?”

With a nod you grinned wide “Let’s go peacekeep the fuck out of them Lucie!” 

Next Part >>

a/n: Eeeekkkk so here's a little intro to set the tone and roles! Just a little disclaimer, there will be a few things in this series that haven't happened in the books, but it works for the plot. Only small things, so just go with it please! Excited to share this story with you all <3 - Lottie x

[nayziiz]

Bubbles | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Author's note: Again, shorter than I intended. Please send through your thoughts, suggestions, and requests!

Masterlist

She and Oscar attend Lando’s lavish New Year’s Eve party. Before the clock strikes midnight, Lando shoves a bottle into your hand and one into Oscar’s hand. When the clock does strike midnight, they kiss and then blow bubbles like the little kids they are. Oscar simply smiles at her as she goes around blowing bubbles at everyone.

The grandeur of the occasion was palpable from the moment they stepped foot into Lando's Monte Carlo apartment. Every detail was meticulously planned, from the shimmering decorations adorning the walls to the exquisite floral arrangements that adorned every corner. The air was filled with the tinkling of champagne glasses and the lively chatter of the guests, all dressed to the nines in their most glamorous attire.

As they made their way through the throng of partygoers, she couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer splendour of it all. The room seemed to sparkle with an infectious energy, and she felt herself swept up in the excitement of the festivities.

Oscar, ever the charming companion, guided her through the crowd with ease.

As they navigated through the bustling crowd, Oscar's shy smile was a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere surrounding them. He made a concerted effort to find a quieter corner where they could relax and settle in for the evening. Among the sea of guests, Lando's vibrant presence stood out like a beacon, effortlessly gliding through the party, engaging with one person after another.

Suddenly, Lando's trajectory shifted as he caught sight of Oscar and his girlfriend. With an exuberant grin, he veered towards them, his energy infectious as he enveloped Oscar in a jovial embrace.

“Ah, you came!” Lando exclaimed, his voice carrying over the din of the party as he wrapped an arm around Oscar's shoulder. Oscar, slightly flustered by the sudden attention, chuckled softly before introducing her to Lando.

“This is Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth. She smiled politely, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at the introduction.

“We’ve met, Osc, multiple times,” Lando cackled, his laughter ringing out before he was pulled away by another guest, leaving Oscar and her to exchange amused glances.

Despite the brief interaction, she couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Lando, his infectious laughter lingering in the air even as he disappeared into the crowd once more. And as she turned to Oscar, she couldn't suppress a smile, grateful to be sharing this moment with him amidst the whirlwind of Lando's lavish New Year's Eve party.

As the final moments of the year dwindled away, Lando, the consummate host, embarked on another circuit of his lavish apartment, ensuring that every guest was ready to welcome the new year in style. It was during this round that he once again found himself in the company of Oscar and his girlfriend.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Lando produced two bottles of soapy liquid, the promise of joy and whimsy evident in their frothy contents. Handing one to each of them, he grinned expectantly before drifting off to spread his infectious enthusiasm elsewhere.

As the countdown to midnight commenced, Oscar pulled her closer, the anticipation of the impending moment palpable in the air. The room buzzed with excitement as the seconds ticked away, each one bringing them closer to the dawn of a new year.

And then, amidst the collective cheers and jubilation of the crowd, the clock struck twelve, marking the birth of a new beginning. In that fleeting moment, enveloped in a shimmering cascade of bubbles and the warmth of each other's embrace, they shared a tender kiss—a silent vow to greet the future hand in hand, come what may.

As the euphoria of the midnight kiss subsided, she felt a surge of playful energy coursing through her veins, ignited by the bubbles clutched in her hands. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she pulled away from Oscar's embrace, embarking on a whimsical journey that carried her through the labyrinthine corridors of Lando's opulent apartment.

With each exhalation, she released a flurry of iridescent bubbles into the air, their delicate forms dancing on invisible currents, casting prisms of light across the room. And to her delight, she found herself accompanied by a merry band of fellow revellers, their laughter mingling with the soft pop of bursting bubbles as they joined her in this impromptu escapade.

Oscar watched on, his smug smile betraying a sense of pride as he witnessed her unbridled joy, her laughter echoing like music in the air. Amidst the throng of guests, she moved with an effortless grace, her infectious enthusiasm drawing others into her orbit, if only for a fleeting moment.

And as she laughed and chatted with her newfound companions, Oscar couldn't help but marvel at the way she effortlessly embraced the spirit of the evening, allowing her inner child to roam free in a world of bubbles and laughter. In that moment, surrounded by the shimmering spectacle of Lando's lavish party, they shared a silent understanding—a reminder that sometimes, the simplest moments hold the most profound beauty.

“I like her,” Lando commented. “Keep her around. She’s good for you.”

Lando's words cut through the festive din, his voice carrying a sincerity that resonated deeply with Oscar. Pausing for a moment to take in the scene unfolding before them, he nodded in silent agreement, a sense of gratitude swelling within him.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched her twirl amidst the bubbles, her laughter like a beacon of light in the darkness. “I think I'll keep her.”

There was a warmth in his voice, a certainty born from the knowledge that he had found something truly special in her. And as he turned his gaze back to Lando, he couldn't help but feel a surge of appreciation for the unwavering support of his friend.

“I think you're right. She's more than just good for me—she's everything I never knew I needed,” he said, his words laced with genuine emotion.

[spicyclover]

You used me

Summary : It's bittersweet to think about the damage that you did.

Next part of "You betrayed me"

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

When the door closed that night, I collapsed on the floor of my kitchen, on the cold tiles. In the weeks that followed, I spent them in a blur. I kept myself busy to stop thinking, to stop thinking about you. I lived on automatism. I'm a fucking robot, because of you. I get up in the morning without motivation and go to bed with the ball in my stomach to meet you in my dreams.

I’ve been going over and over our conversation. I’m a bet. A fucking, humiliating bet. I have never been more shame than that evening. Everyone knew and no one told me. They knew that I loved you so bad, and I let you treat me like that. I'm so naïve. I just want myself back. I just wanted to be enough. Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded? Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing? But don't tell me you're sorry. You should feel sorry for yourself. An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean.

Once the door was closed. My friends left with you. Because you bring them more than I could ever and it hurts like hell. To see these "friends" I know since my early childhood mock me for my naivety. Until this day, it is hard to believe. I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one, In a short time you became the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I like to dream. And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone.

It's bittersweet to think about the damage that you did. You betrayed me.

For the first time since we broke up, I saw you in the street. You had your arm on a new girl. Showing her off like she's a new trophy. A happy and rested look on your face. I wish I dared to come running and punch that smile off your face, but I couldn’t move. You hang out in public with her, but never with me. I went home with tears in my eyes and no morale. It was the first time I managed to leave home after weeks of moping.

The more time passed, the more I felt my head getting out of the water. My body was less numb and I started breathing again, enjoying what I used to love. I adopted a little puppy at this time of my life, the kind we talked about in our long late-night discussion about our future together. You gave me your word. He's the world to me now. Milo, the dog.

The late afternoon often takes me to the beach. I let Milo run on the deserted beach and play with the waves. I take advantage of this moment of calm to observe the sunset. I breathe in and out deeply, letting my last thoughts of you go into the sea. I feel free. After three months of hell, I’m back to normal, like you never existed.

"Hi, bab..." That voice is yours. Why do you come back? Why do you haunt me like that? I turn around and there you are, in all your splendour. Your curls are more beautiful than ever, your face more beautiful than ever. I can't let you win. I walk away from the beach. Milo follows me. I feel your eyes following me soon it's your footsteps I hear. "Please, Y/n, I need to talk to you."

"I think you said enough. You should go back to your new girlfriend. I think she's getting lonely." I said without looking back. The waves fade and I feel your hand grab my arm.

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

synopsis: you are a travelling artist, transversing the galaxy. Thus, on your curt trip to penacony, you see a man and paint him.

including: aventurine

side comments: my rawest writing piece yet. the piece is meant to be up for interpretation and i wanted to take a more vague standpoint. this is not necessarily an x reader fic, please keep that in mind. thank you @/stellaronhvnters members for giving me tips. sending you all lots of love!

extra: angst, gn reader, boothill makes a short appearance, subtle 2.1 spoilers words count: roughly 963

You saw him on three occasions.

The first was under the incessant flash of Penacony's lights, the ubiquitous glint of inordinate advertisements trailed behind you like children. He stood amongst the dreamers with fashion and flare: the subtle sway of his right earing was charmed you. While his shoes reflected opulence and splendour. The number pressed onto his neck- similarly pressed against the folds of your mind: the place in which the eyes stare onto the shore and cast spells of what if’s.

Yet, despite the nature of his novelties and the soulful satire of his smile, you paused- traffic and light bending into sound.

What was he? You pondered. Perhaps he is perched in towers and rolls dice like candy; pecking it afterwards. Perhaps he sharpens his shoes as he does with his eyes. Perhaps he stands still in showers of salty rain, drying his cheeks with the rim of his velvet hat.

Was he a dreamer too? You would of blinked in affirmation, griped your breath a touch tighter and trace his footsteps. Lifting it on to the palm of your hand, tucked it into the haven of your pocket, cradling it like an infant, raising it like a lush fern. A portable paradise euphonious and maternal.

From there you shifted your weight onto your good side and tapped your feet to the beat of your heart, matching it to the song of his hushed ingenious breath.

He was here before, you noted. Clearly, not for leisure nor for pleasure. His strides were candid, curt, and clever. Yet, from afar, it was as if the tip of his shoes was his only connection between ground and sky. His steps bounced, rebounding off by sheer force alone; leaping mid-air, leaping with vigour and intention, leaping over wide yawning chasms.

He was galloping towards, not bothering to gaze back. His image blended into one of a horse standing amidst fields teeming with immeasurable and verdant grassland. The horse and their lush nature, a loneliness that can't be contended with as they lowered their gaze like swans. Their mane brushed against skin; preparing to consume the earth generously all on their own- unaccompanied by instruction, coddling or order.

You pause and step back from the slender and poised length of his legs, from the cage of his chest in which gold is born and coiled, from the rings of his eyes that pirouette and roulette. Hence, pondering curiously what kind of bone does not break despite its beatings.

The second time you saw him was when the sharp pungency of grapefruit- twirled with the salt which lined the rim of your glass- produced a sweet taste on the stage of your tongue. At the time the drink was fresh, garnished and plainly odd considering the dim, velvet aura which vibrated through the bar. The taste lingered in your mouth: reminiscent of a sultry summer afternoon.

His hair, you then realized, was scintillating in the gleam of bottles and booze. You wavered a bit, eyes blurry, hot and wet like the sea. He twirled and tuned with the light, the brand of his watch blurring with another sip of rum.

You don't recall any music, however, in that liminal moment between one song and the next, between one sip and a single swallow, your mouth split open in a wide glowing grin.

One foot over the other- glass in hand- serenading in dim light, crash after crash, bass strung with tangible words- it echoed deep and slow.

From there he stares forward, kissing the rim of his glass, dissipating with light as he seems to do. For a split second, he is vulnerable in the state of lassitude.

However, not before unfurling, smiling then melting. He was flying close to the sun; grazing his hands over its rims. Bright young man, you noted.

You pause and step back from his supple lips- insoluble when met with torrents, solid when left to eternity, liquid when set alive, gone when used up.

The third and final time was when his back faced you: his body resting, arms sprawled out in surrender, a single finger twitching. The memory is slipping. Like grains of sand trailing down your hand, like silk that won't hold a knot, like how rest is destined for those who truly slumber. Everecent in nature and poise. There, you wonder soundly, what stars have been bruised onto his back, and if you'd be able to draw them together- into one grand constellation that spans from one end of the world into another infinite void of true rapture.

"What a painting- or pain really."

"For someone who can't physically feel pain, your remark is rather funny," you quip back smoothly, your gaze still set towards the man's slackened joints and inner tenderness.

"You've been sitin' here for hours," bantered Boothill, "Four months really... since we left Penacony!"

You gingerly place the paintbrush down, pausing as you gradually step back from the lifesize portrait. A streak of yellow and purple paint stains your right cheek. "Today I am done."

Boothill raises an eyebrow as he watches you lift the painting onto a mantel: unhurried as a tree. Boothill watched you, morph the image of a stranger into blinding brilliance with each fastidious detail. How your subject- him- echoed volumes, his back against the world, facing tomorrow, embracing the amorous fold of limelight before departing, walking away into nothing with a princely smile and a single wave of his hand.

"Why do you paint him?" Boothill questions, his voice oddly dim and mellow, "You know nothin' about him."

Repose is found on your face as to your reply.

Boothill emits a frustrated sigh and reaches into his pockets; retrieving a lighter, you promptly flick it alive. The flame staring at you; wavering and swaying left then right. Your eyes are subtly idyllic and lulled as if drifting soundly in prayer; relishing the final wave of maudlin and soothing nuance.

"That's why I like him."

You set the portrait aflame.

"Because I know nothing about him."

masterlist.

interact with a comment! don’t be a silent reader 🤍

[galedekarios]

waterdeep & the city's wards: castle ward - part 2

"The splendors that await you in Waterdeep are legendary. Each of the city’s wards is detailed in this work, telling you what to expect depending on where you are, as well as what thrilling things you might see and do."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

waterdeep is divided into a system of wards and civic districts. the six recognized wards are:

dock ward

castle ward

north ward

sea ward

southern ward

trades ward

notable parts of the city that aren't considered wards are the city of the dead and deepwater harbour and its surrounding isles (deepwater isle and stormhaven island).

in this meta, i'd like to first focus on the castle ward of waterdeep. the ward contains blackstaff academy, the yawning portal, the undermountain as well as other important landmarks and locations.

castle ward

castle ward heraldry with a golden griffon

castle ward map made by reddit user ravenxalmasy

i'll include an ambience video to listen to while reading:

rainy streets of waterdeep by dungeon crawler audio

general information

in his waterdeep echiridion, volo introduces the castle ward as follows:

"The Castle Ward is the heart and mind of Waterdeep, if not its soul. It houses the city’s military forces, courts, government, and the Market — the largest market square of any city in the North. It encompasses the City Navy’s docks in the Great Harbor and all of Mount Waterdeep, and it is home to six walking statues, numerous temples, and many other landmarks."

i already wrote a meta including the walking statues of waterdeep in my the splendours of waterdeep meta.

the important landmarks volo further highlights are the following:

"Castle Waterdeep stands above the city on a great bluff that extends out from the mountain, its towers soaring hundreds of feet into the sky. It surprises many to learn that this isn’t where Waterdeep’s rulers reside, nor from where the city is governed. The castle was and is a redoubt of last defense should the city be attacked, but for well over a century, the ruler of Waterdeep has occupied the Palace of Waterdeep — also known as Piergeiron’s Palace, and still called that by elderly and long-lived citizens (including many elves). Though not quite as large as the castle, the palace is far more comfortable and lavishly decorated, with many halls used by government officials, guildmasters, and nobles for meetings and court proceedings. If you have reason to be invited (not compelled, I should hope!) to meet with the Masked Lords or the Open Lord of Waterdeep, it will likely take place in the audience chamber of the palace. There, you can witness the ancient and humble throne that Ahghairon first sat upon so long ago.

Many other buildings in the ward are given over to city business, including several courts for magisters and the barracks of the City Guard. So many of the ward’s structures are offices and meeting halls for business owners, solicitors, publishers, and the like that the Castle Ward has the smallest resident population of all the wards. Many landmarks of interest are found in this ward aside from the six walking statues (discussed later in this chapbook). You could hardly see them all in a day, but the following are highly recommended.

Blackstaff Tower is a squat black blot in the otherwise pretty ward. Humble though the edifice might be, looking at the place for too long can give you a queasy feeling and the sense that you are being watched — almost as if the tower itself has turned an unseen and wrathful eye upon you. Perhaps you think this fanciful. Well, go and try it yourself!

On the opposite end of the mountain, close to the Naval Harbor, stands Mirt’s Mansion. Once a fortress-like and glowering tower, it has been upgraded with more delicate fashions of architecture since the return of its long-absent owner. Mirt has quite a history with Durnan, the proprietor of the Yawning Portal. Together they descended into “the Well,” as the entrance to Undermountain was known in olden days. Waterdeep used to throw criminals in the Well, leaving them to die horribly in Undermountain’s dungeons. Durnan and Mirt entered the dungeons of their own free will — and not only that, but returned laden with treasures. Both used magic to extend their lives, but they eventually parted ways. Mirt kept on with a life of adventure, while Durnan built the tavern called the Yawning Portal over the Well and now, almost two centuries later, charges coin to descend into it. Not a bad way to part fools from their money!

The glorious Spires of the Morning, dedicated to Lathander, is one of Waterdeep’s most beautiful temples. But it is rivaled in this ward by the Temple of the Seldarine, dedicated to all the elf gods. The journey through Mount Melody Walk, a tunnel cut through Mount Waterdeep, to New Olamn’s academy of music and other arts is a wondrous daytime excursion. The Market offers a wild array of sights, smells, and sounds in which folk might lose themselves for a tenday. The Font of Knowledge is a temple to Oghma, yes, but also the city’s largest public library. Titles written throughout the ages can be viewed here — under the watchful eyes of the temple’s priests. In short (if I can claim this section of the enchiridion to be such), the Castle Ward offers far too many splendors to list them all here.

The Castle Ward’s colors are blue and purple, and its mascot is a griffon, typically depicted in gold. These borrow colors from the city’s flag and reference the Griffon Cavalry, of course. Champions for the ward often come from among the ranks of the Guard, the Navy, or the Cavalry. Although such competitors have often have the advantage in races and competitions, their crowds of rabidly cheering fans are naturally much smaller than those of other wards."

[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]

the description of the castle ward from waterdeep dragon heist reads as follows, echoing the stateliness of this ward in particular, with its many temples and sights of commerce:

"In terms of both geography and power, Castle Ward is the city's center. Most, if not all, of the city's administrative buildings are within the ward boundaries, from the lofty spires of Piergeiron's Palace to the low-slung crenelations of the guard smithy. While money and social standing are the prevalent benchmarks of might in the City of Splendors, Waterdeep's true power and what keeps it running are the Lords and Magisters here. If you like the taste of power and authority mixed with the usual commerce of the city, Castle Ward is the place to go. The city guard maintains a strong presence in Castle Ward due to the concentration of city officials and areas of importance in need of heavier security. Even so, the watch maintains much of the order, especially around the Market, the Palace, and the Castle Ward docks. Like the guard, the watch makes a show of force in Castle. Ward, traveling in larger patrols of six and brandishing short swords in addition to their normal rods and clubs. The ward boundaries are the southern side of Julthoon Street over to Shield Street and down to Trader's Way on the north, meeting up with the High Road and Snail Street for the eastern perimeter. Lackpurse Lane, Belnimbra's Street, Gut Alley, and Shesstra's Street combine in an uneven boundary to the south, whereas the mountain and the coastline form the western edges of the ward. While Castle Ward covers the most territory, Mount Waterdeep makes up a lot of empty land and the ward is effectively a little larger than Sea or North Ward."

"It is hard to pin down a "typical" architectural detail for Castle Ward, as there are so many different structures here that dominate the skyline. The city buildings, temples, and wizards towers are impressive stone structures, with the Palace and Castle in leagues of their own. Folk who quest for power but lack the funds to rise above the merchant class often dwell in the environs north of Waterdeep Way, their homes either well-kept row houses of three to four stories or individual homes of one or two stories. In either case, structures tend to be timber and wattle-and-daub with stone foundations nestled among the shops. The southern leg of the ward is primarily made up of barracks and warehouses attached to the castle and to various wealthier merchants and noble houses. The only discernible difference between Castle Ward's docks and Dock Ward are the heavier watch patrols. In terms of roads and byways, Castle Ward is by far the easiest ward to traverse due to the paving on many of its larger, primary roads. Even with heavy cart traffic on the roads, it is possible to travel from the Field of Triumph to Castle Waterdeep in the same time it takes to cover one-third of Dock Ward's docks. The paving is primarily for access by dignitaries and officials of the city and other foreign powers (and use during holidays for parades)."

[source: waterdeep dragon heist]

neighbourhoods of the castle ward

the neighbourhoods of the castle ward with notable landmarks and buildings are listed as follows:

The Market

Upmarket: Amberpaths, Cascades, The Cliffride, Elvarren's Lane, Head Lane, Highdrake, Melshar's Ride, Spireshadows, Tanthruil, Tchozal's Race, Toalar's Path

East Midcastle: The Buckle, The Catwind, Duir's Trod, Eldath's Alley, Elsambul's Lane, Goldstar Path, The Houndtwist, Lamp Courts, Lhestyn's Turn, Lhoril's Alley, Manyspells Court, Solemnar's Trod, Summerkeep, Sweetglade, The Waverise, Zeldan's Alley

West Midcastle: Alnether's Prowl, Asmach's Wind, Autumngleam, Blackstave, Cage Street, Cymbril's Trod, Dozenalley, Hippogriff Maze, Jester's Court, Marlar's Lane, Mulgomir's Way, North Swords, Siren Lane, Threeshields, Turnback Court

Piergeiron's Palace: Aghairon's Plaza, Fetlock Court, Piergeiron's Palace

Downcastle: Barracks Court, Castlefoot, Court of Gems, Glittergleam, Mountroot, Old Temple, Owlroost, Portal Lane, the Reach, Tarnished Silver

while the living conditions range from the very wretched to those wealthy and aristocratic.

landmarks and notable locations in the castle ward

there are many landmarks worth exploring in the castle ward. in this post, as well as the posts centered around the wards, i'll mainly focus on those important to gale's story:

blackstaff tower/academy

the yawning portal

promenade of the dark maiden (my own oc purposes and all those who have a drow tav or a tav that follows the dark maiden eilistraee)

i will still touch on other landsmarks and locations, but not as in depth.

blackstaff tower / academy

Gale: “A misadventure from my days as an apprentice at Blackstaff Academy. I was but a child, only a few months into my studies, but already I knew I was destined for greatness. No one believed me, of course, so I decided to prove it. To cast a spell with the Blackstaff itself. From one perspective, I succeeded. I opened a portal. However, instead of pointing it at the first year dormitory, I found myself pulled into limbo, facing a very irritated Death Slaad. Fortunately the Blackstaff himself came to the rescue, hauling me backwards from the brink, and straight into several months of writing lines. Or rather, finessing my autograph.”

[source: gale's dialogue after visiting the abandoned wizard tower in the underdark]

blackstaff tower concept art

the tower is described as a foreboding structure, made out of smooth black stone, with no apparent way to enter it, seemingly having no windows or doors. its main entrance was on swords street, while apprentices could gain access by touching the gate with a left palm. the tower itself was surrounded by a great wall (20 foot / 6 meters). [source: forgottenrealmswiki].

most notably, the tower also has the ability to magically repair itself, a process supported by laeral silverhand, one of the seven sisters and chosen of mystra.

more views of the interior of the tower, including the great staircase which connects the different levels of the tower, a reading room, an apothecary, the library and other interior structures:

the interior of blackstaff tower is also described as follows:

"From the inside, windows appeared to show what was going on outside, but these were illusions. The interior (but not the exterior) of the tower was warded against magical intrusion. The tower was protected against scrying magic. Rooms were connected to the central stairwell and entry hall, which was full of floating doors and arches. Many alcoves and shelves covered the walls of the stairwell, displaying magical items and artifacts, and although they seemed unprotected, a command word was needed to remove any of them. The items changed on a regular basis, so returning to the same stairwell on another day might result in seeing different items. Leaving the dormitories without issuing a command word would lead to the second level's stairwell. Saying the command word nhurlaen in the stairwell took one to the study. On the top floor of the tower was a study and a scrying chamber. There was also a parlor where Khelben displayed his art. In the library was one-way dimensional door to Candlekeep (the other side of the door led to Jester's Court nearby). As of 1374 DR, the tower's entry chamber contained a wardrobe that Khelben was able to use to access almost any closet in the tower. In the tower's kitchen, Khelben liked to serve cups of roasted chicory. Tunnels linked the tower's basement to Piergeiron's Palace and other locations in Waterdeep, which could be accessed by uttering the command word vhuarm. One such tunnel could be accessed at Northspur Rock on Northspur Landing on the Talltumble Stairs in Mountainside. [...] From the mid-to-late 14th century DR onward, the Tower was home not only to the Blackstaff, but to the Blackstaff's apprentices, which numbered fifty or so at any time. These apprentices, and their apprentices in turn, formed the Blackstaff Academy, an elite yet informal school for the training of wizards.

[source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal

Gale: Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar standoff back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments. Player: What’s the Yawning Portal Gale: An inn in Waterdeep. Never a dull moment there. Adventurers come from all over Faerûn to try their luck down the well: Leads into the Undermountain, you see - full of death, danger, and vast amounts of treasure. Hard to resist. Player: What was the standoff about? Gale: Oh, a drow, a dragonborn, and a cleric of Cyric walk into a bar. Your standard fare. Maybe someone was cheating at cards, maybe it was some weird lovers’ quarrel. In any case, out came the crossbow, and a hush fell over the entire room.devnote Player: What happened next? Gale: I stood up and yelled: ‘Shadowdark ale for everyone!’ The crowd cheered, the tension drained into five dozen tankards, and soon all was well again. Gale: In a place like the Yawning Portal, the most powerful magic is calling for a round of drinks. Gale: Mind you, all I did was call for ale, but you went and stood in front of that crossbow. I’d drink to that.

[source: gale's dialogue after saving sazza the goblin]

concept art of the yawning portal [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal, which we know gale references once in the main game and once in the epilogue, implying that he's quite a frequent patron, is an infamous landmark in waterdeep:

The Yawning Portal was an inn and tavern in the city of Waterdeep that was renowned for being the primary open route into Undermountain. A well within its walls led down into the first level of the vast dungeon complex. It was owned and run by the famous adventurer Durnan the Wanderer. The name "Yawning Portal" referred to the deep well and also alluded to the habit of its patrons to tell wild stories. Naturally, the inn was a popular attraction among visitors to Waterdeep and a common point of departure as well as a refuge for expeditions into the extensive dungeons. [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

A well-known inn and tavern whose main feature is a massive well on the ground floor of the tavern, some 40 feet across, that descends 140 feet into the first level of Undermountain. There is a rope hoist that can be used to lower or raise those foolhardy enough to venture into Undermountain, at a cost of 1 gp per person. [source: waterdeep dragon heist]

layout and menu of the yawning portral [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

location of the yawning portral

The Yawning Portal was located on Rainrun Street in the upper part of Waterdeep's Castle Ward between Waterdeep Castle and Snail Street[ and close to Mount Waterdeep's eastern slope. Fronting onto the north side of the road, it stood next door to Mother Salinka's House of Pleasure, and beyond that, The Empty Keg tavern, on the west side, and next door Lankathla Dree's Bakery on the east side. Nearby also stood the magician Sobrey's Magic Shoppe and the smithy of Argali Smith. The inn's relative proximity to the city's docks helped it do good business. Its site was exactly that of the former Halaster's Hold, the demolished tower of the mad mage Halaster Blackcloak, the builder of Undermountain, and the inn was constructed over the well to Undermountain, which had previously been a place of execution, simply known as "the Well". [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

its exterior was made up out of mismatched fieldstone and a roof of "a steep-angled roof of unpainted dark-gray and black slate", giving it a rather drab appearance from the outside. the building had no windows on the ground floor, only on the upper floors, but it boasted several chimneys.

an old wooden sign, which was recovered and reused each time the inn was rebuilt, read simply "the yawning portal".

volo during a visit to the yawning portal [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the yawning portal also boasts a host of rumours and legends, most recently, however, this:

Circa 1492 DR, a band of doppelgangers were rumored to operate out of the Yawning Portal. The Harpers and Emerald Enclave even sought people to investigate this.

the promenade of the dark maiden

"Eilistraee teaches us that we are not bound by the circumstances of our birth. We all may find beauty and light, if we have the courage to seek them." — Trelasarra Zuind

trelassara zuind, informal leader of the promenade since 1491 dr

the promenade of the dark maiden is located in the undermountain of waterdeep.

"The Promenade of the Dark Maiden was the most sacred temple to Eilistraee. It lay beneath Waterdeep, northeast of Skullport in Undermountain. The temple was composed of four major caverns. One cavern contained multiple buildings that were used as living quarters for the faithful. Another cavern named the Cavern of Song served as an open amphitheater used for songs and celebrations dedicated to Eilistraee. The third cavern consisted of living quarters for the priestesses. The fourth cavern was mostly occupied by the temple guards, storehouses, and armories. A large side cavern connected the Cavern of Song with Eilistraee's Mound. Within stood a large statue portraying the Dark Maiden (but actually modeled on Qilué Veladorn's appearance) and sculpted from a mound of rock. Next to the main temple was the Hall of Healing (a former temple of Moander that had been destroyed by worshipers of Tyr). This section was used as a place to shelter and tend to the temple's wounded and all those who were rescued by the Dark Ladies (including adventurers lost in the Undermountain). North of the Hall of Healing was a small cavern that was the destination of a one-way portal connecting to the sixth level of the Undermountain used to deliver wounded adventurers to the temple. Priestesses of the Promenade healed and welcomed any who came to the Hall, and were known to offer their friendship to (non-ill-intentioned) individuals of races who were more frequently than not met with prejudice and hostility." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

the promenade held some influence in skullport and they had made it their mission to free slaves and adventurers that ran afoul the more powerful groups and bands within skullport. this earned them the nickname "slave shelterers" and they were regarded with animosity by those groups. other enemies were also worshippers of ghaunadaur (greater god of abominations, oozes and outcasts believed to be touched by the dark realms, and a part of the dark seldarine) as well as worshippers of lolth (most influential drow goddess, mother to eilistraee and vhaeraun) and vhaeraun (eilistraee's elder twin brother and part of the dark seldarine).

the dark promenade's history is defined by those friends and enemies:

the founder of the promenade qilué veladron, youngest of the seven sisters and chosen of mystra, was guided by eilistraee to extinguish the presence of ghanaudar. qilué was helped to victory by the dark maiden and mystra against ghanaudar. the battle took place within the undermountain (third-level). after her victory, eilistraee spoke to her:

"You must make a stand here close to the surface world, and you must be ever vigilant against the return of Ghaunadar. For a mighty city of humans shall rise above this place, and if you are to make peace with humankind and your elven kin of the surface world, this place is best suited for you."

qilué obeyed the words of her goddess, and she and other chosen of eilistraee patrolled these dark corridors (mockingly called promenades). during that time, the temple was being constructed, becoming habitable by 1357 dr.

the promenade had 392 habitants by 1375 dr.

the population of the promenade was severely diminished in 1370s, after an attack by followers of ghanaudar, nightshadows, followers of vhaeraun:

"In the 1370s DR, the Promenade was attacked by a new cult of Ghaunadaur. Nightshadows, former followers of Vhaeraun and later followers of the "Masked Lady" (following the death of Vhaeraun at Eilistraee's hand, and her taking on his portfolio), were sent to infiltrate various drow houses who worshiped Ghaunadaur, but this allowed the cultists to locate some portals leading to the temple. Taking advantage of this, the followers of the Elder Eye proceeded to attack, hoping to release the trapped avatar of their god. However, the glyph of insanity that Qilué had placed on the prison made many cultists go insane. Despite this, the assailants were supported by an army of slimes and decimated the population of the Promenade. In the fierce battle, almost all the Protectors of the Song and Darksong Knights were killed, along with many of the priestesses and of the followers who lived there or were visiting. The battle also caused the seals on Ghaunadaur's prison to break and his avatar to escape, even though it would be soon tricked into attaching itself to a fleeing Nightshadow. He sacrificed himself, going through a portal that led to "a plane of endless mazes" and dying in the process, to trap the avatar there." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

after the second sundering, eilistraee returned and with that, she also breathed new life into the promenade:

"After returning, Eilistraee personally appeared under the walls of Waterdeep, leading many of her followers to travel to the city. Some of them found the support of Remallia Haventree and started creating a forest-temple, named The Dancing Haven, within Waterdeep itself. While originally meant to be created in the Field Ward of Waterdeep, due to the chaotic developments of that area, the Dancing Haven was temporarily moved to the North Ward. The Eilistraeens planted and grew a small grove of trees within an abandoned, roofless building, and then used it as a temple and base of operations. From there, the moondancers led a series of expeditions to cleanse, rebuild and resupply the Promenade. In the 1490s DR, a dozen priestesses, four novices, and nine lay guardians populated the temple; Trelasarra Zuind was their (informal) leader. Few knew of the restored Promenade (aside from followers of Eilistraee), but rumors regarding it restoration spread in Skullport." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

by 1491 dr, the promenade would have around 25 inhabitants again, including trelassara zuind:

"After the restoration of the temple, Trelasarra, a dozen clerics of the Dark Maiden, four novices, and nine lay warriors moved there. They established a new base of operations, linked to the Dancing Haven in Waterdeep. The followers of Eilistraee tried to keep their presence a secret but, as rumors started spreading in the near and dangerous Skullport, Trelasarra opted to garrison the temple as if at war." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

of course, the castle ward has many more locations of note to offer. the following list is taken from waterdeep dragon heist:

Rentals

Banderly Rooming House: A four-story boarding house kept by the Banderlys, two married women who pride themselves on providing good, clean, safe accommodations.

Fair Winds: Rental Villa

Heroes' Rest: Rental Villa, owned by House Melshimber

Marblehearth: Rental Villa

Sablehearth: Rental Townhouse (Northern Swords Street)

Sapphire House: Inn, Rooming House

Stormwatch: Rental Villa

Businesses

Baltorr's Rare & Wondrous Treasures: Shop (Curios) and Warehouse. A curio and coin shop owned by an expert on coins and military markings.

Crommor's Warehouse: Warehouse

The Curious Past: Shop (Historical Curios & Books)

Danimar Fine Wines: Shop (Wine) The Danimar family are one of the oldest holders of licenses by House Melshimber to sell its wines in the city of Waterdeep. They do a brisk business in both the imported and domestic Melshimber vintages.

Dathchant Engravings: Shop (Engraving services)

Diloontier's Apothecary: Shop (Apothecary)

The Golden Key: Shop (Locks) Ansilver the Locksmith (Southern Street of the Sword)

Halambar Lute & Harps: Shop (Stringed Musical Instruments) The premiere place to find any stringed instrument of the Realms. It is also host to a magical harp that sings by itself and is rumored to have connections to the Harpers in some capacity. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Halls of Hilmer: Shop (Armor). Master Armorer Hilmer's shop is hard to miss due to its front of polished plate armor. He sells custom-made armor that is without parallel on the Sword Coast. The shop features practice rooms for trying out his armor. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Hilmer Warehouse: Warehouse (Halls of Hilmer) (Southern Street of the Sword)

Kreis' Fine Wine and Spirits: Import/Export (Spirits) An import business run by Tyrannus Adarbrent.

Mother Tamra's House of Graces: School (Grace, Etiquette, Comportment)

The Market: The largest open area of the city that plays host to hundreds of stalls and camped vendors able to sell nearly anything in the Realms, and many thieves to relieve one of same.

Nureene's Marvelous Masks: Shop (Masks)

Old Knot Shop: Shop (Sailing Gear)

Olmhazan's Jewels: Shop (Jewelry)

Paethier's Pipeweed: Shop (Tobacco)

Phalantar's Philtres & Components: Shop (Herbs and Medicines) (4c). A small shop for medicinal herbs and ingredients for oils, perfumes and potions. It is said that Phalantar allegedly supports adventuring companies in exchange for the rare substances he sells here.

Rebeleigh's Elegant Headware: Shop (Hats)

Sorynth's Silverware: Shop (Silver Goods)

"Sharkroar" Horth Sharlark's Broadsheets: Printer (Broadsheets)

Velstrode the Venturer's: Shop: (Adventuring Goods)

Inns

The Jade Jug: Waterdeep's plushest inn with luxury in every detail, and well worth the expensive price.

Lazy Dragon: A newly-established inn (Old Temple)

The Pampered Traveler

Sapphire House: An expensive rooming five-story house across Swords Street from Blackstaff Tower that has provided room and board for more than one of the Blackstaff's apprentices who found the Tower to be a little too confining (Northern Swords Street)

Wyrmbones Inn

The Yawning Portal: A well-known inn and tavern whose main feature is a massive well on the ground floor of the tavern, some 40 feet across, that descends 140 feet into the first level of Undermountain. There is a rope hoist that can be used to lower or raise those foolhardy enough to venture into Undermountain, at a cost of 1 gp per person. (Southern Castle Ward)

Taverns

The Asp's Strike

The Blue Jack

The Crawling Spider: A tavern for subterraneans that pine for their homes (as well as regulars who like the thrilling atmosphere), decorated as if underground with serving folk dressed as drow elves. Well known for its subterranean dancing floor, and the many small "caverns" that lead off of it whose dark recesses are best left alone by the curious. (Southern Street of the Sword)

The Crow's Nest: A modest but comfortable tavern; a favorite among the clerks, bureaucrats, and visitors of nearby Castle Waterdeep. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Dragon's Head

The Elfstone: An old earthy tavern, with live trees in the walls and the bar, that caters to elves and half-elves, and is a rare source of such delicacies as elverquisst, guldathen nectar and maerlathen blue wine. (Southern Street of the Sword)

The Empty Keg: A rough-and-tumble beer-hall. Later in the eve, it often sees visits from some of the unattached ladies from Mother Salinka's next door, looking to lure some of the drinkers back to their boudoirs. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Flagon Dragon: A modest neighborhood pub renowned for its zzar (Waterdhavian mulled wine) and talyths (a palm-sized cracker with a thin slice of sausage on top, and a mixture of cheese, herbs, mashed root vegetables and other ingredients whose recipe is a house secret) (Northern Swords Street)

The Mighty Manticore: An older friendly tavern with ample ale and light evening fare at affordable prices that attracts a loyal clientele of merchants at the close of day.

The Quaffing Quaggoth:A dwarf-owned tavern and a growing favorite among the city's sailors, merchants and young nobles. The tavern is well-known for the house specialty: a thick-brewed stout mixed with an unknown liquor that is called the Quaggoth for its rumored ability to cure every hair on a quaggoth and then some.

The Red-Eyed Owl: A comfortable, unimpressive local ale-house that is a favorite of the average Waterdhavian locals, well-loved for its cheap ale and heavily spiced coast chowder. (Southern Castle Ward)

Sailor's Own: A crowded, dark, and dirty sailor's dive bar.

The Singing Sword

The Sleepy Sylph: A popular tavern for visitors to Waterdeep, featuring driftglobe lights and scantily clad waitstaff dressed as fairies. (Southern Castle Ward)

Festhalls

Blushing Nymph: An upscale brothel known for its exotic pleasures. (Southern Castle Ward)

The Crawling Spider: A tavern for subterraneans that pine for their homes (as well as regulars who like the thrilling atmosphere), decorated as if underground with serving folk dressed as drow elves. Well known for its subterranean dancing floor, and the many small "caverns" that lead off of it whose dark recesses are best left alone by the curious. (Southern Street of the Sword)

Genmura's Stage: A bawdy burlesque palace with two floors of small, cheap, stinking rooms above its taphall, Genmura's sees plenty of seedy sorts, criminals, dock hands, and sailors just come a'shore. (Old Temple).

Jhural's Dance: Nowhere near as raucous as many festhalls, Jhrual prides himself on the seductive, intimate environment he fosters in his hall. Plenty of alcoves and nooks to hide in with someone in close company, all surrounding a stage where his festhall workers dance to advertise their wares. His festhall is also notable for its equal proportion of men and women performers. (Northern Swords Street)

Lightsinger Theater

Mother Salinka's House of Pleasure: A shabby, low-coin festhall. (Southern Castle Ward)

Mother Tathlorn's House of Pleasure & Healing

The Smiling Siren: A festhall that specializes in small plays and the hosting of traveling troupes (burlesque and otherwise). (Northern Street of Silver)

Temples

The Font of Knowledge: Temple to Oghma.

The Halls of Justice: Temple to Tyr.

The House of Two Hands: Monastery to Tyr.

The Pantheon Temple of the Seldarine: Temple to the Seldarine (Elven Gods). When elven clergy of the Seldarine approached the Masked Lords to ask for permission to establish a Pantheon temple to their gods, it was considered a coup for relations between Waterdeep and the elven peoples. Waterdeep has always had an extensive elven population and is indeed the site where the Grey Ships of Evermeet come at Midsummer to carry away those elves who tire of Faerûn and seek to return to elven lands. When that permission was quickly given, the elves asked for an allotment of property right in the middle of a busy and crowded Castle Ward neighborhood, shocking the Lords. Even when pressed, the elves would not explain their choice; so without further ado, the grant was given. The Pantheon Temple is a tall, dour structure of gleaming white stone flecked with silver, but has within it a garden and long walking galleries between the shrines to the elven deities.

The Spires of Morning: Temple to Lathander. A walled garden compound with eight beautiful gilded towers that reflect Lathander's dawn. (Northern Swords Street)

City Buildings

Peaktop Aerie :Headquarters for griffon mounts of City Guard. Rorden Rialter Obyrdar is currently on duty at the Peaktop Aerie where the griffons are kept. 

Guard Barracks: City Guard Barracks (Southern Castle Ward)

Guard Smithy: Smithy for City Guard

Bell Tower: A simple bell tower used to signal fires, attacks and calls for assembly at the Palace. (15 Guard at all times)

Palace Storage: Warehouses for Piergeiron's Palace

Palace Stables: Stables for Piergeiron's Palace

Palace Paddocks: Paddocks for Piergeiron's Palace

Walking Statue: One of the eight known 90-foot-tall stone golems created by Khelben Arunsun to defend any gaps in Waterdeep's defenses, this regal figure stands at the Gull Leap cliff at the end of Julthoon Street.

Watching Towers: Sentry Towers

Piergeiron's Palace: The center of Waterdeep's government with various courts, embassies and city offices therein, as well as the living chambers of the Open Lord Piergeiron the Paladinson.

Castle Waterdeep: Castle for the Masked Lords of Waterdeep and the Magistrates' Courts.

Ahghairon's Tower: The slim stone tower of the original First Lord of the city that is surrounded by invisible magical barriers that suspend the skeletal remains of a wizard that tried to get into the tower.

Guildhalls

The House of Gems: Jeweller's Guild

The Map House: Surveyors', Map and Chart-Makers Guild

Fellowship Hall: Fellowship of Innkeepers. The headquarters of the Fellowship of Innkeepers that operates as a member-only inn one night a tenday.

The Master Baker's Hall: Bakers' Guild (Southern Street of the Sword)

Tower of the Order: Watchful Order of Magists & Protectors. A three-story stone tower surrounded by a fence of sparkling green lights that coalesce into Azuth's and Mystra's symbols, with the hand of Azuth over the tower door rumored to watch the tower and fire magic at any intruders.

Guildhall of the Order: Solemn Order of Recognized Furriers & Woolmen

Pewterer's Guildhall: Pewterers & Casters Guild

House of Fine Carvers: Fine Carvers Guild. The slate-roofed wooden base of the Fine Carvers Guild, easily found on the High Road with its frieze of carved animals and people, including Ahghairon and other First Lords.

The Market Hall: Farmers and Grocers Guild

Alleys & Courts

Cat Alley: this narrow twisting, turning passage was frequented years ago by a masked, rapier-wielding man of wealth who scared young women and cut away their garments but was never arrested.

Elsambul's Lane: named for a long-dead priest of Mask and now one of the few areas with graffiti on its walls (they say Elsambul himself still leaves enigmatic messages and clues to hidden treasures on the walls!), it attracts many folk beyond simple curiosity seekers.

Jesters' Court: a courtyard frequented now by hard-currency girls and minstrels that has also been a performance stage for jugglers and comics as well as a meeting place for eloping lovers.

Sevenlamps Cut: named for seven fancy magical lamps placed here long ago by Ahghairon himself, this safe alley is the place to hire spellcasters (apprentice wizards and poor underpriests) for quick healing, curse removals, or some magical firepower for your latest excursion into Undermountain.

Turnback Court: a lamplit, shallow alley at the end of Selduth Street that is used as a rallying point for watch and guard patrols both day and night.

this concludes my collection of information about waterdeep's castle ward for now. it's a sprawling topic, each and every ward, and i'm sure there are things i missed or forgot!

still, i hope this was of use to someone other than myself!

tag list: @evenstar-crescentmoon, @criticalgale, @ofthedirewolves

if you want to be added (or taken off) the tag list, please let me know! 🖤

[glassesfreekjr]

FOR REAL THIS TIME

The King Salmonid who all Fish Sticks aspire to be. The first Griller to surpass their mortal coils and ascend to a state far more... eldritch. A grotesque autonomous collective and yet a ruler in its own right. The aquatic roi des rats of the whirlpool's roil, whose name shall not be uttered. The worlds worst maypole by far, 0/10.

And yet there are sea creatures far worse, and far scarier, out in the unknown depths... beyond the splendour of the tempest; the sandbank’s luring smile. Encircled by flopping hordes of mindless and amorphous dancers, lulled amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes.

Waiting for their moment.

(Rough concept art courtesy of @zenders-art)

[hisui-dreamer]

ensnared by the stars

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: You waltzed right into his trap, but maybe you had done so willingly.

Tags: masquerade ball, dancing, sexual tension, pining, jade is slightly yandere, im thirsty for jade but what else is new, bot proofread

Word count: 1.3k+

Notes: my brain didn't plan out the schematics of an all boys school having a masquerade ball, so let's just retcon it and NRC is now a mixed school :)

fun fact this fic is largely based on irl events lol

also if anyone would like music to listen to for this fic, i recommend cantarella for the darker vibe or mr. turner's waltz for the dancing vibe :)

Masterlist

Jade leaned against the wall, surveying the sea of masked guests as he searched for you. The grand event had only just begun, and the anticipation was palpable as everyone eagerly awaited the start of the masquerade.

But what a joke it was. Crowley had the genius idea of holding an inter-school masquerade with RSA, all as an attempt to improve NRC's reputation. And the shrewd businessman that Azul was, he had been eager to take the opportunity and drain the wallets of attendees, selling masks, setting up photo booths with steep prices, and of course, the catering was all supplied by the Mostro Lounge.

But for Jade, the lure of the masquerade was not the promise of profit, but the chance to win your heart. For him, it was a battle, and one he was not willing to lose. The thought of another man winning your affections was unbearable to him, and with each move he made, he staked his claim on you, marking you as his own. And he knew that he was close to victory, that he would soon claim the ultimate prize of your love.

He couldn't help but wonder what you would look like in full regalia. It was a rare occasion for you to don your finest attire, and he was eager to see you adorned in all your splendour, He imagined how different it would be from the casual wear you often purchased from Sam's massive sales, and the ill-fitting uniform you wore almost daily. Would your mask be as intricate and dazzling as the constellations above us? Or perhaps simple yet elegant, highlighting the natural beauty of your face?

Perhaps, no matter what you looked like, the stars would no doubt pale in comparison to the sparkle in your eyes, shimmering with a radiance that was uniquely yours.

Diamond’s voice resounded through the venue as he called out for the partners to take the floor for the first dance, breaking him out of his train of thoughts. The air was charged with anticipation, a feverish energy that pulsed through the area. Jade’s heart beat rapidly in his chest as he looked around the dimly lit space, searching for you amidst the sea of sparkling attire. His eyes flickered back and forth, taking in the rich fabrics and glittering jewels that adorned the guests. Despite the dim light that obscured the features of the guests, Jade's sharp gaze could pick out even the slightest details, giving him a distinct advantage over the others who struggled to find their partners.

His focus landed on a figure dressed in navy and silver, the colours reflecting the grandeur of the room. A matching mask adorned the figure's face, hiding their identity as they turned their head this way and that, searching the room for their partner.

You were his dearest partner for the night, and if Jade played his cards correctly, for a lifetime.

A smile curved Jade's lips as he watched your frenzied search for him. Even in the elegant mask, he could recognize the sparkling eyes that he loved so much, now even more striking under the soft glow of the string lights. You were a vision of elegance and beauty, captivating his heart with every turn and gesture.

He glided through the swarms of people with careful, calculated steps, his hawk-like gaze fixed unwaveringly upon the object of his desire, unyielding in its focus. He was determined to ensure that no other could snatch you away before he had the opportunity to claim you.

As he came to a stop directly behind you, his brows furrowed as he marvelled at your beauty, taking in every detail of your form. Despite his close proximity, you remained oblivious to his presence, lost in your own world as you tried to find him in the dark. With a wry shake of his head, he raised a hand to your ears.

Snap!

With the clear sound of his fingers snapping, you spun around, your eyes widening in surprise before settling into a look of recognition. A demure smile graced your lips as you whispered his name. He returned your smile with one of his own, a genuine, loving smile so unlike his usual ones.

Bowing slightly, he extended his hand with grace and poise, his mismatched eyes locking onto yours in a captivating gaze. "May I have this dance, my pearl?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a hint of longing that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I would be honoured," you replied before curtseying, feeling the warmth of his hand enveloping yours through the soft fabric of your gloves.

As the music began to play, the two of you moved towards each other on the dance floor, your bodies already attuned to each other's rhythm like a well-choreographed dance. His movements were like fluid silk, each step a masterful seduction that left you breathless and wanting more. His every dip and turn was a subtle invitation, a wordless promise of the passion and desire that lay ahead. The air between you seemed to vibrate with a palpable tension, as if the mere brush of your fingertips was enough to ignite a blazing inferno.

Your bodies brushed against each other in a teasing game of proximity as you locked your eyes onto his. The music swelled and he drew you closer, his movements growing more fervent and intense. Lost in the moment, you felt your bodies and souls intertwine in a fiery embrace. It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in a dance that was as eternal as the stars themselves.

As you spun around, you couldn't help but ask, "How did you find me?" The words danced between you like a secret whispered on the breeze, as you swayed to the music, the rhythm of your hearts beating in perfect harmony.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he twirled you around like a puppet on a string, his eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky. "Oya? A gentleman never reveals his secrets," he replied playfully, his hand holding you close to his chest as the music slowed down to a gentle sway.

You could feel his heart beating against your own, as you looked up at him, taking in the warmth of his gaze. He leaned in, his warm breath tickling your ear, before whispering in your ear, "But I will say this—no matter where you are, I will always find you." His words came out with a fervent passion that surprised even him, his heart overflowing with love. The soft glow of the moon illuminated his golden eye that so many feared looking into, highlighting the intensity of his gaze.

You were ensnared in a web of enchantment, caught in the grasp of Jade's mesmerizing gaze. "Jade," you whispered, your voice full of emotion. A smile that you couldn't suppress formed on your lips, revealing the depth of love and admiration you felt for him.

You knew that you were under the spell of this cunning and intelligent man, and yet you were powerless to resist his magnetic pull like a moth drawn to a flame. You surrendered yourself to his embrace, your heart beating rapidly as your lips met his in a tender and passionate kiss. His hold on you tightened, and you felt the heat of his breath against your lips as he revelled in the victory of finally having you.

Despite the uncertainty of the future, you were willing to take the risk, like a sailor setting out on a stormy sea, to be swept away by his charm, to succumb to his every whim and desire, and to bask in the glow of his mesmerizing stare.

Perhaps you didn’t have a choice at all, after all, he would follow you to the ends of the earth. All to be by your side.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[thefairylights]

iwtv fic recs?

Hello! Apologies for the wait. I have a rec list right here for you and for anyone else who wants to read high quality incredible fanfiction written by talented authors. I have read all of these fics over five times. Even the wips. 💕

Practical Ethics by @prouvaireafterdark

Bitter is the Sorrow by @lesfleursrouges

Laden as the sea by @nalyra-dreaming

Like time stands still by @lesfleursrouges

Music when the sun goes down by @mythicaltzu

Drunk on you by @dreamofme9

Bury me deep inside your heart by @prouvaireafterdark

Thrill by @lesfleursrouges

And what I thought was gone by @nalyra-dreaming

Love is patient, love is kind by @lesfleursrouges

The devil you know by @aryastark-valarmorghulis

A tailored experience by myself and @lestatthelittlelion

Anatomy of a love seen by @amc-iwtv

The most unkindest cut of all by @lesfleursrouges

The right regrets by @dreamofme9

If I cannot bend the will of heaven, I shall move hell by @aryastark-valarmorghulis

Restraint by @lesfleursrouges

Love hath a bitter taste by @prouvaireafterdark

Silk hiding skin by @nalyra-dreaming

God complex (crazy in love) by @amc-iwtv

A love like This by @lesfleursrouges

It’s a sin by @amc-iwtv

Once again I love and I do not love by @aryastark-valarmorghulis

For a kiss so fatal and so warm by @prouvaireafterdark

Carnal by glittercake

An empty hell by @lesfleursrouges

Familiar taste of poison by @amc-iwtv

Painting love with crimson flow by @prouvaireafterdark

The plans we made by @showmey0urfangs

The Splendour of Us by @lesfleursrouges

The Saint by @revolution-starter

To keep you satisfied (hold you) by @amc-iwtv

The taste of your lips by @nalyra-dreaming

Ancient wounds so deep and so dear by @prouvaireafterdark

One night of many by @lesfleursrouges

Not discuss it (fighting & fucking) by @amc-iwtv

Walking Mojo by @darkangel1791

Sore must be the storm by @louisredsuit

Days of beauty by @lesfleursrouges

Shame by @amc-iwtv

A simmering pot of resentments by @louisredsuit

Valentine Medley by @amc-iwtv

Til forever falls apart by @lesfleursrouges

The measure of a man by @louisredsuit

As the day turns to night by accideadly

The end of all things by @lesfleursrouges

Filthy/Gorgeous by Craftnarok

I’m a fool to want you by @amc-iwtv

Delicate by @lesfleursrouges

In feverish need by @fablesdelightme

The Fall by @lesfleursrouges

[pascalispretty]

history stopped in 1936

Javi G x F!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Spanish Civil War AU, war and its horrors, brief and vague descriptions of sex, it's implied that Javi and reader are speaking Spanish the entire time, references to drinking and smoking, unbeta'd so please be gentle!

Summary: The Spanish Civil War threatens the slice of paradise you and Javi have found together. (AO3)

A/N: Hoo boy. This was written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge, and the moment I saw the moodboard, I knew I wanted to do something Atonement-inspired. You don't need to know who the opposing sides were in the war, but if you'd like to learn more, I'd recommend George Orwell's "Homage to Catalonia". The title comes from an essay of his. As always my love to @misscharlielulu for her support.

Mallorca, August 1936

Spain burns and, across the Balearic Sea, rumours are carried like ash on the wind.

You and Javier had fled Barcelona in the middle of the night, just after St Jordi’s Day. The streets had still been littered with rose petals as you had made your way to the docks, and the waiting ship. The atmosphere in Barcelona had grown tense, shimmering with electricity like the air just before a thunderstorm.

In July, your fears had been vindicated when news trickled across the sea, whispers of a violent uprising. Nobody could say for certain who had seized power – the anarchists, the communists, the Carlists, or some as-yet-unknown political spectre.

By contrast to the news reports that trickled over from the mainland, Mallorca felt safe. The ocean separating the island from the peninsula made the war feel further away, something that was happening in another world. Even when Barcelona fell or when, days later, Franco invaded with his African army in Seville - it all felt so far away, separated by miles of sparkling blue water.

On your island sanctuary, you and Javi managed to find a measure of happiness. Reminders of the war were never far away, and you were all probably smoking and drinking too much, but it didn’t matter. You could still watch movies on the projection reel he’d bought before he met you. Tucked up against Javi’s side, watching Clark Gable or Errol Flynn, you could forget the war on the mainland entirely.

It was only when the war came to Mallorca that you realised how deluded you had been.

With censored newspapers and downed radio communications, rumours run like wildfire across the island. Days after Seville falls, the stableboys hear that the Republicans have landed on the east coast – the housekeeper tells Marta that it’s Russians sent by Stalin, and the man who delivers the mail insists its Italians. There’s fighting in the streets of Palma and to the ports in the east, but nobody can agree on who exactly is fighting who.

You clean up after breakfast, a hastily made pa amb tomàquet that masks the staleness of the bread. Even for a family as rich as the Gutierrez’s, you cannot waste food anymore.

They say the fighting is in Palma, and Porto Cristo. Drawn onto a map, the Gutierrez villa would form the apex of the triangle; it’s about as far away from the fighting as you can get while still being on dry land. You try to breathe. It’s just another Tuesday morning. You’re breaking leftover breadcrusts into a bowl for the dogs when Javi appears.

“Leave that, my love. Come out into the garden with me?” He asks, wrapping a large hand around your wrist. You don’t need much convincing; you wipe your hands down on a towel and twine your fingers with your husband’s as you walk out across the patio to the greenery beyond.

The gardens are a riot of colour. In the hazy, golden light of summer, the colours seem almost over-saturated. It’s a world away from the dark, medieval splendour of Barcelona. Foxgloves and red poppies and bright marigolds fill the carefully planned beds around the pond, a riot of Technicolour hues that somehow work beautifully in concert.

In the sunlight, Javi’s curls look gilded; he glows, in spite of the anxiety furrowing his brow. A stone bench sits beneath a gazebo, and he leads you over there. The wooden structure is heavy with jasmine; the smell perfumes the air, blending with the salt of the nearby sea.

“Is something wrong, Javi? Is it Marta?” You ask, worry colouring your voice. Javi’s mother, Marta, was a complicated woman. She had loathed Lucas, her nephew by marriage, but had been unable to get out of bed for days when news had reached her that he had been taken into Montjuïc Castle as a prisoner. Even across the ocean, you had come to know that nobody came out of Montjuïc alive.

Javi shakes his head, his hand cupping your elbow as he guides you to sit down on the bench beside him. Even now, it’s unlike him to look so morose.

“I’ve been talking to my father.” This much you already knew. One of the stableboys had come to fetch Javi in the middle of breakfast: his father had requested his son ride out with him. Whatever they discussed, it’s knocked your husband’s relentless optimism, and that worries you more than anything.

You hold Javi’s hands and wait patiently for him to tell you what’s bothering him, but he seems unable to find the words. Your mind careers from calamity to disaster in his silence. Someone somewhere has issued a warrant for Javi’s arrest. The army is on the move and will reach the cliffs by nightfall. His father, Jordi, has had another heart attack.

“My father- that is, my father and I-” Javier starts. You squeeze his fingers, your heart beating a rapid tattoo in your rising panic.

“Please, Javi, just tell me,” you plead. He looks out over the cliffs and his shoulders slump resignedly.

“My father thinks you should leave.” A punch to the gut could not have winded you more. You sit there, blinking at him like an idiot, unable to understand what he just said.

“My father thinks you need to leave, and I do too.” He turns away from the ocean, cupping your face in his hand and forcing you to look into your eyes. “You need to leave Mallorca, leave Spain. Tonight if possible.”

“You want to send me away?” You manage, sounding rather more pathetic than you’d hoped. Javi shakes his head, his lovely brown eyes full of sorrow.

“I want you to be safe. And it’s not safe here, not for you.”

“It’s no more dangerous for me than-”

“It is more dangerous for you. The worst thing they do to men is shoot them.” The unspoken implication hangs unpleasantly in the air. Javi sighs and glances back towards the house. “My father thinks he can persuade my mother to leave.” You want to scream. You want to ask who made Jordi such an authority, who made him king of his own tiny dominion and gave him the power to dismiss you.

In your gut, you know Javier’s father is right. He’s been weathering the storms of Spanish politics since before you were born, a wily fox of a man who had declared months ago that the political powderkeg was about to explode.

 “I won’t leave you,” you insist, your voice firmer now. Jordi might be right; an army will come here someday. But you’d rather face them than abandon your family. “Until death do us part, Javi.”

“Please, sweetheart. It would only be for a little while. The war can’t last forever.” He manages a smile; a soft, crooked grin that wants to make you give in. You’d do so much to make him smile again.

“Your father will never get Marta to leave. She won’t leave him, and you won’t leave them.” The half-smile falls from Javi’s face.

“They’re old, sweetheart. I need to take care of them. But you – you’re strong. I know you can do this. You’ll go somewhere safe, and as soon as we’ve weathered this storm, you’ll come back.” Both of his hands are cupping your face now. Somewhere overhead, seagulls are screaming. His optimism makes you want to scream too.

“No, Javi, no, I can’t-” you start again, clutching his wrists in your hands.

“You can, you must,” he talks over you. In frustration you pull away, marching over the grass towards the house. One of Marta’s cats yowls at you as you pass it, pleading for attention, but you’re too upset to pay it any mind. Javi is hot on your heels, by turns pleading and stern. The door to your bedroom bangs against the wall as you fling it open.

You want space, but Javi won’t give it to you. He’s in your face, his hands roaming over you, clutching at your shoulders, your arms, your wrists. His rosy view of the world had been charming when you’d first met – now it makes you angry beyond words.

“I’m not leaving you,” you insist sharply, bringing your hands up to push your husband away from you. His hands circle your wrists instead, refusing to let you escape. “I’m not leaving you!” You repeat it in English, in your broken Catalan, in French. You tell him over and over in as many languages as you know, all the while struggling to break free of his hold.

The kiss takes you by surprise. He keeps one hand at your wrists; the other cups the back of your head. There’s no elegance to the kiss. He presses his mouth to yours, full lips meeting your own, your breath mingling with his. You’d almost think he’d done it deliberately to throw you off balance, if not for the surprised little intake of breath he makes.

“You are leaving tonight,” he says, once he’s broken the kiss. His fingertips grip the nape of your neck, your foreheads press together. You try to shake your head against his, but his hand at your neck grips tighter. “If I have to throw you into the boat myself, you’re leaving tonight.”

“I’ll hate you forever if you do.” It’s a childish assertion. His soft brown eyes fill with quiet devastation, and you immediately want to take it back.

“I’d rather have you hate me and survive than love me and die.” The two of you grapple again; him trying to keep his hold on you as you try to escape his grip. You have no real notion of why you want to break free – you could hardly hide in a cabinet until he gave up and allowed you to stay.

When the two of you tumble back onto the bed, it is an accident. You had tried to kick out with your legs, but had only succeeded in knocking you both off balance. His arms wrap around you as you lie on top of him, doing your best to squirm free and failing miserably.

You and Javi rarely argue. Any petty squabbles you do have are usually easily and quickly resolved. And when you do fight, you’ve gotten used to burning out that tension with sex.

So it feels like the most natural thing in the world to start pulling his shirtfront open. He takes your cue, his hands falling from your wrists and setting to work on the buttons of your dress. There’s a frantic energy to you both; for all you had been fighting him before, you can’t pull him close enough now. Your hands itch with the need to touch him, to memorise every inch and curve of him before he sends you away.

You sink your fingers into his curls and drag him down closer. It’s not making love, not the soft, slow sex that you and Javi usually have. This is something harsher, more demanding. The bedframe rattles with the force of your movements, and you know you should be embarrassed. The servants or Javi’s parents could hear, your actions unmistakable when the noise of the bed combines with the moans escaping from you both.

When you’ve both come, and are lying satiated in each other’s arms, the fire has gone out of your conversation. Javi rests his head on your breasts, humming contentedly as you play with his curls. You admire the Monet painting that faces the bed, the hazy floral landscape that you wish for all the world you and your husband could escape into. The canvas lilies almost seem to sway in the breeze with the haze of heat rising through the room.

“What if you forget me?” You say softly. As much as you know Javi loves you, you can’t deny that the thought scares you. That you will leave, but after long years of war, Javi will have moved on. He’ll find some pretty Mallorquin girl that never went into exile and never come to rescue you from your banishment.  

“I could never forget you,” Javi says, tilting his head back to look at you. Those beautiful eyes of his are so full of sorrow that you want to cry yourself.

“You say that. What if this war lasts as long as the Great War? Longer?”

“It doesn’t matter. ‘If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever’,” he says in English.

“Byron?” You ask, and he shakes his head. Of course he would quote poetry at a time like this.

“Tennyson. It’s true. I could fill the whole island with flowers, all the thinking of you I shall do while we’re parted.” Javi’s hands rest on your thighs, his thumbs stroking lazy circles onto your skin.

“Wouldn’t that be something to behold. A whole island, full of flowers. You could live four lifetimes and never run out of scenery to paint.”

“I would write to you every day, you know,” Javier manages eventually. You know he would. Javi has always had an excellent turn of phrase – there were half-drafted screenplay ideas all over your apartment in Barcelona.

“And one letter in twenty might reach me,” you retort. The postal service hasn’t exactly been running efficiently of late, never mind the inevitable censorship everything seems to be going through.

“I would keep you here with me if there was any way I could be sure you’d be safe.” He says gently, and you sigh. “And I would like you to go willingly. But you’re going either way, I’m afraid.” Even issuing orders, there’s undeniable tenderness to it.

“Between the both of us, we might fill all of Europe with flowers.” You try to imagine it; two paths of flowers creeping across the continent, growing every time you and Javi think of one another.

“The whole world, even.” Javier clutches a little tighter at your thighs, and you can hear tears thickening his voice. You hold each other tighter, and you know now that neither of you will loosen your grip until the very last moment.

****

Later, there will be a forget-me-not pressed into your hand as you and Javi say your final goodbyes at the dock. Your clothes are weighted down by the money and jewellery sewn into the hems, but it’s the flower you treasure the most. You refuse to cry as you sail away; you stare insistently at the dock, long after Javier has faded from your sight. You know he’ll be doing the same, standing on the pier and keeping a watchful eye on the horizon until the sky starts to lighten with the dawn.

Later, in spite of your denials, there will be letters. Javi writes to you often, mostly of trivial, household matters that won’t be censored. In every one he tells you how the gardens are growing. In every one, there is a flower drawn into the margin. You hoard them like a dragon hoards gold; when your homesickness makes you feel physically ill, you surround yourself with his letters and tracing the lines of his pen.

Later, there will be a screenplay. It’s smuggled off the island and brought directly to you by a man who only speaks brusque Catalan, and you nearly weep just to hear the language spoken again. The screenplay bears a pseudonym – Javier Peña – but every line is clearly your Javi’s work. It tells of a great love story flourishing in the face of a brutal war, of love conquering all. You cry over the last twenty pages, a handkerchief clasped to your face so you don’t smudge the ink.

Later, the war will end. Spain will survive, though she will not be saved. You will never walk through a garden of flowers without thinking of Javi.  

****

 “But what really happened? The answer is simple: the lovers survive and flourish.” – Ian McEwan, Atonement

TAGLIST:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @totallynotastanacc

[astrolocherry]

THE VIRGO FULL MOON CLOSING CEREMONY IS COMING TO YOUR TOWN ON FEBRUARY 24!

This annual splendour marks the final Full Moon night of the astrological year. -The Virgo Full Moon is a lunar elixir filled with magical healing properties. I chose this pic because the chart of Sydney, where I live is Virgo Moon.

-The Virgo Full Moon is the passage that reunites you with her thoughts. You can call her this way.-The annual Full Moon in Virgo is the Healer’s Moon. Virgo is the Great Mother, our Mother Sophia, Mother Maya and our Mother Mary. Mercury is the ruler of Virgo and the first sound a baby makes is usually ‘maaa’, it sounds similar to the ‘mar’ or ‘Mer’ of ‘Mercury’, ‘Maya’ and ‘Mary’. It is a call this Goddess who can always be summoned to one’s presence. 

-The solar water of Pisces can cleanse the mind of the contaminants collected in the past zodiac year and let them drift out to sea. It's Now time - Let it all go.

KEYWORD ORACLES FOR THE FULL VIRGO MOON 22/24

Aries: GROWING OLD ENOUGH TO ACCEPT AN ANCIENT WISDOM FROM DEEP WITHIN Taurus: A CYCLE OF DEPRIVATION IS ENDING - PREPARE FOR A SWEET GIFT OR A KISS

Gemini: NEW ALLIES WAIT TO FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU THROUGH THE NEXT PHASE OF LIFE Cancer: ATONEMENT, JUSTICE, SOMETHING YOU THOUGHT WAS LOST RETURNS Leo: IT'S OK TO BE ALONE, A CLEARER PERSPECTIVE WILL PROVIDE THE PEACE YOU SEEK

Virgo: FEELING LOST IS OVER - YOU WILL BE GIVEN A SAFE PLACE TO GO Libra: YOU ARE DIVINELY PROTECTED ON THIS SACRED JOURNEY WHILE YOU ARE SO FAR FROM HOME

Scorpio: CHILDHOOD MEMORIES RETURN WITH POWERFUL AND CLARIFYING MESSAGES ON A CURRENT SITUATION Sagittarius: DECISION TO COMMIT PUTS YOU AT A CROSSROADS - IT'S TIME TO TRUST THE PATH THE UNIVERSE HAS CARVED OUT

Capricorn:  YOU ARE BEING PROVIDED THE WISE GUIDANCE FROM HIGHER FORCES TO MAKE THE CORRECT DECISION - YOU ONLY HAVE TO LISTEN Aquarius: THE SPACE OF YOUR LONELINESS IS WHERE SPIRIT COMES LOOKING TO FIND YOU....DON'T MOVE

Pisces: PAST LIFE MEMORIES SURFACE FREQUENTLY TO PROVIDE GUIDANCE ON CURRENT SITUATIONS

Cherry

[roguerambles]

Secrets in the Garden

God of War - Kratos x Female!Reader

Warnings - 18+ Only. The Olympians being dicks, because they really take the cake in GOWverse.

So, I finally started God of War (2018) I know I’m so behind haha. I watched a playthrough years ago but never did one myself until now, and I haven’t played the original games in years. But it’s reawoken my love for Kratos, the angry disaster man.

I definitely plan on getting to Norse Era!Kratos, but for now I wanted to give Greek Era!Kratos a little attention. There’s a general lack of Kratos thirst and this must be remedied--

-

You hated the Gardens of Atlantis.

You had adored them once. You were a lesser goddess of the seas, not meant as a figure of influence in the games of power among the Olympians and their lot. When you were appointed as a handmaiden to Amphitrite upon her marriage to Poseidon, you had delighted in living in the King of the Seas domain, blown away by the majesty and splendour of the city. But the gardens were special, filled with flowers and coral, specimens only found in the deepest corners of the oceans that even the gods had never seen.

Amphitrite was a gentle enough mistress, but Poseidon seemed to find your enthusiasm charming, and patiently indulged your many questions on the contents of his garden. You had been embarrassed and somewhat pleased that a god of his status took the time to chat with his wife’s handmaiden. You sat with him at feasts and walked with him in the mornings, and he entertained you with tales of his exploits during the Great War and the antics of his siblings on Olympus. Soon you saw more of him than of his wife.

You do not know if it was naivety or foolishness or some trick of Aphrodite, but you saw nothing wrong with your relationship with the King. Even as he began showering you with gifts, murmuring compliments in your ear, his hand on your hip during walks, Amphitrite’s bright smile turning nervous and brittle, all you saw was your mistress’s husband being pleasant.

Your morning walks in those lovely gardens became evening trysts, the flowers and vines seeming to shift and move to become obscuring curtains, the coral turning soft and plush as any bed, the waters that flowed noisily through the gardens swallowing the sounds of you coupling with your lady’s husband. Even then you were oblivious, your mind focused solely on pleasure, everything else seeming distant and unimportant.

Poseidon moved your chambers closer to his, dressed you in jewels and transparent silks, spending his nights in your bed, murmuring he’d never slept so sweetly as he did in your embrace. All the while, Amphitrite said nothing. All the while, you saw nothing wrong, as though you walked some hazy, pleasant dream.

The spell did not break until the day Poseidon placed his wife’s crown on your head, the day he swore before Zeus and declared you his Queen, reality crashing over you like a cruel, cold wave, but by then it was far, far too late. Hera scoffed and drank from her chalice, Ares and Hermes laughed and laughed, Persephone looked at you with some mix of scorn and pity. Aphrodite smirked at you from behind her hand, her handmaidens giggling at her sides.

No one spoke of Amphitrite.

-

The Gardens you had once adored were a bitter place now, but it was the only place in Atlantis you were mostly left on your own. You wished you could reclaim the way you had felt about them, find some way to make them feel yours once more. But it was impossible.

Poseidon was on Olympus for some meeting with Zeus and Hades. There had been upheaval among the Olympians since the fall of Ares, but whether that was what he was there for, you could not say. The King of the Seas seldom saw fit to tell you anything that was not some empty compliment, or a pretext to summon you to his bed. You chose to simply enjoy his absence as best you could.

“…Your Grace.”

You glanced up. One of your handmaidens had entered the garden, her expression tight, her hands clenched anxiously in front of her.

“Yes?” You doubted Poseidon had returned already – his meetings with his brothers were long and loud, and he usually returned in a foul temper that shook the walls of the palace.

“It…” She peered at you nervously, glancing quickly over her shoulder as though expecting something to come running up behind her. “Lord Kratos is here!”

What?

You glanced up at her, startled. You had met the newly crowned God of War only a handful of times since his ascension. You knew him better by reputation, rumours whispered in the halls of Olympus. He had slain Ares in revenge for the murders of his wife and daughter, tricked into using his own hands for the deed. He was a fearsome warrior, a brutal killer, soaked in blood and ashes. His name was spoken in hushed whispers, on Olympus and Atlantis both.

“…send him here.”

She cringed nervously, but obeyed, and scurried away. You tried to think what Kratos could want, and you waited, toying with the helm of your dress. The doors quickly opened once more, and you looked up to see Lord Kratos enter the Gardens.

He was a striking man, in every sense of the word. Tall and muscled, his body a perfect sculpture of a Spartan warrior. His expression was cold and severe, his eyes sharp and piercing. You could understand why many trembled in his shadow, but you could also understand the salacious whispers. The Gods were as alluring as they were powerful, and nobody could deny Kratos was a powerful man.

Kratos said nothing as he approached, his frown deepening the closer he got. You cleared your throat, and forced a polite smile onto your face. “Greetings, Lord Kratos. Welcome to Atlantis—"

“I have business with Poseidon.”

You sighed, lowering you head slightly. At least you did not have to dwell on pleasantries. “He is not here.”

The Spartan looked even more displeased. “Poseidon sent word I was to meet him here.”

You had no idea what Kratos and your husband could possibly have to talk about. Poseidon had precious little good to say about Kratos, and you found it difficult to imagine him being summoned for a visit. “He is on Olympus, as far as I am aware.”

Kratos’s glare would have killed Medusa herself where she stood. “I am in no mood for games.” His tone was accusatory, and it made you bristle, somewhat indignantly.

“Nor am I.” You snapped back, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Perhaps you misunderstood the message.”

Kratos looked vaguely insulted at the thought of making such a basic error. “I did not.”

“Then perhaps Poseidon simply wanted to waste your time.” It was a petty move even by Poseidon’s standards, but you put little past him. “You would need to ask him.”

Kratos’s expression darkened, and while you were certain it probably should have unnerved you, you found yourself admiring the Spartan’s profile in the light, his strong nose and sharply defined collarbones, the mountainous broadness of his shoulders.

“—I require the Shell.”

“What?” You were shook out of your thoughts by Kratos’s voice. He frowned at you, and you felt your face flush, startled at the turn of your thoughts. “Apologies, I…the Shell?”

“Poseidon’s Conch Shell.” Kratos repeated, his fingers flexing impatiently around his Blades – you noticed the movement rippled upwards, drawing attention to the strong swell of his biceps. “I require it.”

“…why?”

Kratos did not answer. He simply stared at you, frown firmly in place. You found yourself staring at the fullness of his lips, and by the Fates, you were blushing.

“Poseidon likely carries it with him.” You cleared your throat, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from him. “You will need to go to him. Or wait until he returns.”

Kratos muttered something under his breath, his expression thunderous. You glanced at the fountain in the Gardens centre, vaguely noticing the secluded spots Poseidon used to hide you in around it. You cringed thinking of those days, but Kratos’s presence at your back seemed to spark something. You found yourself picturing those warm, secluded spaces, the God of War between your thighs—

Fates—

“Are you even listening?”

You were torn roughly from your fantasies by Kratos’s booming voice. You turned to him dazedly, feeling yourself flush once more under his intense gaze. “I’m sorry, I….”

“I have no time for this.” He snapped, and turned abruptly, clearly to leave. Your eyes landed on his broad back, the exquisite musculature shifting with every movement, and in an instant your mind was made up. 

“Lord Kratos, wait.”

Kratos paused, casting an impatient glare over his shoulder.

“Poseidon will return eventually.” Hopefully not for a long time. You rose from your seat, tilting your head upwards slightly. “You are welcome to wait with me until he does.”

“I have no time for—” Kratos began, his voice harsh, and you grasped the buckle of your cloak, tugging it open and letting it fall around your feet, leaving your bare body exposed.

Kratos’s voice halted, and you could not help but be pleased at the genuine surprise on his face, his eyebrows shooting upwards in a way that was almost comical.

You smiled, lifting a hand to play with your necklace, a spark of excitement flaring within you as Kratos’s eyes followed your movement, trailing slowly over your body. “Make time.”

For a moment, Kratos was still as stone. Then you caught it, the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, the smallest crack in his perpetually severe expression. He turned fully and began striding back towards you, purpose in his gaze, and heat flared tight in your belly as he closed in on you.

“Wait—” You held up a hand, glancing quickly around. Kratos paused, his gaze firmly on you, and you barely resisted the impulse to throw caution to the wind and have him take you right there. “Follow me.”

Your handmaiden had not returned, nor had any other servants, but you did not want interruptions. You stepped away from the fountain, heading deeper into the gardens, Kratos’s slow footfalls at your back. You felt his eyes burning on, trailing flames over your form, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

You ducked into a small natural alcove, coral and vines and blooms sprawling inside. You exhaled, and the Garden sprung to life around you.

The vines tangled together behind Kratos as he approached, closing you both in the space together. He was so close now, the power radiating from his broad, muscled frame almost tangible. You wanted to reach out, to run your hands over his shoulders, down his chest and toned abdomen, sculpted to perfection, like a statue come to life. Perhaps it showed in your face, as that small smirk tugged at Kratos’s lips again, and you felt your face grow hot.

“You are still dressed.” You found your voice, lifting your chin high, keeping your gaze level with Kratos’s own.

“I am.” Kratos replied, simply, his eyes slipping from yours to trail slowly over your naked form. Your arms stuttered at your sides, reflectively moving to cover yourself, but you forced them still, nervous excitement beginning to crackle in your veins.

“Take it off.” You tried to sound as commanding as possible. You were a Queen, after all. “All of it.”

Kratos looked faintly amused. It was an odd expression for the God of War, but you found you rather liked the way it shaped his face. He did as you bid him, moving with an almost casual air, his armoured pauldron falling to the ground with a dull thud, his gauntlets slipping from his hands and dropping on top with a noisy clank. Kratos did not wear many layers to begin with, but you found your throat turning dry as his strong, nimble fingers began undoing his belt—

Sweet blessed Eros—

Kratos kicked his belt aside, his body now as bare as your own. His eyes met yours, his smirk more pronounced, and he stood tall and still, like a soldier for inspection.

“Do I please you?” 

There was an undeniable note of smugness in the Spartan’s voice, clearly enjoying your reaction. You felt your face flush again, but found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from the way Kratos’s body moved, the way he towered over you.

Broad shoulders leading down to thick, powerful arms, large hands that could break a man in half, strong, toned thighs, and wide chest, full pectorals your fingers itched to roam over. Muscles rippled with every movement, flexing and contracting in perfect harmony. His lips, normally a harsh line, looked full and inviting, and you found yourself wondering how they would taste on yours.

You licked your lips, forcing your gaze back to Kratos’s eyes. There was a growing heat in them, one that grew as they ran over your form, the sight igniting a spark of heat deep in your belly. Kratos possessed a brutish, almost cruel beauty, but it was beauty nonetheless.

“I don’t know.” You spoke finally. You lifted a hand, slowly, cautiously, until your fingers lightly brushed the toned planes of his abdomen. He inhaled a sharp, quiet breath, his gaze growing hotter as your palm softly slid upwards. “Will you?”

Kratos made a deep, rumbling noise. It took you a moment to register it was a laugh. His large – large – hand suddenly grasped you waist, yanking you hard against his chest. You gasped, your hands splayed against his chest, the heat of his skin fierce enough to burn. Something hot and hard and big pressed against your hip, and fire began to spill in your gut as you looked up to meet Krato’s burning gaze.

“Yes.” He answered, his voice a low, rough promise.

The back of your knees bumped into the soft coral, Krato’s warm, rough palm sliding from your waist to your thigh as you fell backwards. His hips slid between your thighs, his other hand stroking up your side, guiding you into place. You gasped and arched, the solid, heated muscle of his body suddenly so close sending a pulse of anticipation through you.

“Kratos—” His name tumbled from your lips as a gasp, his large, powerful body between your thighs scattering your thoughts in a sharp burst of flame. Kratos made a deep, pleased noise in his chest, leaning down to press his lips against the racing pulse point of your neck. His teeth nipped at your skin, making you gasp and arch against him, your hands grasping his shoulders.

“Hmmmm…” Kratos’s body shook slightly. You realised after a few seconds he was laughing. You flushed, digging your nails into the flesh of his shoulders. He hissed slightly, a flash of naked lust painting his face, and you wrapped your legs tight around his waist, pushing with all your might until he rolled onto his back, you perched on top of him.

He let you, undoubtedly, from the way his eyes darkened deliciously at the sight of you on top of him told you, the way his hands roamed up your sides, coming to cup your breasts, his thumb teasing your nipple. A soft moan escaped you, his touch igniting your skin. He growled, leaning upwards, his mouth pressing hot, opened mouth kisses against your chest, and you whined, bucking on top of him.

His hand slid over your waist, and you felt his arousal, inches away from your centre. Kratos groaned, his hips angling, your fingers digging into your flesh—

“Kratos.” You reached down to brush your fingers against the sharp edge of his jaw. He startled, eyes snapping to yours, and for a moment you thought he might pull away. “I want to watch.” The words tumbled out, the pad of your thumb brushing against the fullness of his lip. “I want to watch your face.”

Kratos stared at you, frozen, his hips stilling. His grip tightened, almost painfully, but he remain still, something blazing in his eyes. You feared you crossed some sort of line, but before you could find words, his large hands were sliding over your hips, guiding you downwards, his hot flesh meeting your slick centre.

A gasp spilled from your lips, your back arched, your entire body quivering at the jolt of sensation. Kratos growled under his breath, his abdomen flexing and contracting, his gaze firmly on yours with the intensity of fire. Your hands grasped at his shoulders, nails digging into thick muscle, and Kratos snapped his hips upwards, filling you so fully and suddenly you cried out, bucking in his grip.

Merciful fucking Eros—

“Hold.” Kratos hissed through gritted teeth, hands, rough and large and strong, gripped your thighs, holding them at either side of his waist. His breathing quickened, the powerful muscle of his arms tight and flexing. You ran your hands down his chest and up again, fire spilling deep in your belly at the feeling of his body so close but closer you wanted him closer.

“Kratos.” You gasped his name, arching your hips, needing him to move, needing him deeper. “Kratos, please—” You caught the faintest flutter in his eyelids, the slightest bucking of his hip in response to yours, a groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. The cracks in his control made your blood boil deliciously, your hands grabbing his shoulders, squeezing as you pushed further against him. “Kratos—!”

“Hold.” He spoke louder and more firmly, pulling you roughly against him. His palm touched your face, firm yet surprisingly gentle as his gaze met yours. You startled, staring at him, his gaze locked on yours.

“…hold.” He spoke again, his thumb flickering against your cheekbone, the faintest caress. He said nothing else, but pulled you upwards, holding you so you were face to face, your chest flush with his.

Warmth flooded your cheeks, and other places, and You breathed out, nodding shakily, hands gripping his wide shoulders. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, his hips began to move, and a gasp fell from your lips as fire burned deep, every movement making your nerves sing.

“Kratos…!”

He growled under his breath, lips parting, his hands gripping your thighs as he rolled his hips, once, twice, over and over, each thrust sending lightning searing through your body. Heat, blazing white hot heat bloomed low in your belly, tendrils licking rapidly upwards making you writhe and cry out. “Kratos…! Kratos—!”

Kratos hissed, his back going rigid, his hips stuttering to a brief halt, before his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you roughly down, hips snapping up and down, fast and brutal, a deep, guttural roar spilling from his lips as pleasure began to overwhelm him. The delicious v of his hips shifting with every thrust, the muscles of his abdomen clenching with every movement. The sight and sensations made your stomach clench, and something burst within you, spilling flames everywhere.

“Kratos—!” Your voice rose to a shout, the world burning a sweet, blissful red, everything blurring to a haze has until all you could feel was Kratos’s body against yours. You threw your head back, a wordless scream of intense pleasure spilling from your lips as your climax crashed over you.

Kratos roared, his face buried between your breasts, his mouth hot against your skin, his hips bucking wildly until his own release hit, sending you both tumbling over the edge together.

-

You and Kratos made love for hours.

The rumours surrounding the God of War stamina had not exaggerated, and you were certain had it not been for your own divine nature you would have been utterly exhausted. Kratos was as determined a lover as he was a warrior, his sole focus seeming to be bringing you to pleasure, with an intensity that threatened to burn you from within.

You eventually collapsed into sweaty tangle of limbs, bodies aching and breathless, your head on Kratos’s chest, his heart thumping rapidly under your ear. His fingers trailed idly up and down your back, so idly you were not certain he was aware he was doing it. He said nothing as he stared up at the canopy, and you said nothing back, not wanting to break the strange, almost peaceful spell you both seemed to have fallen under.

“When will Poseidon return?” Kratos asked after a while, eyes still upwards. You sighed, and aimlessly trailed a fingertip up and down his abdomen, drawing nothings on his skin.

“I do not know. Days, maybe.”

“Hmmm.”

Kratos said nothing else. He rolled on top of you, lightning in his touch, his hips sliding between your thighs, and you both sank into each other once more.

-

Poseidon would return, days later, as you predicted.

He was surprised to find Kratos in his palace, in his Queen’s gardens, sipping ambrosia while you chatted pleasantly at him about the history of Atlantis. Kratos did not seem to be contributing much to the conversation, but he nodded along patiently, and Poseidon swears he almost catches a hint of a smile on the bloodthirsty Spartan’s face.

Poseidon had expected Kratos to leave, and eyes you suspiciously as he entered the Gardens. You smiled brightly and informed him Kratos had been waiting oh so patiently for him to return. He needed his Conch Shell.

Poseidon kept his shell in some temple or another, and bid Kratos should go there. The God of War simply nodded, and turned to leave the palace without a word to the King of the Seas. As he did, your eye met his, and you caught the faintest hint of a smirk, meant for you.

You returned to the Gardens, which felt a little more like yours once more.

[kkongdakz]

“ I SEA YOU. ” ft. kim gyuvin

gyuvin x gn!reader, genre : fluff & comfort, warnings : mention of anxiety and overwhelming feelings, wc : 2,3k>

author's note : this is a really, very, truly personal fic, so i'm sorry if you don't recognize or identify with y/n.. but still, i hope you'll like it anyway 😙👍🏻 also, could this be my official comeback? ..who knows..

ever since you were little, you've always considered the sea your comfort zone, your escape. the sound of the waves and the feel of salt water on your skin had a way of dissipating all your worries, help you avoid drowning under pressure and stress. you've long believed that nothing else in the world could give you a similar sensation — not even the hottest summer sun, not even the most beautiful spring blossom tree, not even the tastiest winter hot chocolate, not even the reddest leaf on an autumn tree. nothing could compare to the comfort of the sea in your heart.

that's why you've continued to visit this beach, which means so much to you, every week. this little beach, almost always deserted, where the clear horizon offers you all the splendour of the sky living side by side with the ocean. the palette of blue inked in your memory is enough to soothe you on rainy evenings, but you need the sound of the ocean coming out of a giant shell to soothe your mind. and even if you have to travel miles from your student apartment to get to what makes you so happy, you'll do it without hesitation. but no longer alone.

on the long river of your quiet life, a little boat named kim gyuvin decided to follow a stream to reach the blue ocean of your heart. it was no mean feat — even if you have to admit that the sincerity of his smile made you sink delicately to the bottom of the well of love. he crossed your path by chance, and kept crossing it. again and again. until you accept him on your raft. he hadn't been that insistent, but what really wins you over is feeling that gentle warmth in your heart every time he looks at you with all the goodness in the world in the corner of his eyes, accompanied by the most beautiful smile on the planet. the same warmth you get from watching a sunset reflected on the ocean's blue expanse.

« shall we go? » you suddenly heard, in a voice as gentle as a summer breeze, bringing you out of your deepest thoughts. turning your head to the right, your absent gaze fell on gyuvin's peaceful face, you smiled tenderly, gently grabbing the hand he was holding out to you to get up and follow him out the door.

the trip to the beach didn't seem as long as it used to be, now that a warm hand was keeping yours company. you no longer had to show him the way, as he now knew the route by heart — even better than you. but today, something seemed to have changed inside your heart. maybe it was because of the way his freshly dyed black hair swept across his forehead in the same way that grains of sand move across the beach in the wind. maybe it was the way numerous shivers ran through your body every time his shoulder brushed yours, like when cold sea water touches your feet on autumn mornings. maybe it was simply the beauty of his face that easily equalled the beauty of a sunset shining on the surface of the ocean.

a ton of maybe trotted through your mind as you struggled to stay focused on the road, far too busy watching the slightest feature of gyuvin's face. even his profile was perfect. unconsciously tightening the grip of your hand around his, gyuvin turns his soft gaze on your face, his pretty brown eyes instantly locked in yours. he was surprisingly so calm — usually, he couldn't help being an overexcited puppy, and you liked that about him. he contrasted with your far too calm personality — he was like the tsunami of your life, shaking up your habits for the better, of course.

but gyuvin knew that these seaside escapades were important for you, that they were necessary for the proper functioning of your mind, they were made to soothe you. so he knew how to stand still and give you the chance to recharge your batteries in peace, even though he had to admit that having the privilege of accompanying you was the greatest accomplishment of all.

let's go back up the creek into the reverse river, to revisit the first time gyuvin's curious eyes landed on your hair floating in the ocean breeze. he must have been in his fifties, where adolescence made him want to escape far away from everything. it was an afternoon when the late summer wind kept reminding him that school was just around the corner, after running aimlessly for an hour, his footsteps led him to this hidden, deserted small beach, where only the sound of the waves crashing on the sand disturbed the tranquillity of the place. it was so beautiful, so pleasant — he felt as if he were floating, his mind carried away by the waves. and that's when he saw you, like a dream. as pretty as a mermaid, your soft face so serene.. he was so jealous of you. you were approaching the serenity he so desperately sought, and it upset him. but that didn't stop him from continuing to look at you with curious doe eyes, as if you weren't capable of feeling a insistent gaze burn your skin. he suspected you must be around his age, because of your youthful facial features glistening in the sunlight. as he watched you without saying a word, without moving an inch, his heart fluttering with lightness at the mere sight of your devastating but peaceful smile. you seemed so far out in the ocean — that intrigued him and led him to appreciate a little more the benefits of the sea. you intrigued him.

so.. to say that he approached you by pure coincidence would be a lie, because when he recognized you, wandering the halls of his high school, he wondered why he'd never noticed you before. with hindsight and a bit of imagination, it was probably because your mind was always stuck in the middle of the ocean and no boat had ever managed to reach your soul — until he decided he was going to make it, even if he had to swim for it. which he did, with flying colors.

« you're okay? » he asked, softly, in a voice that sounded like a siren call to your ears. falling for kim gyuvin was, once upon a time, something inconceivable for you. your head was too much in the clouds, your mind too much in your dreams, and your heart far too rambunctious to consider loving anyone other than the ocean. but he managed to get you to change tack — him and his beautiful sun-kissed brown eyes. shaking your head negatively with a barely visible smile that only he could see, you finally looked away to the horizon, where the entrance to the beach wasn't far off. « we're here. » you announced, tugging a little more firmly on his hand to guide his steps, despite the fact that he knew this road by heart, having travelled it with you so many times.

as you carefully descended the stairs to the beach, the fresh ocean breeze was already tickling your fragile skin. gyuvin was careful not to let go of your hand to prevent you from falling, but this impulse of benevolence caused him to miss the moment when you stopped dead in your tracks to observe the landscape in front of you, his body colliding with yours. « oh.. » was the only thing he was able to say when his chest hit your back, and the next second his gaze was unconsciously fixed on your face, which, once again, seemed so tranquil at the mere sight of waves washing up on the sand eternally. a smile tugged at his lips, his free hand slipping to your hip to hold you close, and his heart racing at the simple knowledge that you were perfectly fine right now. « it's pretty, isn't it? » you finally commented, your words mixing with the wind to reach his ears, and gyuvin nodded positively, his loving gaze lost in the ocean of your eyes.

advancing through the sand, taking care to draw him along with you, you didn't give him time to dream about whether you could be his little mermaid, the one who could save from drowning the prince he could have been. the same one you might abandon on the beach, as you did previously with the fifteen-year-old boy who first saw you a few years earlier. gyuvin liked to think your story would be so pretty to tell — he was one hundred percent sure it would be his little sisters' favorite love story, the one that would make them dream by night and hope by day. yeah, gyuvin was convinced that your love story would inspire many.

now sitting next to each other on the warm sand, gyuvin's fingers quietly played with a lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, with his tender, benevolent gaze fixed on you. his heart seemed filled with happiness, because he knew that there, right now, right here, sitting in front of that vast blue sea, your heart was soothed, at the height of the happiness you so preciously cherished. and he was perfectly right : sitting on the sand, you held your knees to your chest, your star-filled eyes exploring the ocean you seemed to know by heart. the beauty of the light reflected on the surface of the water, the waves breaking against the shiny sand of the beach, the sound of the latter disturbing the tranquillity of the place, with only a few people strolling by, each looking happier than the next. not far away, a little girl running with her feet in the water, followed by a little boy who seemed to be laughing out loud as he tried to catch up with her. the sun seemed to embrace their skin with its warmth, under the watchful eyes of their parents who were standing not far from them, a light, benevolent smile decorating their faces.

then, as you watched them tenderly, your thoughts suddenly began to wander, taking you to the back of your mind that never stopped thinking. after careful consideration, you began to think that maybe, just maybe, you didn't have to make weekly trips to the beach. because you'd found another way to feel good and happy when the world seemed to be crashing down on you.

looking away from the blue expanse in front of you, your pupils finally meet those of gyuvin. your boyfriend offers you a pretty smile — light, but filled with all the sincerity in the world, his eyes overflowing with love. in your chest, your heart began to race, furiously, warmly, pleasantly, like the first time you fell in love with the sea. gyuvin's love was as deep as the ocean, his hands as soft as water, his eyes as radiant as the sun reflecting on the surface. he'd come into your life by chance, and had been making you want to drown in his arms ever since. he cracked the shell of your heart and slipped inside and never left. and now, he brings you the same warmth and comfort as an afternoon spent observing the ocean. it was strange, a new feeling for you — in your whole life, no one has ever been able to fill the void inside you, to calm the storm that was sometimes your mind, when, with just one little smile, gyuvin made you forget all the ills of your life, as the sea was so adept at doing it. so maybe now, kim gyuvin was the ocean's main rival in your heart.

hooking your hands around his arm, you drew him gently towards you, feeling a certain shyness rise up in you after having spent long seconds staring at him without saying anything. laying your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cheek, his hand slips against one of yours, gently caressing your fingers. « i don't think i need to come here so often anymore. » you say suddenly, attracting the attention of the boy at your side, who raises an eyebrow at you. he wasn't used to seeing you refuse a trip to the seaside, especially knowing perfectly well your love for this beach so dear to your heart. so it was only natural for him to ask you why or how you'd come to think such a thing, his little why floating in the air for a moment without any answer escaping your lips.

tightening your grip around his arm, closing your eyes as the ocean breeze hits your face, a perfectly relaxed smile, the most sincere he'd ever seen, took place on your lips. « i found someone better than the ocean. » you replied, so naturally that gyuvin felt the tips of his ears redden furiously. he wasn't stupid — he knew, he understood that silently, and in your own way, you had just confessed to him that he was like the ocean in your heart. and for him, those words were more powerful than a simple i love you.

gyuvin knew that nothing meant more to you than the sound of the waves and the beauty of the ocean's expanse, which you cherished more than anything else. so, the mere thought of him being superior to the sea in your heart could only make him fall even more in love with you than he already was. his rebellious teenage heart of a few years ago was definitely not wrong : you were the mermaid who kept him from drowning. without answering you orally, gyuvin decided to simply close his eyes in turn, resting his head against yours, enjoying your stroll by the sea which managed to open your heart to him.

⿻ taglist › @snowflakemoon3 @annoyingbitch83 @kpoprhia @ilovechanhee @beomibeom @neroislost @lvlicky @tmrx2gther @zeromattone @doobinnies @wtfhyuck @solarwoniii @he4rtsforjihoon @dead-isshh @alwayswook @cintabinnie @lovelickyyy @ihrtgw @nichoswag @i520cm @chichiuu @wccycc @yueriots @iraa567 @milkie5 @sstephenzz

want to be on the taglist? › fill this google form please! but before, please make sure to check in your tumblr' settings if you can be tagged !