#the listening of a quiet mind hears the waves crashing against the shore in the middle of a land-bound forest

[1-1-s1ay-2-2]

A quiet mind is like a blank canvas, with each stroke, a thought forms from the void of nothingness through the fluidly infinite spark of creativity, bringing forth the light which separates the darkness, allowing us to see art and all the adoring splendor of a sunset over the ocean. The quietness of the mind moves the water, and the wind finds its home.

[awritersometime]

i’m actually dying to see more diane stories so could you do something fluffy? like comforting. I would love that!!

I sincerely hope you like it 💕

Safe heaven

You've been avoiding her calls for a while now, not intentionally of course, you're just swimming with thoughts. Frantically pacing back and forth, Diane dials your number for the umpteenth time. Once again, it goes unanswered, her screen turning black. "Come on, don't do this," she runs a shaky hand through her hair, trying to put an order to her thoughts.

Then your favorite place, the ocean, comes to her mind. Whenever you're upset or feel like taking a break, you drive to the beach. That's where you are.

"Please, be there. Please," as Diane grabs her keys to rush out the door, her mind races with worst case scenarios. In a metter or seconds she is in her car.

You've recently obtained a master degree in English language and linguistics, meaning that you're next in line to be teaching in schools, high schools to be precise. That alone should be great news, however, something definitely bothers you. You only recently turned 26; Diane doesn't know that, but a part of you believes that it won't be easy for you to fit in the role, considering your students won't be much younger than you.

Listening to the waves crashing against the shore has always had the power to quiet down the turmoil inside your heart. Unfortunately for you, today the sea was as calm as a mirror— meaning that your thoughts were louder than ever. You almost regret leaving the house. In the meantime Diane's heart races at incredible speed once she stops the car and gets off. She scans the horizon, searching for any signs of you in the distance. She takes a sigh of relief when she recognizes you, a tiny dot sitting down by the shore, legs to the chest, chin on your knees.

She sighs softly, taking quick steps towards you. It takes her a bunch of seconds before she drops to her knees, right beside you. "Darling, hey," her voice trembles a bit when she calls you. You feel her hand stroking the back of your head and you turn around. You say her name in such a tired tone that the woman can't help but frown. "I've been trying to reach you. You didn't pick up any of my calls," she doesn't mean it as reproach and she makes sure you know that. However, the reality of the situation hits you hard. She exhales, attempting to smile, "I was so worried," she breathes out. You close your eyes and take in a deep breath. "Sorry, I-I'm sorry, gosh, I don't know what came over me—", you try to find a good reason to all this but truth be told there isn't one, "The sea isn't even cooperating with me today," a bitter smile tugs at your lips as you point at the still flat surface in front of you.

Diane's heart shatters at the sadness in your voice, the slight furrow of your brows. "Baby," she brushes a strand of hair from your face, to better expose your beautiful gaze. She doesn't fail to notice how you struggle to ward off the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I'm fine," you croak out unconvincingly. Diane lightly rolls her eyes, "Are you?", she asks softly, playing with the tips of your hair, curling it around her finger. A part of you feels pathetic for how you're acting. You're an adult, meaning that you're supposed to act like one. Your voice breaks slightly, "I'm pathetic, I'm sorry— I don't know why I'm like this."

Tears prickle at the corner of Diane's eyes, her demeanor soon shifts. If there is something she can't stand is when you treat yourself poorly like that. "Do not say that, you hear me? You're not pathetic. Something is clearly bothering you," she says, her voice devoid of any kind of hesitation. "But I shouldn't—", you sniffle and she interjects, hushing you softly. "Whatever you're feeling is valuable. It doesn't make you pathetic, but human," she insists, leaning closer to you, grazing her thumb over your cheekbone. With downcast eyes, you mutter, "But I worried you. I am a 26 years old woman and I still worry you with my childish behaviors," you pout.

Rolling her eyes, Diane affectionately strokes the tip of your nose, "Your age doesn't mean anything, sweetheart. You're my girlfriend. I will never stop feeling this way towards you. And even when there is no reason to worry, I'll still act crazy because you're not just anybody, you're my family," she confesses, making you smile in return. A blush comes to your cheeks too that Diane doesn't fail to notice. "That's incredibly corny—", you comment amusedly. She grins, "but you love it," she pokes your arm. "Amen to that", you both giggle at that. Diane is the sweetest, most caring person you've ever met in your life. A part of you often wonders who would you be without her. "Will you tell me what's going on?", she whispers before placing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

You sigh. You know you owe her an explanation. "It's just—" The waves you were supposed to see in the ocean, you see them in her eyes. "It's about what's to come."

Tears shimmer in your eyes, the sense of guilt coming back to you. Diane's heart tightens, and without a word, she moves closer and pulls you in her lap. "Can you be more specific?", she coos, her cheek rubs gently against yours. You find yourself smiling at the gesture. A smile she quickly reciprocates. You admire Diane like no other. Not only is she a wonderful girlfriend, protective and affectionate, but she is also an amazing teacher.

"I start teaching next semester," you blurt out. These words put together feel so unrealistic, you akwardly rub the back of your head. Diane's eyes open wide in slow motion, then she gasps and squeals like a child for how excited she is. She slightly pulls away to look at you in the eyes, probably to make sure you're serious. "No way— How? When did you find out?", your mouth tugs into a smile that you try to curb, touched by Diane's enthusiasm. You nibble on your bottom lip, averting her gaze for a brief moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed all over again as you remember what happened earlier that day. "I received an email by the school principal— it looks like there is a vacancy in English linguistics and he offered me the job."

Diane's hand fly to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Her beautiful chocolate eyes well up with fresh tears. Of joy this time, and pride for what you've finally achieved.

Next thing you feel are Diane's arms securely wrapped around you, "You have no idea how proud of you I am, sweetheart. You deserve this more than you know," she pulls back only a bit to look at you in the eyes. She is weeping now. Her hands roam up and down your face and shoulders. Her happiness is contagious and you can't help but smile along with her. Her eyes shine so bright you feel silly for the worries that have been haunting your mind and weighting on your heart.

You were supposed to celebrate, throw a party, even jumping in the ocean with your clothes on would have been better than getting depressed over silly concerns. Truth is, you want to be great at this, because this is what you love doing and what you've been preparing for your whole life. And at the same time, you want to live up to everyone's expectations. Especially Diane's. It's not that you want to compare yourself to her, but a part of you feels like you're not as good as her. Diane has much more experience than you, and students love her and respect her both as teacher and person.

That's probably what worries you the most, the possibility of not being taken seriously, not only because this is new territory to you, but also due to your young age. "Thanks," you breathe out, forcing a better smile out of you. "It really means the world to me." Then, you sweep your tongue over your lips, and Diane takes that as signal of distress from you. She smiles softly at you and opens her arms for you, "Come back here, silly." You don't let her tell you twice. Soon goosebumps rise over your skin, as she start cuddling you. "You don't seem thrilled to work with me," she whispers teasingly in your ear. You let out a quiet giggle, and shake your head, "I am. I feel honored, actually."

She hums in response, holding you a little tighter, "Then, what is it?", you lift your chin to meet her eyes and wait a couple of seconds before mastering the courage to tell her what is bothering you, "Your students respect you and see you as a role model," you state. Diane frowns, without understand where this is going yet. "I can't help but wonder if they will be showing me the same respect." Her mouth falls partially agape, her heart shutters at your self doubt. You've proved her your worth countless of times. You helped her grade her students' essays and gave her precious advices regarding lesson planning. "Sweetheart, they are gonna love you," she says, without a hint of hesitation in her tone. You try to protest, but she doesn't let you.

"Listen to me. Your young age isn't an obstacle but a bridge between you and them. Your passion for what you do, the dedication you put to get where you are now will be a source of inspiration for them," with a tender smile, Diane moves your hair on your left shoulder. You hum deep in thought. Her fingertips send you a shiver through your spine, when she strokes a sweet spot behind your neck, now clear from hair. "I'll have to keep an eye on you though," you frown at that. She shrugs and grins nonchalantly when you ask her what she means, "I can easily imagine your soon to be students fall deeply for their new teacher."

A playful hum comes to your lips: the concern you've been feeling suddenly subsides. "That is never gonna happen, Diane," you can't help but chuckle at her assumptions. You honestly love this side of her, when she is jealous, protective and a little bit possessive over you. It makes you feel like you're part of something, it gives you a sense of belonging.

"Oh, trust me, I'll make sure of that," her eyes sparkle mischievously, as she leans in to place a loud kiss on your cheek. You chuckle again, "Jealous, are we?" Diane's lips curve into a playful grin, "I simply defend what's mine, sweetheart," she says in a breathed whisper. You lift your hand in mid air, your fingers meeting her face. "I'm only yours, Diane," you speak with your heart, voice laced with emotion, "God, you're all I ever wanted."

It's obvious how she makes you feel. It shows in your eyes, in the way your cheeks quickly go on flame, and in that funny feeling between your legs that tickles you every time you're close to her. Diane owns you in the broadest sense of the term. "You're my treasure," Leaning in, she brushes her lips against yours, kissing you at a gentle rhythm. When she parts her mouth, you stroke the inside with a gentle flick of your tongue. Pouring in all your love, you kiss her with such an intensity, as if it was the last time. She breathes your name in your mouth and you moan hers, clinging to her clothes as she pulls onto your hair.

When you're in need to catch your breath, you part slightly but still being in each other's bubble. "Are you really mine?", she asks, her voice barely audible. You take her hand and place it upon your heart, "Do you feel that?" you ask, with a tender smile. She nods, already feeling emotional, "Every beat of my heart is for you, and that's never gonna change." A single tear slides down Diane's cheek as you speak, as she mutters your name in disbelief. You point a finger at her jokingly. "That's all your fault. You made me a hopeless sentimental," Diane laughs heartily, when you feign a grimace, "Oh you—I absolutely love you" her nose brushes against yours as she leans close to you once again.

You're both her obsession and her cure. She can't do without you. Neither can you. Your fingers come up to her face, in the attempt to wipe those tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

"Maybe we should soon put a ring on it," when that sentence comes to Diane's ears, she looks at you like she's seen a ghost, "W-what?", it's no secret to you that you want to get married someday, and you know that deep down Diane shares the same desire. You often fantasized about walking down the aisle together. Truth be told, you two actually started talking about it after only three weeks of dating. The topic often came out masked by a playful tone, however, both of you were always incredibly serious about it. "I'm not just saying it, Diane. And of course this is not an official proposal, because, I wouldn't do this to you like this, you deserve a proper one. I'm just—," you shrug nervously, "you know..."

Diane can't help but chuckle at that, "You're asking me, if you can actually ask me?"

A humorous giggle escapes your lips at her question. Nodding your head you say, "Pretty much, yes. Is it weird?", as response, Diane reaches out to gently caress your face, getting lost in your gaze as deep as the ocean, "That's the sweetest thing you've ever told me, and my answer is yes— it's always going to be yes," she grins and pecks the tip of your nose. With a small, nervous laugh, you stutter, "Really?" And she nods so eagerly and convincingly, you find yourself on cloud nine. "Oh, gods!" You sigh dreamily, and she arches an eyebrow at that, "I'll have the most beautiful wife in the world."

Diane lightly shakes her head, playfully nudging you, "Not at all. That would be me," she argues and when you're ready to object, she pecks your lips to keep you quiet. "And please, don't you ever doubt yourself anymore like that," she says serious again. "Cross my heart," you lift your pinkie and she lifts hers sealing the promise with a joyful smile. Then she looks at the sea, still holding you in her arms. After a moment of silence, she confesses, "Are you aware that now I'll think about it every single day until you ask me," you grin and absentmindedly stroke her arms, wrapped around you, "To await a pleasure is itself a pleasure," you mutter so seriously, you can't help and neither can Diane but to burst out laughing.

[wildbornsiren]

Don’t ask, don’t stop || Ron “Slider” Kerner/Nick “Goose” Bradshaw

Don’t ask, don’t stop. Summary: Goose needs to clear his mind, he finds his quiet space. And another problem finds him.  1313 words Ron “Slider” Kerner/Nick “Goose” Bradshaw Warnings: None.  Notes: I really should stop fighting the muses. Thank you so much @writercole for the beta.  I love comments and reblogs, likes make me happy. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.  Cross posted to @wbslibrary​ follow there for more fic (tagging in a few: @lorecraft @green-socks @semperhuggs @antiquitea @skiddit @pollyna @sliderkerner @icemankazansky  )

It was late, the neighborhood fast asleep. The streets were empty save for a few lone cars, even the 24-hour diner was empty. Nick rubs his eyes with one hand while stopped at a red light, cursing the lack of sleep, the ass chewing replaying in his mind over and over. It was stupid, going beneath the hard deck, even stupider to do the fly by. He had cleared the air a bit with Mav, but the anxiety still crept up his spine, making a home in his already cluttered mind. Nick continues driving until he finds the parking lot he was looking for, shoving a few crumpled dollars into the paybox for his haphazardly parked vehicle before making his way down the beach.

When the hard packed sand gives way, Nick sits at the edge, taking his shoes and socks off, rolling his jeans up a little. He digs his toes into the soft, cool sand, hands in the pocket of his jacket. The night is a little chilly, the cloudless ablaze with the soft light of stars. He’s far enough from the water’s edge to avoid the spray, but he can still hear the waves crashing into the shore, rhythmic, steady, calming.

It’s easier to breathe out here. He rolls his neck, eyes closed, just listening to the water. The sea breeze carries the scent of sweet beach grass on the salty air. Here, he could sit, take the time to untangle the gnarled ball of thoughts, simply exist without Mav vibrating so hard that even Nick’s cells shake. He loves the man, he really does—Pete’s his brother, his best friend, but there’s so much riding on this, so much at stake. Pete’s not holding on tight enough, or maybe Nick’s holding too tight, he’s not sure.

That was the story with them though.

Nick looks up when something cold and damp presses against his neck. Slider is standing next to him, a bottle of beer in his hand. Nick takes it, Slider thumps into the sand next to him.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime Goose?”

Nick snorts, twisting the bottle cap off. “Stalking me, Slider?”

“You went past me at an intersection,” Slider says, “I got curious and followed. Thought it might be a girl, but I found you here. Moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

“You’re sitting in the sand, by yourself, all huddled up, Bradshaw. I’d say that’s moping.”

“I’m thinking, a concept that I understand may be difficult for you to grasp.” Nick takes a sip of his beer. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be a dickhead. I’m trying to be nice.”

Their shoulders brush, Slider a warm, solid line of mass against him. It’s comforting. They had drifted a bit after Annapolis, but somehow they were drawn back together. An act of nature, or some immutable law put in motion by the universe. It was a push and pull, circling, peacocking—not nearly as obvious as the pilots, but RIOs had their own reputations to hold up.

“How badly did you get your ass chewed?” Slider breaks the quiet.

“Thinking about becoming a trucker.” Nick says. “Cross country hauling.”

“You’d hate it.” There’s a soft chuckle, and Slider nudges him. “You’d get bored so quickly.”

“Maybe,” Nick sighs

“You would. You belong in the air, jackass. Same as me. Same as Ice and Mav.”

“Watch out, someone may hear you. Then you’d have to explain that you have emotions and shit, Kerner.” Nick bumps him right back, enjoying the banter that is usually overshadowed by the two pilots showboating.

“I have emotions. I just keep them to myself,” Slider laughs again. “I need the two of you around. You honestly think there’s anyone else me and Ice can compete against?”

“Oh, so now we’re competition?”

“You think Wood and Wolf are?” Slider says. “You and Maverick are the only two that keep us on our toes.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” Nick laughs. “Thought you considered us another obstacle.”

“I do care,” Slider objects, faking offense with a gasp, “that stings Bradshaw. Are you forgetting our time at the academy?”

“We almost got kicked out of there too,” Nick chuckles as he bumps his shoulder again.

“I think you’re the problem.”

“You’re also a common denominator, and so is Ice,” Nick points out with a smile, “but, you’re the problem.”

He stays quiet after that, letting the rolling waves fill the silence as they drink. The night chill sends a shiver through Nick's body, and he instinctively curls towards the warmth beside him, the heat radiating from the man beside him enticing him. Slider shifts and Nick catches a whiff of his cologne, subtle, expensive, and rich. As it settles into Nick's senses, he relaxes, and the thought crosses his mind that it's nice.

This is nice.

It's a problem.

There are a few things that Nick doesn't talk about. The relationship he had with his father. The fact that he was a virgin until he was nearly twenty-two. That he was scared of the dark nearly that long as well. And that it wasn't only women that caught his eye or captured his heart.

“I may be a problem, but I’m here aren’t I?” Slider grins.

“Let’s hear it for RIO solidarity.” Nick taps his beer bottle against Slider’s, offering a quick grin, one he knows doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“We’re friends,” Slider mumbles, his eyes focusing on the waves in the distance. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

“You aren’t,” Nick assures, “it’s just a lot, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Keep Mav from doing fly bys and you two should be fine,” Slider scoffs.

“He’s showing off,” Nick mutters. “He wants everyone to know who he is. All the attention on him.” He looks at Slider, something twisting in his chest. The other man is looking out to the water, but he glances at Nick, their eyes meeting, holding each other’s gazes. Nick barely remembers to breathe, the warmth in Slider’s eyes washing over him. They’re close, too close, Nick’s free hand curling in the sand, physically stopping himself from reaching up, tracing along Slider’s strong jaw.

Instead, he reverts to grade school behavior, and shoves gently at Slider again.

“One more time Bradshaw, I swear,” Slider grumbles. Nick smirks, shifting his weight to do it again.

Instead, he finds himself flat on his back in an instant, the coolness of the sand seeping through his clothes. Slider is on top of him, a weighty contrast of warmth to the comforting chill of the sand. He’s got one thick thigh between Nick’s own, a hand on his shoulder, pinning one of Nick’s arms to the ground. “If you needed to get it out physically, all you have to do is ask. I don’t mind wrestling around with you.”

It was something they had bonded over in the academy; both had wrestled in high school.

Nick swallows thickly, eyes raking Slider’s face, then dropping to his chest, and the flash of metal dangling from under the neck of Slider’s shirt. He reaches with his free hand, grabbing the ball chain of Slider’s dog tags, and pulls down, bringing their mouths together with a muffled grunt. Time stands still, the only thing registering is the pounding heartbeat in his ears.

And then Slider kisses him back.

Yielding, soft, softer than Nick had ever expected. He moans against Slider’s mouth, lips parting when the kiss deepens. The sand is soft, Slider’s weight pressing against him, the same hand that pinned him, now unzipping Nick’s jacket, palm dragging up his torso. Nick is taller by an inch, but Slider is broad, muscular, his shoulders roll when Nick’s hands span over his back.

“Nick?” Slider whispers, hoarse, the word pressed to Nick’s jaw.

“Don’t ask,” Nick replies, “don’t stop.”

“Copy that,” Slider murmurs, easing his mouth over Nick’s once more.

  /end

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 4

The Development

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Can a match of two soul mates develop to more? WC: 6.7 K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, vaginal sex. Arguing. Yearning. Feelings. Angsty feeling yearning feelings, friends. These two are so in it. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

To be notified of new fics and updates follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

A/N: As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically.

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 3 >>> Part 5

I trace the curves of your heart

Learn them and know them

Our friendship is meant for more 

To develop and grow and feel so much more

Elia was ever-present in Sunspear; too alive to be a ghost, too quiet to ignore. Oberyn can still hear her at the top of the stairs, her high voice calling for their mother’s input on a dress or an opinion on a necklace. He can still see her sneaking around the corner of the kitchen, long hair whipping away as she sneaks a piece of candy, the cooks chasing her with poorly veiled smiles. He can feel her in the drifts of sand beneath his feet, the sting of salt against his skin, the rise of the tide meeting him here as she once did.

He’s there now, walking along the same shore line they chased each other down as children, their laughter still tracing the crash of each wave. Elia is ever-present, his one constant, and despite the distance between them, Oberyn is reminded how different his life is without his older sister waiting just a few steps ahead of him. 

Doran has called his sentimental longing foolish too many times to keep track, the frequency more deliberate with every passing day. His humor surrounding the issue seemed to grow darker with each shake of his hand; every pain in his joints, every wheeze from his lungs. It is all Oberyn can bear, to listen without commentary as he watches the only sibling he has left wait outside death’s door. 

“Perhaps Elia had it right,” Doran half-joked, his eyes distant, his smile gone. “If one dies young then there is no risk of growing old.”

The joke had ended an already tense council debriefing, Oberyn very quickly losing his taste for his brother’s company. He could feel old wounds billowing up his throat and threatening to spill from his lips, suddenly too tired to remain in the presence of Dorne’s high council. 

He had taken to the beach soon after, desperate to walk in solitude. There was the smallest of hopes he could sort through the shambles of his guilt and anger and frustrations alike, but the scenery only seemed to spur his hostility forward. 

The storm that had been brewing overnight loomed larger by the second. The early summer warmth had turned clammy, cold wind churning the waves higher and higher still. Hazy clouds sit heavy at the bottom of the skyline, distant strikes of white lightning jumping from one to the next. 

Oberyn welcomed the sight, the rising waves a violent match to his anger. 

His privacy is snatched away, interrupted halfway down the beach, the presence of her, unexpected and uninvited. She’s sitting in the sand, the tide slipping closer to her bare feet with every wave that rushes in. She seems oblivious to the change in weather, her gaze pointed at her knees, one of her pathetic pieces of parchment held awkwardly, as she tries to keep the wind from carrying it away. 

Oberyn watches her sweep a piece of charcoal back and forth, her eyes flicking up to the waves and back down, the shape of them clearly escaping her. He casts his own glance at the skyline, daylight bleeding darker, despite the early hour. The storm will be here sooner than expected, and despite her critical eye, she seems oblivious to the dangers racing towards the shore. 

He moves across the sand, steps awkward and slanting, pitching his voice as loud as he can to combat against the crash of the sea.  

“Have you a secret wish to drown?”

She changes the course of her eyes to his towering stance, just long enough to give attention to his question then refusing to answer. Oberyn flails his arms, growling out a curse and spitting at the sand, all as the foamy sea inches rapidly towards them both. 

He does not allow himself to consider patience as a solution. 

“You are to return to the palace this instant.”

“Husband and soulmate you may be but you are not my keeper, Oberyn Martell.”

“For fucks…this is not a negotiation! There is a storm moving in!”

“Then let it come.” 

Oberyn curses again, moving against the wind to snatch the parchment away, the blunt charcoal flying in the opposite direction. He cuts off her protesting cries, pointing back towards the direction of the palace. 

“Now!”

“I am not some child for you to order about!” She shoots up, moving to push at his chest, her anger sparking in a flash, her face twisted into a new kind of annoyance. She tries to grab for the parchment crushed in his fist, but succeeds only in falling more into his arms. 

“A child would have the wherewithal to listen,” he sneers, one hand wrapping easily around both her wrists. “Instead I have a wife who ignores all sense and reason!”

Her lips curl into a smile, sickly sweet mockery coloring the laughter she blasts into his face. The sound is roguish, cutting across him in swift slaps just as the first drops of rain hit his cheeks. She leans in, just enough for the tip of her nose to ghost along his own, her breath hot where it mingles with the cold sea air. 

“Let us not pretend you are here out of any matrimonial obligation.”

She does not give him time to respond, wrenching her hands away and moving around him, heading back towards the palace just as he had asked her too. Oberyn turns just in time to see her retreating back, the wind whipping the tails of her silk dress into a frenzy, the rain soaking the red fabric, bleeding it black. 

He would love nothing more than to stand and admire her figure all while the thrashing, crashing storm drags him out to sea, the lasting image of her beautiful fury burned into his heart, but Oberyn Martell refuses to give up his right to the last word. 

“We chose this!”

She does not give pause as he jogs after her, picking up her pace to avoid the grab of his hands. He curses again, wiping his hand down his face, the rain pounding harder with each passing second. He shakes his hands, moves faster, and this time when he reaches out for her, his hold is true. 

“We made a choice! Yours! And mine!”

“Choice?” She yells, rain water clinging helplessly to her lips, her lashes, the apples of her cheeks. “You speak of choice? Don’t you see, husband? There never was! That right was taken from us the moment our hands touched! Perhaps even long before!”

Oberyn looks down where his hand is still wrapped tightly around her arm, even the heavy drops of rain unable to break between the touch of their skin. The rain continues to fall, soaking them to the bones, but it hardly matters. Without warning, he is taken back to the altar of their wedding and that very first touch of hands. 

His head is above water. 

He can breathe. 

“Why the desperation to keep me safe? Why?” Her voice cracks, breaking around her words, eyes watery and lips trembling.

“Because,” he starts, the answer coming as naturally as the beat of his heart “you are my –”

He stops. He chokes.

He thinks he sees a smile, just the smallest, before she pulls away from him for good. 

He forgets to swim for fear he may drown. 

———

“How has your time in Dorne been thus far, my lady?”

She glances to where Prince Doran watches her, his goblet poised just before the split of his lips, eyes warm in the glow of the candle light. When the invitation to dine with her new brother in law had come this afternoon her nerves had been tangled hopelessly, her and Oberyn’s nasty words still sitting heavy in her gut. 

The storm that he had promised was still raging outside her bedroom windows as she traced the elegant turn of Doran Martell’s quill, only the ends of his letters breaking into a jagged etch. As the lightning crackled in the distance, her heart thundering with the regret of cruel honesty, she wondered what it could be that the current Lord of Sunspear had hoped to discuss.

She had accepted, reluctantly unsure, but in hindsight she is glad she did. Doran is a kind man, a shrewd lord and a protective brother. It was clear after only a short time in his presence that he loved fiercely if quietly, and that love now extended to her.

“It has had its ups and downs, my lord, but the weather is agreeable and everyone has been so kind.”

“You are quite generous, my lady, but I must confess, you are an atrocious liar.” 

Heat creeps slowly up her cheeks, and she ducks her head for a bite of roast meat in a pitiful attempt to avoid Doran’s eyeline. She can feel his smile pinned to the crown of her head, the silence thick with intent between them. Finally she can take it no more and she chances a glance back in his direction. 

“Neither of us really prepared for this possibility.”

“Oh, I don’t think finding your soulmate is truly something you can plan for,” he reasons, and even though his tone is teasing, she takes it in stride, matching his smile with her own small one. 

“Is this truly the worst kept secret in Westeros?” 

Doran laughs, loud and deep, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and for just a breath of it, she thinks how very alive he looks, eyes bright and smile wide. But then his laughter breaks, a cough disrupting the moment, stealing the joy momentarily from the room. The prince is quick to recapture it, his hand finding hers, halting the lift of her cup and ensuring her attention is fully on him.

“My brother has a good heart. I think by now that is something we can agree on.”

She takes the time to release her goblet, turning her hand to clasp Doran’s just so, squeezing around his grasp to assure him of her attention. 

“But he is impetuous. It is the worst and best of him. In this he needs the trust of those around him.”

“Trust?”

“A far more difficult gift to give than love, but I can promise you, Oberyn would not take either for granted.” 

With that, he releases her hand, freeing her to reach for her wine again. She does, taking a long sip, letting the sweet taste of plums sit heavy on her tongue as she considers all that remains to learn of her husband. 

———

Oberyn trails the pad of his finger slowly up then down, gooseflesh forming in his wake as he maps the slope of Ellaria’s breast. Her breath comes in stuttering drags, parting her lips as he follows the same path along her other tit. He leans in, close enough to let his hot breath hit the pebbled peak of her nipple, a gasp rising up and out of her. 

“You are insatiable tonight,” she sighs, long fingers carding through his hair, a soothing motion that does little to curb his appetite. 

“Could one ever tire of such a decadent indulgence?” He emphasizes his point without hesitation, lips sealing around her nipple, tongue swirling a delicate pattern around the sensitive heat of her skin. 

“Then have your fill, my love,” she coos, pulling him up and over her, her lips tracing the length of his neck. 

He fills her slowly, inch by inch, relishing in the tight clench of her pussy around his cock. She is soaked, drenched in her own release and filled with his, the evidence of their night together sticky sweet between them. 

Oberyn could have her a thousand different on a thousand different nights. He could bury himself between her legs and drown on the taste of her, her tempered voice and supple skin wrapped around him from every end. Ellaria Sand has seen him in his best and his worst and all there could ever be, and still she stays by his side. He does not deserve the adoration she heaps upon him, the gifts of her body and mind and soul, when it is his own hands that are so very empty in return.

Something snaps inside him, a tipping point that dips the scales too heavy to one side. He grinds his hips down hard, teeth and tongue scraping along the delicate skin of her neck, the steady beat of her heart printed on his lips. He molds his body to her own, one hand bruised into her side, the other cradling the curve of her head, the two touches so diametrically opposed. 

A heavy storm crashing into soft mounds of sand.

“I want to feel you. Please, my love, let me feel you come again.”

Ellaria’s hips rise to meet his own, the tight grip of her cunt stronger with each thrust of his cock inside her, her mewls of pleasure drowning out the slap of their skin. They hold each other close and rock together, lips gasping as they crash together between panting pleas for more harder yes and more still. 

It does not matter that this is the third time he’s had her tonight – there is a certainty he will have her soon again – when the waves of their release crash into them, it is blinding, unfettered heat clinging to their skin as he fills her with his seed. 

It is later, much more so, the sunset finding the strength to break through the last of the storm clouds, that Oberyn finally rests, his head finding purchase along the plush give of Ellaria’s thighs. 

He breathes in the scent of her skin and licks the taste of phantom rainwater from his lips, his eyes heavy, his limbs loose. His robes are still piled at the foot of the bed, charcoal fingerprints staining the gold stitching, possibly forever. 

He thinks he could sleep, long and hard and deep, and yet he surprises himself when he instead chooses to speak.

“How is it that I lo—“ He cuts his own words off at the knee, refusing to say them out loud. “I hardly know her?”

The lightest touch finds the curve of his cheek, tracing the corners of it down to his chin and back up again, Ellaria’s tone giving him the answer in the form of a thinly veiled joke. 

“If only there was a solution to that very easily fixed problem, my prince.” 

———

The knock on her door is tentative, half insistent but with no discernible rush to it. She half expects one of the girls on the other side, the youngest two taking a shine to her during the many hours spent with Ellaria in the citrus groves, bonding over silly drawings and flower crowns. But when she pulls the heavy door open, it is not the wide eyes of a little girl she meets but the cunning ones of her soulmate. 

For a second she does not know what to say, the roof of her mouth tacky, the lingering taste of her honey tea still clinging to her tongue. She licks her lips to no avail, words failing a second time as she stares at the man she calls husband. He appears as tired as she feels, dark rings circling the curve of his eyes, his shoulders hunched, his robes just barely cinched shut, and his hand wrapped around…

“I brought you paint.”

She sees it now, small bottles clutched in his left hand, each one filled with liquid rich shades of reds and blues and yellows. He holds them up higher, their jewel tones catching in the early morning light, and suddenly she can see it so clearly in her mind – crashing waves and burning sunsets and the plush velvet of a throne – coming to life in vibrant blooming color beneath her fingertips. She opens her mouth and wishes desperately for the ability to say something. 

Anything. 

But her voice fails her yet again.

“They’re used mostly for shields and armor, but I thought maybe…you…” 

Oberyn’s words trail off, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He grunts, drawing her eyeline back to his own, and she does her best to read the expressions drawn across his features. 

A small frown drags his lips down and away from the blush atop his cheeks, his brows caved in where he seems to be worrying over what to say next. Just as she thinks maybe she should push the door open wider, perhaps offer her husband more than just a blank stare and thick silence, he speaks again, an edge cutting across his tone, the plush of his lips pouting in the most dramatic fashion.

“Am I truly to be punished forever?”

If possible, the silence grows even thicker, the pair of them trapped in an impossible match of wills, every ridiculous and cruel thing they’ve said to one another sticking heavy and honest between them.

And then they are both laughing. Short, broken spurts of it, that grow louder with every breath they pull in, until the room is filled from corner to corner, the sound mixing with the bright yellow of sunlight and washing away the bitter taste of honey and replacing it with something so much sweeter.

———

Oberyn hovers towards the center of the room, close enough to see her but just far enough to keep his restless hands at bay. He had been surprised when she had pushed the door open, inviting him in and as equally surprised when he accepted. 

She kept her quarters tidy, save for the small writing desk at the far end of the room, its sturdy top covered in broken charcoal, stains of ink, and scraps of parchment. The doors to the balcony were opened wide letting in every drop of sunlight available so early in the morning. It also gifted them both a gracious view of the lemon groves, the sound of the waves of the Dornish sea crashing in the distance.  

He watches in interest as she sets the little jars of paint down in a neat row along the sill of a window, a heavy trunk set just beneath that she kneels upon to balance herself. She touches her fingertips to each one, as if to imprint herself upon the colors captured in the little glass jars, eyes distant as her mind begins to create. 

He knows now the paint had been the right choice. He had wandered the markets in search of a gift for hours, all manner of trinket for him to choose from. Dresses and jewels, yards of silk, spools of gold, endless options fit for a princess. But then he thought of charcoal stains, of hectic scratches on scraps of parchment, of eyes that searched the horizon for an answer to some unasked question. 

The paints had cost pennies but Oberyn was certain. They were priceless. 

She takes care with each one, eyes flitting from the luscious colors to the open window and back to him, her lips parting around an unspoken question. He wishes she would speak it now and end his misery, the tension from earlier having made the smallest of returns after she invited him over the threshold of her quarters. 

Oberyn knows it was untoward to appear at her door with no notice. Wife and soulmate she may be, but the unfamiliarity lent itself the strangeness of it all. He had felt landlocked when she left him behind on that beach, trapped from moving in either direction until the matter of their match had been broached upon. 

“Prince Oberyn?” 

She calls to him, straightening to her full height, twisting the jar of red between her fingers, eyes searching him in quiet observation. He steels himself for her questions of why, of how and when, fingers flexing around the tendrils of his nerves, his lungs too tight to draw breath.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, my lady.”

Breathing comes just a little bit easier after that.

———

“What is it you are reading, my lord?”

Oberyn glances up from the thick book laying open in his lap. The text is resting on his legs, criss crossed comfortably on the tiled floor of her balcony, and a bored shrug tilts his shoulders in one direction.

He had taken to stopping by her quarters regularly, coming and going much in the same way he had the very first time, something small to offer clutched in his hands. A bundle of paint brushes one morning, fresh rolls of thick, white parchment the next.

He had made a swift and awkward exit after each visit, her offer of a cup of tea politely declined with thin excuses and increasing embarrassment. His voice cracked as he rambled about needing to meet with Doran about all manner of things from trade negotiations to border disputes to what the cooks should make for supper. It would have been endearing if the rejection had not left her feelings so sore. 

An issue in and of itself.

But before he left he always took pause, one foot still inside the doorway, his head turned just enough to catch her eye. 

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

This morning he came with a heavy tome under his arm and a bowl of fresh berries in the other, and this time when she offered him a cup of tea, he somehow found the words to agree. The tension felt just as broad as it had the day prior, stocky and wide spread between them. She paid it as little mind as she could, pushing the door wide enough to allow the prince entry. 

He had made himself comfortable, seated on the floor, the fruit set in front of him and his book splayed open, almost immediately engrossed in the elegant print set before him. She stood off to the side, one new paint brush held tight to her chest as she tried to fight the almost-memory of her body curled into his lap in place of his studies.

A ridiculous notion considering she has no real way to draw upon such an image. 

For a while they remained quiet; only the sound of a page turning rising to meet the sound of paint on parchment. But as the sun danced higher and higher into the sky, she swore she could feel Oberyn’s eyes on her, diverting his studious gaze from the words on the page to the paint on her parchment. She was making similar motions in kind, admiring the streams of sunlight as they kissed along the tops of his cheeks, his plush lips moving in time with whatever had captivated his attention so. 

“I am attempting to learn more about soulmates.”

“Do the histories cover these matters?”

He hums, turning a page slowly, but his eyes stay on her. 

“They do, but it is not a history book I have brought with me, but one of poetry.”

This gives her pause.

“I do not think the poets are a wealth of facts, husband.” 

For a second icy panic slips in between her heartbeats, worried that the intention of her teasing could be misrepresented by her blunt tone of voice, but he cuts that worry down at the knees, his own teasing smile breaching the corner of his lips.

“You would question them? Experts on true love?”

“I do not think it possible anyone save for myself can be an expert on my heart,” she muses, stirring the ruby red paint slowly, watching his features carefully for answers she was not quite ready to ask for.

“Then you have not been reading the right poetry, my wife.”

“Well then, I suppose you and I will simply have to disagree,” she chides, no venom to be had in her words as she turns back to her painting with finality. 

Behind her Oberyn laughs, the sound bright and sweet, unable to let anyone have the last word. 

“What else is new?”

———

They slip into this new routine easily enough, the agreement between them as unspoken as it is sure, meeting most days, allowing them the opportunity of one another’s company outside of all that is expected of them. 

Husband and wife. Prince and Princess of Dorne.  Soulmates.

But what of friendship?

———

“Why cherry wine?”

“It’s the only fruit that grows in the north.”

———

“It fascinates you.”

“Hmm?”

“The throne of Sunspear?”

He had grown restless with his reading, instead taking to aimless turns about her quarters as she fiddled with a crown of silk flowers — a gift for Loreza, not an ounce of hesitation in her admission.  

He had lingered at her writing desk, eyes raking over her odds and ends, small notes in slanted cursive and little doodles that kept more secrets than they shared. One particular piece caught his eye immediately.

She looks up from her delicate work, eyes focusing on the scrap of parchment in his hand, edges curling, charcoal smudged, but the image still clear. 

“I thought it was merely a chair,” she murmurs, eyes dropping back down, the confounding confession doing little to explain her fixation. 

He wants to pry, feels the urge pressing at the seal of his lips, but then she is looking at him again, the smallest glance of fear twisting her features.

“I dreamt of it…back at Winterfell.”  

For a second Oberyn is silent, a different sort of gravity settling on his shoulders as he takes in the weight of her words. After a moment’s brevity he licks his lips and laughs, short and hard and filled with mirth.

“It seems my poets have much to learn.”

———

“Why the red viper?”

“I like poison.”

“Clever.”

“Easy, wolf.”

———

“I still love Ellaria.” 

“I know. I feel it too.”

“Perhaps things would be easier if I did not.”

———

The summer heat refuses to break, even the shade of the lemon trees are not nearly enough to soften the harsh glare of the sun above. Ellaria’s hand is sweaty, her fingers slipping where they’re tangled together with her own as they walk slowly through the groves. The conversation had shifted from topic to topic before words were exchanged for silence, their shared company more comfort than anything else. 

Spending time with Ellaria had become an integral part of her life in the palace, the two women growing closer with each setting sun. They traded stories and secrets with equal give and take, finding common ground in their love of art, and taking part in spirited debates over the trivial goings-on of the Dornish court.

“Have you taken any thought on attending court? As princess you’re allowed certain funds towards your own aims.”

The pair slows, twin seats taken beneath a single wide branch, a sparkling pond at their back. She gives herself a moment to think on the question, so unsure of what would even be proper. It feels a decision that should be made with one’s head, an impossible feat with her whole being so entangled in matters of the heart. 

“Does anyone expect much from me? It feels as though I am meant to be merely window dressing. No one expects more than that. Not even myself; stumbling into my stations at every turn.” 

Ellaria does not take to her floundering with patience. She grabs both of her hands and holds tight, leaning in until she can feel the other woman’s breath on her cheek. 

“You, my dear one, are a friend to a queen, matched with a prince, raised side by side with wolves. Embrace it.” 

All she can do is nod, the advice as overwhelming as Ellaria’s insistent touch. They sit like that a moment longer, the sun still high, the sky so blue, another wash of silence engulfing them. The serenity stays with them until the shout of Oberyn calls their attention out towards where he is walking slowly towards them, a young girl at his side. 

He had been anxious the day prior, boundless energy pouring out of him as he paced the length of her quarters, unable to stop the smile splitting his features as spoke of Elia Martell. The feeling was ten fold inside her own heart, Oberyn’s own love for his daughters saturating her senses in the best way. 

The fourteen year old was home from the citadel, word of her uncle’s condition finally reaching her in the most western part of Oldtown. Ellaria had mentioned how the pair of them had not left each other’s side since she arrived late last night, the pair falling asleep mid-conversation, Oberyn’s arm tight around his daughter’s waist. 

They had woken early, intent on a ride across the sandy beaches, a moment the prince had been looking forward to greatly. 

“My El has no patience for her studies. In this we differ greatly. She is too wild for it. Would rather be on the back of her filly with the wind in her hair.”

She couldn’t help but wonder if the young girl would agree to take a ride with her at some point in her visit. Horseback was something she had only managed to master on the solid ground of a dense forest, but it would be untoward to ask a newly minted stepdaughter to help her find footing on the sandy dunes of Dorne? 

Another time perhaps, she muses to herself, happy to look on as the two of them laugh, their cheeks newly kissed by the sun, sand sticking to their boots and salt water dripping from their fingertips. 

Elia carries herself like her father, chin tilted high, sharp brown eyes and a rapt smile, her dark hair plaited elegantly down her back. She moves almost erratically, her steps wide then short, skipping around her father’s as they walk together. Ellaria watches with amusement, her own joy at having her oldest daughter home palpable. 

“He frets over all of them,” she shares, nodding in the direction of Oberyn and Elia. “But more so the ones he cannot keep close. Always anxious they would be pulled into some intrigue or another.” 

She nods, seeing firsthand how dangerous it can be to be an unmarried daughter in a world such as this one. Flashes of Sansa’s bright blue eyes, dulled from years of playing a pawn in her own life spring forth too fast for her to fight, and she can’t help the ache of loneliness she suddenly feels. 

Oberyn catches her eye at that very moment, brows creasing, his lips parting mid laugh as he takes her in from across the courtyard. Another sharp reminder of their bond, love and pain shared so equally it was difficult to know what went where and who was meant to keep it for their own. It was jarring, still catching her breath when she was caught so unaware. 

“He frets over other things as well,” Ellaria hums, a smile tilting across her pretty lips. “For instance, he still thinks there is a choice to be made.”

She does not look away from him, gaining casual ground as he and El move close enough to hear bits and bobs of their conversation, her eyes meeting his again beneath the bright sunlight break through the treetops. It burns, just a bit, but she finds that she cannot look away. 

“Foolish man.”

———

Oberyn is having difficulty concentrating. 

The day had been hectic, but in the most pleasant of ways, leaving him sated and at ease, the comfort of having his beloved El home with him again. She had spent the night before listening intently as he updated her on all that she missed in her time away, and in turn, the next morning he had told him of her studies at the citadel. 

He could not help how he chuckled at the fierceness in her eyes as she brushed the dirt and sand away from her horse’s slick coat, all but begging to cut her time there short. 

“I am not suited for an education, Papa. You must know my time is best spent elsewhere.”

Elsewhere, indeed. He feels grim at the thought, knowing what Elia craved was the cold steel of a lance in her hand, a challenge always burning at the tip of her tongue. It was his impetuous rage that she inherited, and perhaps in a different time he would allow her to abandon her studies in lieu of preparing for war. But times had changed, and though Westeros still felt as if on shaky ground, it seemed those days were set firmly in the past. 

As it was, an agreement had been struck. She would finish the last of the lessons she has been enrolled in, a duty she would honor. If at the end of it she still felt a thirst for something more wild in nature, then Oberyn would help her in any and every way he knew how. 

This satisfied her for the time being, throwing herself onto the back of the black filly, her easy smile returning, her sharp eyes already scanning the path that led from the stables down to the beach. 

“Next time,” she mused, a bit of nervous humor creeping along the edge of her words, “you should bring your new bride along.” 

The request was almost enough to knock him from his own steed, but he regained his composure quickly enough. 

Only to lose it again upon seeing his wife and his paramour lost in conversation beneath the shade of the lemon trees, hands clasped, foreheads barely a breath apart. 

His heart felt too full, flailing helplessly as watched the two women from across the courtyard. 

The feeling nipped at his steps for most of the day, easily set aside as he spent time with Ellaria and the girls. They had all retired for the evening, the younger girl’s desperate for their own time with their sister. He could hardly blame them for it, his own hunger for their company just as voracious. 

It made him long for a visit from the eldest of his three despite knowing that logic was the biggest factor at play. They would come when they could, a reality of parenthood he did not relish but accepted all the same. 

Alone for the evening, thoughts of his soulmate soon returned. There had a longing in her today, he had felt it strongly in the courtyard; a yearning he could almost taste for friendship and acceptance and the embrace of family.

It’s how he found himself in her quarters this night, watching as she went through the motions of her evening routine, sunshine traded in for the soft filtering of moonlight. It surrounded her in a stunning halo, encapsulating her beauty, and as distracted as he was, Oberyn finally felt a small fraction of peace. 

“What is in the trunk?” 

He had noticed it the first morning he had been allowed into her private space, the weathered wood thick and dark, a color not normally seen outside the hearty grounds of the north. He had a guess, more of an assumption really, but his restless mood was pushing him to tease. 

She casts the objection of his attention a sparring glance before giving him his answer. 

“My dowry.” 

He is up and across the room before she can squeak out a protest. 

“Is it not my husbandly right?” 

She bites her lip and scowls, both of them knowing that it very much was, even though no formal request for a dowry had been made. Oberyn had put his foot down on that; to equate a marriage to a sack of gold felt tacky and ill-suited, especially when the consideration that it was not born in love came into play. 

Not born into it, but certainly meant for it, Oberyn thinks, mostly in a joking manner. 

He flips the trunk open with a flourish, shooting her a wolfish smile over the turn of his shoulder before turning back around. Most of the contents are not surprising — a large bag of gold, a second of jewels — both he ignores. There are ribbons and stockings and robes, all folded neatly, perfect piles of silk and gauze left untouched. 

And nestled directly in the middle of it all is a dress. 

Shades of silver and grey and white, every bit a winter daydream, a vision Oberyn swears he can see at the forefront of his mind. He goes to lift it then stops, waiting to see if she will protest. When she stays quiet, he reaches back in, fingers wrapping gently around the edges of the dress. 

“It was my mother’s.” 

“And you didn’t want to wear it?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, falling to her knees beside him, eyes raking over her own belongings, the loneliness from earlier slamming him hard in the chest. Her fingers wrap around the wood, mirroring the hold he has on her dress and with little preamble she nudges the curve of her shoulder into his own. He can see her smiling from the corner of his eye, in on the joke just before she speaks it. 

“You didn’t find your bride beautiful that day, my husband?”

“Annoyingly so.” And then, “You would have looked beautiful in this too.”

She hums, noncommittal to his compliments as she stands and moves away. “There’s a veil in there too. A gift from Sansa.” 

“You miss her terribly.”

He is not asking. He does not need to. 

“I do.”

Oberyn looks back to the dress, years of history stitched into the fine fabric, beads and lace marching through time long after those who had loved it are gone. 

He thinks of his sister, his daughters, his lovers. He thinks of his family and of his people and the strength born into Dorne. His life and his home, still unbroken after all this time. 

He licks his lips and nods his head, standing quickly as a feeling just out of reach finally falls into place. 

“We will visit soon. I promise…I….”

It is her hands on his shoulder that pulls his gaze back to her, the tips of her fingers trailing sweetly to the belt on his robe, her smile light even through her tears and he swears — swears — he will never question this feeling again. 

“We will have to teach you how to properly tie your robes then, my prince.”

———

Oberyn had thought the storm was over. He had assumed the rolling thunder and crashing waves would no longer plague him after they receded from the shore and back out into the black depths of the Dornish sea. He had thought there would be peace. 

Quiet. 

He thought he would be able to breathe.  

He had been so very very wrong. 

Sleep evades him, the storm raging on inside his heart, waves rising up and crashing down, dragging out so far that he fears he may be lost to it forever. He had retired only hours prior, parting from her with more reluctance than ever before, and in that time he had only grown more sure of what he knew to already be so true. 

His knock is loud, insistent and he does not stop until her door opens wide, tired eyes and clumsy hands hastily tying her dressing gown closed. He does not wait for her to gather her bearings before he rushes in, unable to hold back anymore. 

“I cannot breathe.”

“I do not understand.”

“I love you,” he gasps, the words spilling out of him as if he were a broken vase, the cracks too deep to hold back the sheer volume of his affections. “I love you so and I cannot swim like this forever. I cannot. I am at the bottom of the ocean, waiting, where I cannot breathe. And you are the only one who can help me.” 

“My lord… I …. We… it is our bond…you do not—“

“I do,” he insists, fists balled and feet stamping. “Your messy scribbles and your thick robes and your stupid sense of honor. I love it all and then some, and I think you love me too. So say it. Say it, my lady and save us both.” 

He pauses, waiting as patiently as he is wholly capable for her answer. He knows he is a far cry from the venomous viper that he aims to be, his breathing ragged, his face flushed but it is not to be worried upon. The only concern there is in this moment’s notice is the choice she has to make. 

———

Dedications:

To my dearest @jazzelsaur who continues to listen to me gripe and moan and lament my google search and how it is literally nothing but Game of Thrones trivia and who beta read this chapter that I love but am so so nervous to share. Thank you, my love. I love you.

To @magpie-to-the-morning my pumpkin wife, who is this story's biggest cheerleader. Thank you, emma for loving this story and cheering me on and joining me in my daily Oberyn brain rot. I love you so so much.

[writingnocturne]

At The Shore of Reality

A Link to The Past/Link's Awakening

Expand to Read!

A boy lies in the heat of the sun, a torn plank of wood planted into the soaked sands not too far away. A set of footsteps becomes faintly audible to him, squishing in the sands of the beach. There's another seagull's call.

At The Shore of Reality

All he can hear is the light crash of the waves against the sand and the call of seagulls circling overhead. The sounds of the shore sing like a ballad. However, his eyes refuse to open. His hair is weighed down against his face by water.

"...Link?"

His eyes slowly flutter open at the mention of his name, but he can barely see the silhouette of who has found him.

"...Marin?" He mumbles, trying to wake himself up the rest of the way as he process what happened. This… feels familiar.

"...Huh? Link, no, it's me... Zelda–" The girl's voice grows closer as she hurries to help him sit upright. It gets her drenched in the process, but she keeps on, "What happened?"

Link groans, shaking his head in an attempt to force his vision to focus. Eventually, it does; and he realizes that it was, in fact, Princess Zelda who found him. "There was a storm, and I…– …Got knocked out." He leaves it at this, far too dizzy to explain the journey he thought he was on, "I… woke up with my raft… in shambles. I wasn't able to… get this plank on track."

The princess lets out a short, quiet gasp, "...Link, that's terrible–! I'm so sorry that happened. You should have told me you didn't have a boat…! I owe you one, at the least." Zelda gently takes his arm, observing the tears in his sleeve to make sure he isn't cut. Link is slightly surprised by this action, his face gaining a slight blush.

"It's… alright, Princess," Link brings his free hand up to his face, pulling the dragged-down hair out of the way. "...What were you doing all the way out here…?"

"I was heading to the docks, but some darn seagull flew off with my bracelet after it slipped off. I got it back, but… then I saw you."

..

"...A… seagull led you here?"

"...Convenient, I know. I don't know what a seagull would even need with a piece of jewelry. But… I'm glad it did. Otherwise, who knows when you would have gotten help…" She moves on to his other arm, carefully taking it and looking it over for any wounds. "It's a miracle you weren't hurt when you washed up here! Not that I can see, at least…" Link only continues to listen to her speak, wordless now. Perhaps it wasn't luck that kept the water from sending him to his room. Perhaps it was… the wind. Zelda lowers Link's arms now, frowning, "It's probably best we get a physician to look at you, though… Can you stand?" Link nods, but isn't entirely sure yet. He can at least try. Zelda brings an arm around him, letting him use her as support to stand. He's helped her more than once, it's about time she returns the favor…

"Let's go…" His voice is yet again a murmur as he looks up to the sky.

With the sun in his eyes, the silhouette of a seagull overhead disappears from view. But the glaring light makes it clear to him… he's awake.

Note:

A short personal headcanon of mine for what occurs after Link's Awakening. I really like Link and Zelda in A Link to the Past, so I'll write with them for any little idea that comes to mind. I especially had fun with the cover for this one!

As for Zelda's dress, the cloak is a nod to the one Link gives her in the ALTTP manga. There's two more obvious inspirations for her outfit... Can you guess what they are?

Other:

If you like my art, you can find my main art account at @nocturnalfandomartist. I also have original LoZ plotlines written at @loz-untold-myths!

[cordeliahrose]

Psychic Senses

More often called 'clairs', psychic senses parallel our physical senses. They can be a huge part of someone's life, or not so much at all. They can change how you interact with the world, or how you see it.

A common misconception about psychic senses is that they are a gift that few people have, and that you can't train yourself to develop and use them. In truth, anyone can develop psychic senses. For some, it might take longer, and others not long at all.

Clairvoyance

Clairvoyance - Clear sight

This ability can allow you to perceive energies that can't be seen with the physical eyes. It might also allow you to see past or future events.

When I say 'see', I don't mean physically see. Most people agree that clairvoyance comes through images within the mind.

~ Exercises to develop:

Visualization

I know, you hear this everywhere. But in the case of clairvoyance, this is the most helpful exercise you can do.

Start by visualizing general things and can easily identify. Maybe a piece of fruit? When that gets easy, move on to harder things, like a landscape.

When that gets easy, start to visualize things moving. A squirrel running up a tree, waves crashing against the shore, a car driving on a street.

Dream journaling

A lot of messages from your subconscious come up during your dreams. A good way of understanding that is to write them down, and read through them when you're awake.

Clairaudience

Clairaudience - Clear hearing

The ability can allow you to hear words, sounds, music, etc. within your mind, which you did not create. These are not sounds heard with your ears, but heard within your mind.

~ Exercises to develop:

Observe sounds

Take some time out of the day to just sit and listen to the sounds around you. Are the close, or far? Are the loud, or quiet? Do any sounds annoy you, or bring out different emotions? Just sit quiet and listen.

Listen to instrumental music

Listen to instrumental music, and focus on listening to only one instrument. Try to drown out all but that one instrument. Keep the volume moderate to low, not high.

Listen to lyrical music down really low

Similar to the first exercise. For this one, you will want the volume to be low, where you can just barely hear the words. Now try to understand the words in the song. It would be a good idea to write down the words as you hear them if you can, so that you can listen to the song again after at a normal volume and see what you got.

Imagine some else's voice

This can be a person you know, a character on a show or movie, anyone who isn't you. Just imagine them talking, hear their voice in your head. It will be easier to start with a person or character who's voice you know very well, and move up to someone who's voice isn't very familiar.

Clairsentience

Clairsentience - Clear feeling

There seems to be two schools of thought on this ability.

The first is that this ability allows you to feel energy, emotions, and sometimes even someone else's pain.

The second is that this ability allows you to feel the sensation of touch, when nothing is physically touching you. This is the school of thought I fall into.

~ Exercises to develop

Notice physical feelings

This is the easiest exercise on this list. Just become aware of physical feelings. How your clothes feel on your body, how that fork feels in your hand, how your body feels throughout the day, the floor under your bare feet. Notice physical sensations.

Imagine a feeling

Imagine how it would feel if you were holding an object. It might be easier to start by holding the object and seeing how it feels, and then move the object away and try to remember how it felt. See how long you can hold onto that feeling.

Clairgustance

Clairgustance - Clear taste

This ability allows you to taste things that aren't physically there. This is most commonly talked about in reference to a deceased loved on who like to cook, where a person will be able to taste a recipe they liked to make when they're around.

~ Exercises to develop

Notice how things taste while you're eating or drinking them

Just like the exercise for clairsentience, start with becoming aware of how things taste while you're physically eating or drinking them. Become aware also of how it feels, and how different foods or drinks feel different.

Imagine a taste

Imagine the taste of something. It will be easier to start with something you eat or drink often, something you really like. Alternatively, it might also be easier to start with something you find very gross, because the flavor is stronger in your mind. Imagine how it tastes, and how it feels. The flavor, the texture, can you discover why you do or don't like this taste? Hold on to this taste for as long as you can.

Clairalience

Clairalience - Clear smell

This ability allows you to smell things that aren't physically present. This, again, is most often talked about in refence to a deceased loved one. Smelling their perfume/cologne is a very common thing tied to clairalience.

~ Exercises to develop

Notice how things smell

Okay, so a lot of these start with observing. But a good way to train psychic senses is to learn how your physical senses work!

Look at how the smells you're observing make you feel.

Imagine a smell

This is going to be easiest with a scent you're very familiar with, whether good or bad. Maybe it's your shampoo, your favorite food, or something you can't stand. Imagine a scent, and hold onto it for as long as you can.

Claircognizance

Claircognizance - Clear knowing

This ability allows you to simply know things, without a reason for why you know them. This is probably the hardest to develop because it requires a lot of trust. In yourself, and the spirits around you. There is usually no explanation as to why you suddenly know the thing, it just appears.

~ Exercises to develop

Trust your intuition/gut feelings

When you get a gut feeling, an intuitive tingle, whatever you chose to call it, trust it. See where it leads you. This a trial and error process, eventually you will learn what is intuition and what isn't.

Ask the spirits you work with to assist you

If you work with any spirits, ask them to give you a piece of information for the purpose of developing this ability. For example, if you work with a deity, ask them to tell you what they would like as an offering at a random point in the day. When you get that piece of information, trust it.

[coraphoenix]

In Her Own Time, Like the Sea

Summary: A quiet night by the beach takes a turn neither Natasha nor Jake were expecting...just in different ways.

Warnings: slightly angsty? idk can't think of any. Talking about love.

Pairing: Hannix (Phoenix/Hangman)

A/N: This idea has been present for a while now. Some of you will remember my post about how How Would You Feel by Ed Sheeran inspired this concept. Here it is. Unedited and unlikely to be edited, so just look the other way if you bump into any typos.

Sea breeze floats through the car windows, salty mist riding on its waves and tickling Natasha’s cheeks, tendrils of hair like ribbons of ink against her skin. The crashing of the waves against the shore is as distant as it is near, the sound loud in the quiet car, accentuated by nothing but the sound of her breaths in her own ears, deep and rhythmic. If she listens carefully, she can hear Jake’s too, matching her on the inhales and exhales.

She burrows deeper into the seat, muscles unlocking, weight sinking as she stares out at the darkened beach front, soft lights illuminating the parts of the shore closest to the street. Still, the white foam is visible. Natasha could almost feel it against her feet, slightly cold, the sand damp underneath her. She curls her toes in her flip-flops, breathing in the scent of brine, her lungs expanding until her ribs reach their limit.

A swipe of a thumb against her palm has her breath stuttering, the air thinning as she turns her head, catching Jake’s eyes, his gaze intent on her face. She smiles, relaxed, edges soft, and sees Jake soften too, his shoulders dropping. 

He swipes his thumb over her palm again, and Natasha never thought she could care for hand-holding as much as she does now. But he engulfs her hand with his, and she feels like he’s holding her whole being. So maybe she does care for it.

She breathes in again, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty breeze as he trails his hand up her forearm, over her shoulder, up the side of her neck to her face where he cups her chin softly, drawing her forward. He presses a kiss to the right corner of her mouth, the left, stealing the air from her lungs with each soft touch, and smirks against her when her breath hitches as he presses a final, delicate kiss square on her lips.

His hand follows the trail back down, brushing against her sweatshirt clad shoulder, downwards until he laces their fingers together. She blinks at him, a little dazed with the chill and… him. They do this often, coming out to the beach, parking wherever grants them an uninterrupted view of the sea, sitting in silence. There was always so much noise, from carriers to jets to orders. Here they could sit together, enjoy the warmth that the other’s presence brought into the space without so much as uttering a single letter.

It often leaves Natasha sleepy, her body and mind melted into a state she doesn’t bother correcting.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t fully register the nervous bobbing of Jake’s throat.

“Nat,” Jake whispers, afraid to disturb their bubble.

“Yeah?” she says, and her voice is a little hoarse with disuse.

He squeezes her hand. “How would you feel…” His eyes dart around her face, and she notices now, her body responding almost immediately. Her pulse picks up. “How would you feel if I told you I love you?”

She gulps, her chest constricting all of a sudden. There is this terrible voice in her head begging her to yank her hand away, but she resists. 

“You’re freaking out,” Jake says, peering at her slightly wide eyes and parted lips.

“I’m not.” She is.

She’s thought about this before. Thought about all the possibilities. When he might say it. If he would ever say it. And everytime, it made her lock up, so she stashed away the notion in one of the old dusty boxes in her brain and called it a day. 

It’s not that she doesn’t…love him. Sometimes when she thinks about him, she feels like she’ll burst from the sheer joy of it all, like her heart’s too big to fit inside her chest, like no amount of air could help her breathlessness. Is that love? Because she also feels like she’s standing on a tightrope thousands of miles away from the ground with nothing to keep her steady. 

She’s been silent for too long. She can tell from the way Jake’s hold loosens slightly around her hand, giving her a chance to pull away. “Jake–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, soothing and calm despite the note of hurt she can hear. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“Wait.” Natasha turns in her seat, facing him full on. Some of her panic is dulling, its sharp edges being smoothed out, but it’s still potent, widespread and inescapable. She cradles his face within her hands, thumbs hooking around his ears. Her eyes find his, both of them vulnerable in ways she never expected they would be. Natasha huffs a frustrated breath, resting her forehead against his collarbone. Her eyes glisten, the sting of tears sudden. 

“I don’t know how to explain!” she says, somewhere between dejected and furious. Not at him. More at herself than anything else. 

“It’s okay, Nat,” he says, so kindly it makes her ache. “You don’t have to, but I’m willing to listen.”

 “I don’t know how to explain it because I don’t understand it myself.” 

She pulls back, trying to keep her eyes on his. She never had trouble with it before, but something about this is making her want to flee and fight and surrender all at once. Instead, she opens the door, leaning out and breathing deeply, trying to hoard some of the night’s calm to herself. Jake is quiet, but she can feel his eyes on her back.

A couple of minutes later, she turns back in, closing the door. Her lips part, words tumbling and soaring within her in a tangled mess she’s hoping she can solve soon, but Jake beats her to it when she makes a sound. He cups her chin once more, mirror to just moments ago, though it feels like a lifetime back, and kisses her forehead, his lips warm on her chilled skin.

“In your own time,” he says. 

Simple. Irrevocable. 

It soothes the twisting in her gut, so she can breathe a little easier. And she has no way of knowing, but maybe this is love… a hand holding her own, a heart cradling her heart. In her own time, like the sea washing upon the shore.

[benjaminalphabet]

cold water

i have dreams of a beautiful life.

i have dreams of angry cliffside lake storms,

haunted by women in white dresses holding onto their dark blue, ocean teal pasts.

i have dreams of orange leaf, flannel days,

spiritual autumns and quiet, unassuming winters.

days where our footprints line the sand and the snow the same,

where nothing changes but monotone still cannot find us.

in my sleep i can hear the siren songs,

i can feel all the pain of the widows who were left here.

i see them watching me from hillside windows, holding stories in their long faces.

hoping i won’t make the same mistakes they did, behind their sad eyes is so much more than i can comprehend.

in my dreams i taste lemon drop candies, and relish the sunshine forests.

the ice in the air, the water in the harbor,

the smell of the rain that holds me to the earth.

i had spent a lot of time in orbit before i came here.

my dreams are watered down by a great, deep sadness.

my soul held ruthlessly at the bottom of Lake Superior, i have dreams that will never come true.

i am vast, untamed, dangerous; and there are times when i know nothing of kindness.

there are times when only stories can hold the ghosts inside me.

i will see those lighthouses in my dreams,

i wonder if they’re in love or at war.

i wonder how painful it is that they are just out of reach, forever too far away to touch each other.

their fingertips, blue and frostbitten, crumble and crack,

they flake out and drift away in the wind,

they have been reaching for too long.

have they lost their cavalier or their vengeance?

like some great epiphany,

i ache for them either way.

i dream of places too far from shore to see the skyline.

i dream of moments of peace from deep underneath the waves.

the life i dream of is far from here.

he said if you listen you can hear the waves speak to you

but i can only hear the water screaming.

i wish i could tell her it’s the same for me.

my soul crashes hard against navy cliffs too.

the night sky has not had mercy on me either.

i’m awake in this cold.

erosion on this beach bleeds the same colors as my open eyes.

morning crosses the threshold in my mind.

at dawn, i am more alive than i have been in long, long years.

i haven’t known how to say it but something strange and violent was pulled from me sitting on the northern shore.

something indignant and perilous.

i have felt things that usually go well untouched.

a scrambled piece of me that has been tortured for so long dies screaming.

and i can feel its absence,

but it left behind something much bigger.

something that is stained dark blue.

in this angry water i can hear the solace of the sky.

the stars are dreaming, but their thoughts are not violent like mine.

i used to have dreams that were wide open and ice cold,

but i may have been washed clean.

lake superior is burning with what’s left of me.

i am not the same anymore.

i think the sundown witches inside me have finally found their peace.

their seaside captains are not coming home,

taken down by some great and valiant storm.

they were shipwrecked,

consumed by the one thing they swore they would always love.

they offered their souls to the waves,

and the waves claimed what belonged to them.

i see it now,

the way it all had to go.

their last word wives write letters in bottles,

hoping the currents will drag them down to the bottom.

but those words never find home.

these princesses, they’re shipwrecked too.

the lighthouses need companions,

they need something to reach for,

and it isn’t up - it’s down they long for.

fingers spread out to wind i listen for answers to questions i don’t have,

i ponder how this earth has changed me.

eyes pushed up to the sky,

the wind on my cheeks tells secrets i will never repeat to anyone.

something in these autumnal peaks speaks only of troubled pasts and open arms,

it’s language not one to be misinterpreted,

i understand.

i tell her, i understand.

[divinitysheart]

ACHIVEMENT UNLOCKED ;; Heartfelt Talks

The wind gently blows Namine’s hair as she watches the waves crash against the shore line. The sound of the waves has always just been something calming for Namine,  because the waves simply gave her an escape to stop thinking and to just relax for once without the constant worries at the back of her mind on whether or not that HE was okay.

The place felt more quiet and tranquil then it typically did, normally she’ll hear the island kids playfully fighting each other with wooden swords, but today there was none of that. And it was kind of nice, even though she appreciated the background noise at times while she drew.

Although the quietness was gently interrupted by a voice she hadn’t quite expected,

“ Hey Nami, Mind if I take a seat next to you? “

It’d been Kairi, and of course, Namine didn’t have any reason to say no, so she pats the space next to her, as if saying that she’s fine with Kairi taking a seat next to her. Her eyes meet Kairi’s without hesitation as a small smile makes its way onto Namine’s face, it was always pleasant to be around Kairi for her, for she knew that Kairi understands her a lot better than most. Afterall, being so similar to each other made it a lot easier to pick up on one another's emotions.

“ ..Hi Kai, what brings you here? You don’t typically come out here unless you have something on your mind. “ Namine spoke with genuine curiosity.

When asked the question, Kairi seems to hesitate on speaking at first, but shortly after she lets out a sigh as she tells Namine what’s been on her mind, “ I.. I miss Sora. A lot. And I don’t know what to do because we still haven’t found him. And don’t get me wrong, I have faith in him to be okay but it's hard to remain brave sometimes, because what if he just… what if we can’t find him? What if I never see him again? “

Namine knew and understood what Kairi felt too well, from what she was gathering, Kairi’s fear of never being able to find Sora seemed to be eating her alive. It was the same fear she felt when HE left, the same fear that still ate at her to this day.

“ I.. understand how you feel Kai. It hurts not knowing if a person you care for is going to be okay. And it’s okay to worry about them, it doesn’t mean you’re lacking faith them, not to mention you’re only human and there is only so much you can do to try to not worry yourself. So I, um, basically what I’m trying to say is, it’s okay to miss them and worry about them, it doesn’t make you selfish to be so worried. “ 

The words had rushed out of her mouth without a second thought, and at this point it was only to let Kairi know that she’s not the only person who feels like this. And that it’s okay to feel such a way. For she knew all too well that her dear somebody has the habit of feeling as if it’s not okay for her to feel in certain ways. And it’s just Namine’s job as Kairi’s friend that it's okay to feel.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a bit, and Namine suddenly started to feel anxious, had she said too much? Maybe advice wasn’t what Kairi wanted, maybe Kairi wanted someone just to listen, and just as she was about to apologize Kairi finally broke the silence with a sad smile at Namine,

“ I.. thank you Namine. I needed that. But I also think you need to take your own advice as well. “

Her eyes widened at the statement, because while Kairi wasn’t wrong, she hadn’t expected to be called out on it. “ Pfft. Yeah I suppose I do need to take my own advice. “

Kairi’s hand gently placed itself on Namine’s shoulder, almost as if to assure her that it’s okay to talk about something. She didn’t know what Kairi was going to say or ask but, it’d be fine whatever it was, because their conversations stayed between them. “ I know this topic isn’t exactly my place to poke but, when you said you understood how I felt not knowing if someone I care about was okay or not. The person you’re worried about  is Noctis isn’t it? “

If it’d been anyone else asking about this, they most likely would have gotten a curt response saying that it was none of their business. But this was Kairi, the same person whom she made promise to tell Noctis that she’s sorry for breaking the promise to stay safe. And although Kairi didn’t have to tell Noctis anything now, the least Namine owes is an explanation.

“ Yeah. I.. It is. “

There’s a pause for a moment before Kairi asks another question, “ Do you regret.. not going with him when you had the chance to?  “

“ That’s.. not a fair question Kairi..! I.. urgh. Sometimes I do, but then I remember it was for the better of both of us. It would have been selfish of me to go with him at the time. “

Kairi finds herself at a loss for words, she can feel the pain within Namine’s words. And it makes her heart ache for Namine, it truly begins to sink in how much her friend has truly has suffered because she only wanted to do what she thought was right.

“ ..Hey Nami? “ It came out as a whisper from Kairi’s mouth but Namine still heard it.

“ ..Yeah Kai? “ She replies in a similar tone to Kairi’s.

“ We’re going to get through this together, I’ll be here for you and you’ll be here for me. And we’ll see them again. “ At Kairi’s words, Namine finds herself growing more at home.

“ Is that a promise? “ A fond smile tugs onto Kairi’s features at the question, because Namine knew the answer.

“ Of course, I promise and swear it on my keyblade. “ A hum of approval leaves Namine’s mouth, the answer was exactly as she expected.

“ And I promise and swear it on my honor as your friend. “ To a few people swearing on your honor as a friend probably wasn’t nearly as important as swearing it on your keyblade, but Kairi isn’t one of those people.

The conversation dies down as they turn their heads over to the setting sun that shone onto the sea water, for no more needed to be said at the moment.

For the  sun setting spoke for itself. It was a reminder that even as the sun settles into dusk, a new dawn shall always rise. And with a new dawn comes new hopes.

[modx-reborn]

Techno mermaid Techno mermaid 👀👏👏

imagine living in a small port town that always warned the younger generation to stay away from the ocean's beach at night for many of the townfolk would go missing and you being the rebellious adult you've always been decided to go down at night. Enjoying the night splashing near the shore you fail to notice a pink tail fin flick near the rocks nearby until you get pinned down onto the sandy beach by the owner of the pink tailfin

"Whatever happened to not listening to your elders? You should know not to go down to the beach at night, now let me help you..."

And by the end of the night, you couldn't help but want to return to the beach tomorrow night

-⛸⛸(Can I be known as Skating anon?)

Hell yeah you can be! This also reminded me to finish that drawing lol.

The far shore was as much off-limits during the day as it was at night, mainly due to how many people usually flocked to the warm sands but also as the townspeople of your little home often spoke about something living in the waves that would come for those along by the waves in the night, and yet even with all the warnings you had come down enjoy the quiet sound of the sea and the cool wind that had fought away the day's heat.

Splashing and playing along the shoreline, even being so brave as to strip halfway and wade into a small cove section to swim, the refreshing feeling of the wind and water had you enraptured and ignorant as a tail disappeared back into the water from the rocks nearby. Wading back to the short couldn't have saved you as a wave crashes overhead, taking your sight for a mere moment and sealing your fate, as the moment you were sputtering and clearing the saltwater from your eyes strong arms were wrapping around your waist, pulling you're to the shore and pinning you under their owner.

Even if your eyes had teared over from the salt stinging them, there would have been torn forming nonetheless.

This thing was huge, broad, all-consuming of your vision with its pink hair and pink tail flicking behind it, the feeling of slick scales and slimy seaweed brushing your skin as it leaned down, one of its hands grasping your chin to turn your head too and fro, inspecting you like some sort of animal.

"It has been some time since one of you landwalkers came to the cove after dark, I had thought tales of what lived there had kept you away. What happened to the young listening to their elders? Have people truly forgotten where their boundaries end? Or did you come looking for something? Well? What it is little walker?"

Even if you were able to speak in the face of this man, this thing from the waves, the melodic sound of his words had you falling into something other, muttering a response of wanting to rebel, to go against something you had always been denied. The back of your mind registers that maybe this is why you were always told to never walk the waves after dark, to stay out of the cove and to be safe.

The hands keeping you pinned to the sand slip away, head thumping against the wet sand as the mer pulls away, lingering just far enough that if you had wanted to scamper away you could, but there was something in how he watched you that kept you right there, panting into the night, trying to find words to explain the questions in your head, to get to hear that voice once again.

But soon without your input, it speaks again.

"Well little walker I would run home, there is nothing for you here, no treasure, no riches. Unless... you think to stay till the light breaks the day, if so perhaps there will be a use for you after all..."

The Mer was quite the persuasive creature, sea slicked tongue easy to keep you, and keep you coming back.

Technoblade it was called, and oh how it made you long to return every night from then on, calling just for him.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Stranded and Geraskier? 🧜‍♂️

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): non-human anatomy, tentacles (in every possible way), choking/breathplay Rating: explicit

Summary:  While exploring a cave, Jaskier gets trapped by the tide, but the inhabitant is more than happy to find a way to help him pass the time.

I took this idea and ran with it! Thank you for the opportunity to write octo!Geralt, I've been wanting to for a while now <3

There is a reason they say the northern end of the beach is off-limits, but Jaskier has always been inquisitive and rather terrible at following instructions, so it's no surprise that he ends up there anyway. He's been staying on the coast for a while now and while he always loves coming back, he's feeling a little restless lately. So he's taken to taking strolls along the beach in the early morning or the evening while he's not performing, but today he has the entire day free, so he's come a little earlier than usual to try and settle himself.

But the usual route isn't doing anything for him today. The sand is still soft and warm on his feet and the waves still crash rhythmically on the shore, but he just wants something new. So, when he reaches the end of his normal walk and comes to the gated off area at the northernmost end of the beach, he slips past the gate and continues. Nothing immediately jumps out at him as dangerous, so he just strolls along, shuffling his feet through the sand.

The beach is usually quiet, but right now there isn't another person in sight and Jaskier revels in the silence, humming to himself as he goes along. When he comes to the point, he follows the tapering beach around to a point and beyond it, there's a little more land that leads into a rocky outcrop. He can't get past it, but he could climb up it and sit in the sun, looking out over the ocean.

He wades through the water where it rises to midway up his shins before reaching the other side, but when he reaches the stone ledge, he spots what looks like a cave. And he can't just not go look at it. So he takes another quick peek just to ensure no one else is around and hurries toward the opening in the rock. The sun above is bright, but the overhang of rock offers some relief from the heat, so he takes his time.

The entrance is, in fact, the mouth of a cave and Jaskier grins to himself, slipping inside. It's not deep, but at the back there is a drop-off and a tunnel that leads further. He walks forward steps around the gaping hole in the ground, careful to keep his footing as he aims for the tunnel. It's dark, but he can still see a little - well enough to continue on for the time being - and up ahead there's a faint glow that piques his interest.

So he doesn't stop when the light starts to fade, just heads toward the glow at the back of the tunnel. It's some ways down, but he does eventually come out into another cave with a smooth rocky floor and another tunnel leading off. But what interests Jaskier more than anything is the plant life. It grows on the walls and ceiling and it glows.

It lets off a faint bluish glow and Jaskier leans up to inspect it. Some of the plants grow little purplish flowers, but most of them resemble moss or vines and Jaskier would be inclined to call them plain if they grew in a forest and weren't luminescent. But they are and he's fascinated by it.

He spends more time than he should inspecting all the different types of growth - there are at least four distinct plans he can see all growing together - and it's not until the light from the opposite end of the tunnel begins to fade that he realizes he should turn back. He has a performance tonight and he'd like the chance to bathe and change beforehand.

He slips from the room he's in, heading back through the tunnel, but the ground beneath his feet slopes downward and he doesn't realize until water splashes around his ankles. It startles him at first; there was no water on the way in, but as he reaches the main cave, he realizes what has happened.

He's spent too long exploring and the tide has come in around him, too far now to walk out the way he came in. And Jaskier is a good swimmer, but water swirls dangerously where the hole in the ground is, pouring quickly into, it and he's not a strong enough swimmer to keep from being sucked down. Even as he considers it, the water swirling around his feet rises higher and his only option is to turn back the way he came. Which is not a great option, but he doesn't really see what else he's supposed to do.

But he turns around and heads back through the tunnel. The incline is more than he remembers, and judging by what he knows of the tides - very little - he thinks he should be safe to hide out here until it goes back down again. He finds a bare patch of wall and drops to the ground to lean against it, sighing softly as he listens to the water rising in the tunnel. It splashes against stone and Jaskier shuts his eyes, focusing on the calming sound of it. Maybe the time will pass more quickly if he can just have a little nap.

But the more he listens, the more he hears and there's a slick, sliding sound he's been assuming was seaweed caught in the current, but when he focuses hard enough, he can hear something not unlike breathing. His eyes flash open and he scans the room but sees nothing. Then, out of the corner of his eye, there's a shadow.

Jaskier's heart races because he knows the kinds of things that live in the sea; sirens, drowners and any number of animals that would be happy enough to eat him alive. So he presses himself against the wall and keeps quiet.

Something long and thin slips over his foot, curling around his ankle, and Jaskier's eyes flash open. He hadn't even realized they were still shut, but when he looks up there's a person in front of him, or at least he looks like a person. But as he comes closer, Jaskier realizes he only looks human from the waist up. Below the waist is a mass of dark tentacles, sprawled out all around him and propelling him forward.

Jaskier shudders at the sight of him, but as he approaches, the fear dissipates a little, replaced with intrigue. The man - if he can be called that at all - doesn't seem angry or upset and he has a friendly enough expression. He slips closer, sinking lower so he's face-to-face with Jaskier and it becomes clear that he's just as curious about Jaskier as Jaskier is about him.

"Uh, sorry," Jaskier mumbles, "I didn't mean to intrude, I just ah-" one of the tentacles reaches out, tipping his chin up and sliding across his jaw. "I just got trapped-?" His voice rises at the end like a question, but the creature just cocks his head at him.

"The tide," he says and Jaskier nods. He's got a beautiful voice, deep and rough and in any other situation, incredibly sexy. But while Jaskier isn't discriminating in his choice of partners, he's still feeling rather trapped.

"Mmhm."

"It won't go down again until morning. Unless you can hold your breath for a long time, you'll have to spend the night."

"Oh." Jaskier is caught off guard by the lightness of his response and he looks up at him. "You don't mind?" he asks and the creature just smiles at him, an odd sort of smile that makes something in Jaskier's stomach flip.

"Stay," he says, "it'll be hours before the tide is low enough for you to leave again."

"You're not going to eat me?" The creature laughs and slides a little closer, peering at him.

"No. I've never had a… human in my home before. I'm certainly not going to kill you." He chuckles softly and swishes away to the other side of the cave, but Jaskier is caught on the sound of his laugh, a warm, welcoming thing that he'd like very much to hear again. And, well, he has all night.

"Sorry," he says, rising to his feet and following the creature to the other side, "I don't know what - who - you are."

"Geralt," he says plainly, "I'm a cecaelia. We've been here longer than most, but many of us don't come so close to the surface, so you wouldn't have met many."

"Haven't met any," Jaskier confirms. "We're told to stay away from the creatures who live in the sea." Geralt lifts an eyebrow at the word creature, but doesn't say anything about it. Jaskier makes a mental note not to repeat it.

"And you," Geralt prompts, "what's your name, human?"

"Jaskier," he huffs and I get the point. "Do you live here alone?"

"Yes, unless you count the fish who filter in and out with the tides."

"You must get lonely."

Geralt gives him a look that from anyone else he might consider flirtatious, and it stirs something inside him that he quickly tamps down. This isn't the time to get turned on. Especially not by someone who's not human.

"Occasionally. I'm used to being alone."

Jaskier isn't sure how to respond to that, so he lets the conversation drop. He wants to assure him, which is a strange compulsion because he doesn't even know Geralt. Two hours ago he couldn't have cared less about a man living on his own in this cave. But now…

He looks him over, following the line of his body from his strong jaw and thick chest down to the mass of tentacles that never quite seem to stop moving. Even when Geralt is still, they shift under him like he's trying to settle, though he seems calm. More like an unconscious motion, maybe. But Jaskier is fascinated by them. He wants to touch, to feel, but he knows well enough to keep his hands to himself when unwanted, so he switches focus.

"So what's it like living down here?" he asks, looking around the cave as though he hadn't spent ages exploring it already.

"Quiet," Geralt says tiredly, "peaceful. But that's not what you want to talk about, is it? You can ask," he hums.

"I just-"

"Jaskier, we have all night down here together. Ask."

"Do they ever stop moving?" he blurts and heat creeps into his cheeks at the abruptness of it, but Geralt just chuckles softly.

"When I sleep. When I'm relaxed."

"Then what's wrong, now? If you're not relaxed."

"I have… questions of my own."

"Okay," Jaskier says, "ask away."

"Can I… touch you?" he asks and Jaskier's breath catches.

"If you like. I have nothing to hide."

Geralt shifts forward, reaching out to brush a tentacle under his chin again, tipping his head up and moving it side to side. It feels like an examination, like the time he fell ill and had to be taken to a healer, but Geralt's touch is much softer, much more delicate than that.

"I've never met a human before either," he says conversationally, "you're… softer than I expected."

"Softer?" Jaskier laughs, "how so?"

"Your… skin looks thick and rough, but it's soft, smooth." He presses the tip of the tentacle against his cheek, pressing in gently. "Like a jellyfish," he adds and Jaskier laughs again.

"Is that bad?"

"No," Geralt hums, tilting his own head as he turns Jaskier's. "I like it." Another tentacle curls around the back of his neck and Jaskier breathes deeply, trying hard not to think too much about the touch, about how it feels like a lover's touch.

He's had countless lovers slip a hand around his neck to pull him closer and he leans in without thinking, letting Geralt have full control over him. Geralt grins and smiles knowingly at him, sliding the tentacle from his neck to his shoulder and down over his chest. The tip of it slips into the gaps in Jaskier's shirt, poking at the buttons holding it closed.

"Why do you wear these?" he asks, not looking up from his exploration. "Don't they get in the way?"

"No," Jaskier shakes his head and hates to admit that he sounds a little breathless. "They keep me warm. I'd freeze in the cold weather without clothes. And they keep me covered. It's not polite to walk around naked all the time."

"For humans," Geralt amends and Jaskier nods. "I'm not human." Jaskier chokes on the implication, but Geralt just meets his eyes questioningly.

"You can take it off, if you want."

Geralt doesn't need to be told twice. He fumbles with the button at first, but when he brings up a second tentacle to push at it, he has much more luck. Jaskier wants to tell him he could just use his hands, but there's something fascinating about the potential of having those tentacles on his skin. Once the buttons are undone, Geralt shoves the shirt back off his shoulders leaving it half-tucked into his trousers.

He frowns at Jaskier's chest, running his tentacles over his skin. Jaskier gasps when he brushes over a nipple and leans into the touch instinctively. He draws back just as abruptly, gasping as he realizes what he's doing. He doesn't have a chance to apologize before Geralt's touch lightens. He doesn't pull away, but he tips his head at him.

"Should I stop?" he asks, but the tone of his voice implies that he doesn't want to.

"I just- Geralt you don't know what you're doing."

"I do," he hums, "this part of you, I understand. It feels good for you?"

"Yeah. Do you- do you want to make it feel good?"

"If you'll let me," Geralt hums, "I've always been… intrigued by you, by humans." Jaskier grins and pushes forward, sliding one hand down the length of the tentacle exploring his chest.

"Can I touch you, too?"

"Of course, I'd like that."

"You realize what you're offering, right? Not that I'm opposed, but I want to make sure we're both on the same page, here."

"Jaskier," he hums, "we have all night and I'd very much like to fuck you if you're amenable."

Jaskier's skin prickles and he lets out a little groan. Maybe he should feel weird about Geralt wanting to fuck him just because he's human, but he's vibrating at the thought of it already.

"Please," he whispers and Geralt moves immediately.

He wraps one tentacle around his waist, hauling him in and holding him close. He tugs the shirt from Jaskier's trousers, chucking it aside as Jaskier straddles him, careful where he puts his knees so he doesn't hurt Geralt. But Geralt keeps him off the ground, hovering slightly so Jaskier's front presses against him firmly, but so he only barely touches Geralt's tentacles or the webbing between them.

Jaskier presses himself forward, conscious of the fastenings on his trousers as he grinds against Geralt's torso. Tentacles wind around his hips and chest and thighs, slipping against his skin then pausing to suck at it. It sends shivers up his spine and goosebumps break out over his skin. The feeling is so foreign, the feeling of suction all over his skin, but it feels good and he leans into it.

Geralt's hands settle on his shoulders, slowly sliding down, and Jaskier glances up to meet his eyes. Geralt's have grown dark, but there's still a sliver of gold around his pupils and Jaskier finds himself entranced by it, how it shimmers and almost glows even in the low light. He touches Geralt's face, traces the line of his cheekbones and runs his thumb against his lip.

"You're beautiful," he whispers and Geralt's hands slip to his waist, pulling him up against him. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Jaskier leans in and Geralt meets him halfway, kissing him hard and nipping his lip with teeth sharper than they ought to be. Though Jaskier supposes he doesn't have much for a frame of reference when it comes to cecaelia. He deepens the kiss, letting Geralt's tongue slide into his mouth, thinner and more pointed than his own. He licks into him, fingers digging into his skin as he grips his thighs, and Jaskier just holds on for the ride.

All his experience with other people means nothing when faced with Geralt and he's feeling a little out of his depth as he's laid back against the stone floor again. Geralt breaks the kiss long enough to squirm in between his thighs and then reaches down, fumbling with the clasps of Jaskier's trousers. He gets them undone and shoves them down his legs, immediately getting his tentacles back on his bare skin.

"Oh," Jaskier gasps, "oh, that's good, Geralt."

"Feels good?"

"Very. Keep going."

Jaskier shuts his eyes as Geralt's tentacles slip between his legs, brushing against his balls before squeezing around his thighs. Geralt hums and gets his arms around Jaskier's waist, sliding one hand down over his ass.

"Tell me what to do," Geralt says, tilting his head to kiss Jaskier's jaw, "tell me what feels good."

"Anything," Jaskier hums, "just touch me."

"Like this?" Geralt asks, sliding a tentacle around his torso and Jaskier nods, eyes fluttering as suction cups catch on his nipples. He moans softly, reaching out to run his hands up Geralt's chest and Geralt pushes into the touch. "You like that, too?"

"Yes." Jaskier revels in the surprising warmth of his skin, soft and smooth over firm muscles and he slides his hands up over his shoulders, pulling Geralt close to kiss him again. He sighs into his mouth and Geralt deepens the kiss, pressing further against him.

He's got Jaskier almost completely bound now, wrapped tightly and held just above his lap, but he moves forward, tipping him back and laying him on the ground. Abruptly, all of the tentacles around him are gone and Jaskier is left alone and suddenly cold on the ground, but it doesn't last long. Geralt slides up over his thighs, settling himself there where he has full access to Jaskier's body.

He runs tentacles over his chest and Jaskier stretches out, pushing his arms up above his head to give Geralt better access to him. His touch feels good, like a massage. Geralt doesn't hesitate to touch anywhere, pushing his thighs apart and sliding between them, sliding up around his balls as another curls around his cock, squeezing experimentally.

Jaskier gives a little whine and Gerakt's eyes flash up to meet his. He does it again, harder this time and Jaskier squirms under him. Geralt's eyes go wide and he grins as he slips his tentacle up the length of him and Jaskier nearly chokes because he's doing it on purpose now. The arm around his balls squeezes a little too and Jaskier tenses up immediately, expecting pain, but it's… good. He shudders a little as his thighs spread further and then Geralt's squeezing again, wrapping around him.

It's not something he's ever done with anyone before, but Geralt has no idea what he likes and doesn't like, or even what feels good for humans, so he's exploring. And evidently, Jaskier is learning a thing or two, also.

Geralt moves on, sliding back up his stomach again and Jaskier shudders as they slip over his hips, over the sensitive skin just above his cock. He wants to let Geralt continue his exploration, but he wants the pressure around his cock again, wants to fuck into the heat of him. Geralt's skin is thicker and rougher than his own, but it's smooth and it feels good against his prick and he just wants.

"Geralt," he whispers, "come here." Geralt cocks his head and leans forward over him. He runs his hands up Geralt's chest, slipping over his shoulders and around his neck to tug him down.

He nips at Geralt's lips, nuzzles at his neck and rocks up against him. He's hard already Geralt's skin just feels so fucking good against his heated cock. He jerks again, pushing up hard and tangling his hands in Geralt's hair. He slips one hand out of Geralt's hair and wraps his hand around Geralt's tentacle and pulls it down between them, sliding it alongside his cock until Geralt gets the idea and wraps around him.

"You like this?" he asks and Jaskier moans softly, rolling his head back as he lets out a breathy yes.

Geralt makes a thoughtful sound and squeezes firmly, eliciting another moan and he seems very pleased with himself. He strokes him a couple of times, slipping right up to the head and sliding around him as he goes. It's intoxicating and Jaskier doesn't know if his own hand will ever be sufficient again, after this.

But Geralt still delights in finding the new things and he slips away shortly, slipping up to play with Jaskier's nipples again and Jaskier just groans. Geralt perks up, grinning at him.

"Do you want this?" he asks, slipping over his aching cock again. Jaskier nods and Geralt strokes him exactly twice before winding down around his thighs and squeezing.

"Geralt," Jaskier groans, "please."

"What do you want?" he asks, a smirk spreading across his face. Jaskier could kill him, the bastard. He's toying with him.

"You know what I want."

"Do I? Remind me."

Jaskier groans and grabs for the tentacle again, wrapping it around himself and thrusting up into the coils. He moans softly, dropping his eyes shut and slips his hands around the coiled arm, keeping it tight around him.

"Seems like you've got it under control," Geralt teases, but before Jaskier can even argue, he's leaning down over him, nipping at his collarbone and squeezing around Jaskier's cock.

"Oh, Geralt, please."

His hips buck hard and Geralt coils and uncoils around him and it's a delightful feeling like nothing he's ever felt before. Jaskier whimpers and his hips jerk up into the loose coils, immediately aching for the touch again. But Geralt seems to have lost his taste for teasing now and holds tight around him, ensuring Jaskier's entire cock is engulfed by him, jerking abortively up into the grip of him.

And Jaskier could cry with how good it feels, the rough slickness of Geralt's skin creating a burning need that spreads through him and he's gonna come in no time like this, but he doesn't even mind. Because after he comes, he gets to touch Geralt, to figure out all the little things that turn him on and he looks forward to it with delight.

Geralt pulls him back to the present with a sharp bite to the join of his neck and Jaskier cries out, jerking hard into his tentacle.

"Sorry," Geralt hums, already licking over the mark, but Jaskier shakes his head.

"Fuck, don't be. Do that again."

Geralt lifts his head to look at him then tentatively lowers his head, brushing his lips against the skin of his neck before kissing him. He nibbles lightly at his throat and sucks softly before nosing under his jaw and biting down hard on the side of his neck. Jaskier gasps and moans and his cock jerks as he comes hard, still encompassed by Geralt's body.

Geralt continues with the slipping, almost like wringing a cloth, and Jaskier is breathless and gasping, already swelling again under the touch by the time he pulls away.

"Fuck me," he breathes, "Gods, Geralt you are incredible."

Geralt hums, but his attention is clearly diverted and when Jaskier looks up, he's playing with the come on his chest, slipping the tip of one tentacle through it and lifting it up to sniff at it. Jaskier wrinkles his nose, but then Geralt's putting it in his mouth, flicking his tongue out to taste it and his gut clenches. That… should not be as hot as it is.

Geralt grins down at him and climbs up over him, pressing something warm and wet against Jaskier's cock as he settles himself.

"You look good," he hums, "when you come." Jaskier just groans and presses up against Geralt's underside. He gets a little gasp in response and grins to himself.

"What is that?" he asks, "do you- how do cecaelia fuck?"

Geralt doesn't answer, but shifts again, pressing harder down against Jaskier's prick. It catches on something and Geralt lifts himself just a little, keeping himself steady as he maneuvers Jaskier's cock inside him without so much as touching it.

His eyelids flutter and he moans softly as he sinks down on him, fully engulfing Jaskier's cock and clenching around him.

"Feels fuckin' amazing," Jaskier huffs, though that might be the sensitivity talking. He's not used to coming and immediately being (mounted) afterward, but he's not complaining.

"Mm," Geralt affirms, "it's been a long time since I've taken something inside, but-" he groans as Jaskier shifts his hips and drops forward, leaning on his elbows. "Fuck me," he whispers before leaning in to kiss Jaskier's neck. "Please, fuck me."

Jaskier doesn't need to be told twice. He slides his hands down, settling on the swell of what would be Geralt's hips and holding him down. He rocks into the tight heat, eyes rolling back as Geralt clenches continually around him, and nuzzling against his head.

"Gods," he breathes, "fuck Geralt, does this feel as good for you as it does for me?"

"Feels good," he huffs, "really, really good." He bites at Jaskier's skin and shifts himself forward before sliding down fully on Jaskier's cock again and rising up to sit on him.

Jaskier glances down, running his fingers down Geralt's waist and pauses when he reaches a bump. Geralt's breath catches and Jaskier presses more firmly against it, massaging the spot until Geralt lets out a low, rumbling moan.

Beneath his fingers, the skin parts and Jaskier pulls back abruptly, but Geralt reaches out, pulls his hand back against it.

"Please," he mumbles, "it's been… a long time since anyone has touched me like this."

Jaskier lets his fingertips trace the seam, slipping just barely inside when Geralt shudders. Geralt keeps a firm hand around his wrist, holding him there and Jaskier is intrigued as to what feels that good. He doesn't have to wait long to find out.

Beneath his fingers, something slips free from the slit, thick and red and very much dick-like. He flicks his eyes up to Geralt's, holding his gaze as he wraps his fingers around the head of it. Geralt groans and his cock slips further out, slipping into Jaskier's palm. Jaskier curls his hand around him, stroking evenly until Geralt's fully unsheathed and Jaskier's fingers can no longer press into the slit at the base of him.

"Good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods, rocking up into his fingers and back onto his cock. "How come no one touches you like this?" He can't possibly imagine fucking someone like Geralt and not wanting to touch every inch of him.

"I haven't seen another cecaelia in years," he breathes, "and it's not as good on my own." He flexes his hand showing off clawed fingers and Jaskier nods, understanding.

"How do you touch yourself normally?" Geralt licks his lips and Jaskier follows the motion with his tongue, rolling his hips up into him. Geralt raises a tentacle, wiggling it at him.

Jaskier reaches out with his free hand, wrapping his fingers around it, lifting it and running his fingertip along the lip of the suction cups as Geralt holds it aloft. It shivers under his touch and Jaskier grins as he looks up to see Geralt's face pinched up in pleasure, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"Does that.. do you like that?"

"Geralt nods silently," pressing the tentacle more firmly into his grasp.

"What if I-" Jaskier starts and Geralt's eyes go wide as he slips his palm along the underside of the tentacle and brings the tip toward his mouth.

The limb twitches toward Jaskier's mouth and as he wraps his lips around it, the rest of the wriggle around him. Jaskier sucks it into his mouth and Geralt groans. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing that should feel good, but he likes having his fingers sucked, so he assumes it's something similar to that.

He winds his tongue between the cups, tracing the shape of each of them before taking it as deep as he can, sucking hard. Geralt groans, withdrawing a little before pushing back between his lips and Jaskier hums around him. He lets Geralt take control, leaning back on one elbow, one hand still slipping against his hip as he rocks.

From here, he has a perfect view of Geralt's cock, jutting proudly from his body as he fucks himself on Jaskier's cock. He's slick and dripping and Jaskier aches to get his mouth on him, to suck him off and make him come in his mouth. He squirms with the desire, sucking hard on the limb in his mouth instead and Geralt jerks forward hard.

He surges forward, keeping Jaskier's cock buried inside him as he winds tentacles around his arms, pushing them up above his head and holding them there. His hands slip down over them until they reach Jaskier's, twining their fingers together and using him as leverage to rock back onto him.

Jaskier squeezes tightly, even as sharp claws press into his skin. Heat swells within him and he knows he won't last with Geralt riding him like this, but he gives in to it, clearing his mind of everything but their bodies moving together. His head falls back, but instead of hitting the hard floor, the blow is softened by another tentacle, slipping up to cushion him.

"Can I-?" he asks and Jaskier doesn't even wait to hear what he's going to ask before nodding enthusiastically.

Beneath him, two more tentacles wrap around his thighs, squeezing tightly and pushing them apart. A third slips between, pressing against his balls and then slipping back behind, into the cleft of his ass. Jaskier squirms and rocks against it, pushing himself further into Geralt's cunt. He groans around the tentacle still in his mouth and Geralt presses against his hole and that's all it takes for Jaskier to tip over the edge.

He shakes through his orgasm, still sucking on the tentacle in his mouth, though his finesse fails as Geralt continues to rock onto his cock. Pleasure zips through him and he squeezes hard around Geralt's fingers, holding him tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him. He's still shaking as Geralt clenches around him and it's so fucking good Jaskier can barely breathe.

Geralt withdraws the tentacle in his mouth and bends to kiss him, slow and soft despite Jaskier's breathlessness. It's a little uncoordinated, and Jaskier pants against his mouth, but a warmth spreads through his chest as Geralt's tongue slides against his own. He hums against him and Jaskier just lets him lead, his eyes dropping shut.

"You're beautiful," Geralt breathes as he draws away. His lips drag against Jaskier's skin and Jaskier shudders as goosebumps pop up in the wake of Geralt's mouth.

"You didn't come," Jaskier mumbles, slipping his hands into Geralt's hair. "Wanna make you come."

"And you will, but I think you need a minute or two." He wraps a tentacle around Jaskier's cock and stroking slowly. But Jaskier is soft, though it feels good when Geralt touches him again.

"Dunno if I'll get hard again," he says but he's already feeling it, the first tendrils of pleasure swirling in his gut. And he knows he can get hard again, has done it in the past, but he's already a little overwhelmed and he doesn't know if it's gonna happen tonight.

But Geralt isn't worried about that. He strokes him again, slips up and rocks against his soft cock, kissing his neck and chest and squeezing his nipples between his fingers. Geralt is persistent and it doesn't take long before Jaskier's cock swells again under his touch. Geralt shoves a hand down under himself, squeezing Jaskier's cock and kissing his mouth.

"Want you to fuck me," Geralt hums, nipping at his lip. "Wanna feel you."

"Fuck." Jaskier drops his head back as Geralt's fingers slip up over the head of his cock, his thumb pressing teasingly into the slit. "Fuck. Yeah, okay."

Geralt tugs him up and slides off of him, turning around and bending over to lean on his elbows. He sticks his hips up, moving his tentacles to the side so Jaskier can fit in between them. He does, running his hands over Geralt's hips and down his back. Tentacles wrap around him, holding him and pressing him lightly forward, slipping up over his shoulders and suctioning to his skin.

From here, Jaskier can see his hole properly and he rubs against the ridged entrance, circling it with his fingers before pushing inside. And Geralt groans at the intrusion, dropping his head shut and pushing his hips up further.

"Good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

Encouraged, Jaskier slides his fingers inside, eased by Geralt's own slickness. He works into him easily, feeling around inside and thrusting gently. Geralt groans softly, encouragingly, and Jaskier works in a little quicker, adding a third finger without any effort. He fucks into him until Geralt is panting beneath him, tentacles clenching around him and twitching.

It feels good to be able to make him feel good and Jaskier delights in the little popping feeling of suction cups against his skin as Geralt lifts his arms and replaces them, squeezing around his limbs. He moans loudly as Jaskier's pace increases and as he squirms, Jaskier realizes how close he is and he's determined to make him come with just his fingers. So he rubs into him, feeling around until he hits something that makes Geralt gasp.

He grins, dipping down to kiss Geralt's spine as he brushes against the mound again.

"Like that?" he asks.

"Fuck. Yes."

"Wanna come on my fingers?"

"If you'll still fuck me."

"Of course, my darling. I'd be delighted to fuck you. Take you apart and make you scream on my cock."

"Yes," Geralt whines, "fuck, Jaskier."

"Mmhm," Jaskier hums, "soon darling, come on."

He slides his free hand around, slipping around the base of Geralt's cock. He slips his fingers into the slit, pressing into his cock before wrapping around it and stroking slowly. Geralt bucks into the touch, gasping and moaning and with a final thrust as Jaskier presses against that spot inside him, Geralt comes.

Jaskier pulls his fingers back, now completely slick and he slides his hand over Geralt's hip, still stroking his cock even after Geralt shudders under him. Geralt seems perfectly content to fuck into Jaskier's fist, but Jaskier is impatient now, his cock hard and aching between his legs.

He wraps a hand around himself, stroking a couple of times before pressing himself against Geralt's entrance. He's still sensitive, but it feels good and as he rubs himself against the slick skin, the sensitivity gives way to pleasure.

"You feel good," he mumbles, "want you. Fuck."

"Come on," Geralt encourages. He squeezes around his thighs, nudging him forward and sucking at his skin. "Wanna feel you."

Jaskier groans and pushes in, pulling Geralt's hips against him. He curses softly as Geralt wiggles his hips and pushes deep, keeping himself steady. One tentacle slips up around the back of his neck and into his hair, tugging lightly and Jaskier snaps his hips forward hard, pulling a low groan from Geralt.

"That's it," Geralt coos, "I know you want to come again, hmm?"

Jaskier just groans as he rolls his hips forward, letting Geralt adjust before thrusting harder. And it does feel good. It feels so good and he wants more of it. He fucks into him quickly, pushing his hands down Geralt's back and pulling back again.

A tentacle slips between his cheeks, grinding against his hole but not pushing in and Jaskier rocks back onto it, groaning loudly. He's surrounded on all sides, bundled up in Geralt's limbs as he fucks him and he loves the firmness of the tentacles around him, of the warmth and slickness and he groans as his cock throbs inside him. The one around his neck teases, slipping up to press at his lips, pulling his bottom lip down and pressing between them.

The limb tightens a little, slipping around his throat to push between his lips and Jaskier barely manages to groan out a soft harder, before his mouth is otherwise occupied. Geralt seems to get the idea though, tightening his grip on his neck just a little and Jaskier's eyes nearly roll back in his head. He fucks forward almost absently, focused on the suction cups clinging to his throat and the firm weight of it around him.

And fuck, it feels amazing.

He pushes harder, changing his angle to try and hit that same spot from before and when he does it's gloriously clear. Geralt slumps against the floor, arms stretched out in front of him, whining as Jaskier aims for the same spot again, rutting ceaselessly into him. His head is foggy with lust, enhanced by the slow intake of his breath and he's creeping close before long. But he doesn't want to stop, can't bring himself to stop.

He sprawls over Geralt's back, getting a hand around his cock again and playing with the tip. He slips his fingers around and inside, drawing back to the base and pressing into his slit and Geralt whimpers delightfully with each touch.

"Gonna come-" he mumbles and it's all the warning Jaskier gets before Geralt's jerking into his hand and coming all over him. He shudders and pushes back, and as he clenches around him, Jaskier follows, coming hard and dropping against his back.

The limb around his neck slides away and he inhales deeply, mumbling softly against Geralt's bare skin. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the scent of him, surprisingly strong for someone who lives most of his life presumably in the ocean. He listens to Geralt's heartbeat under his head and smiles softly to himself.

But he doesn't have much time to relax, only enough to catch his breath before Geralt is squirming under him, wriggling free and bringing Jaskier up to lie on his chest. He runs his hands through his hair, holding him gently around the waist with two tentacles and he just looks at him. His eyes are still dark, but they're soft and fond and it's too much, so Jaskier buries his head in Geralt's neck. He already struggles with becoming too attached to people too quickly, the last thing he needs to do is wind up falling for a cecaelia who he has no hope of continuing a relationship with.

But when Geralt kisses him, he shuts his eyes with a soft sigh and it doesn't feel wrong. It should feel wrong, he realizes, sleeping with someone who isn't even human, but he supposes Geralt is more like an elf in that sense. Elves are basically human, just slightly different. Half-elves are a thing, as are quarter elves, so why should Geralt be any different.

Evidently, Geralt thinks he's thinking too much, because he pulls himself up into a sitting position, drawing Jaskier up into his lap. He's still kissing him, but he wraps his arms around his waist this time, letting his tentacles slip down to wrap around his legs, smoothing along the skin and coiling around him. As long as he lives, no rope or bond will hold him quite as nicely, as securely as Geralt does now.

Jaskier deepens the kiss, licks into his mouth despite the heaviness spreading into his limbs. His eyes are heavy and he's not sure he could get up on his own, but he doesn't want to stop, doesn't want Geralt to let him go. Not yet. So he continues kissing him, wrapping his hands around the back of his neck and running fingers through still-damp hair.

But Geralt clearly has other plans and when Jaskier feels the tip of a tentacle pressing up between his cheeks again, he can't even find it in himself to say no.

"Don't know how good I'll be," he hums, ducking to kiss the side of Geralt's neck. "'M tired."

"We can stop," Geralt says, but Jaskier shakes his head before Geralt can even pull away.

"No," Jaskier breathes, "I just- I don't know if I can make you feel good."

"You do," Geralt hums, leaning in to meet him halfway in a too-soft kiss. "Being inside you feels good, you sucking on me feels good. You feel good."

The probing tentacle presses a little more firmly, and it's dry, but Jaskier isn't complaining. Geralt pauses.

"You're not slick?" he asks and Jaskier shakes his head again.

"No, men don't- you gotta use something, it doesn't happen naturally."

Geralt hums thoughtfully and then the tentacle is slipping away and Jaskier is disappointed for a moment before it reappears, sliding smoothing against his skin before pressing in. He's slick this time and it takes Jaskier's sex-addled brain a minute to realize Geralt used his own slick and that does something to him that he can't quite explain. Geralt pulls him in close and Jaskier whimpers as the tentacle presses into him, sinking deeper than any cock has ever reached.

He holds his breath, waiting for the pain, but there's none, even as the thickness of the limb stretches him open. Geralt touches him softly, and then another tentacle is pressing at his hole and Jaskier can only whine into Geralt's chest. The second one doesn't push as deep, pressing right up against his prostate and Jaskeir doesn't think he can come again tonight, but as Geralt bumps against him, his cock twitches against his thigh.

"If we had more time," he mumbles, "I'd like to see how many can fit." Jaskier nearly loses his mind at the words so calmly spoken, and he wants to tell Geralt that he would absolutely be willing and happy to try that, but right now keeping his body upright is hard, so he just moans against him again.

"Can I fuck you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier huffs a laugh.

"'S that not what you're doing?"

"I mean with my cock," he hums, "I'd like to fuck you properly."

"Gonna have to discuss how you fuck properly if this isn't it," Jaskier mumbles, "never been so fucking full in my life." Geralt rocks up against him, breathing shakily as their cocks rub together.

"It'll be good," he breathes.

"Not saying no," Jaskier huffs, "I want you every way. Just not sure-" he gasps as Geralt thrusts deeper into him with the second tentacle "-how it could be better than this."

Slowly, carefully, Geralt slips out of him, using the same tentacles to wrap around his own cock, guiding it to Jaskier's hole as Geralt'shands slip up his back to steady him.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier nods, shifting to adjust to the new sensation. Geralt's cock is smoother than the tentacles, thicker at the tip, and tapered and cool. When he pushes into him, Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck, holding him and shifting slowly to adjust. It's the temperature more than anything, but he likes the feeling of it inside him and he warms up soon enough.

He can't imagine how hot it is for Geralt, but it's hard to read his expression, just wide-eyed and staring as he sinks into him. As he settles another tentacle slips up his back and around his neck. Its grip remains loose, but it prods at his lips and Jaskier opens to him easily. Geralt pushes into his mouth, fucking his mouth with short, shallow thrusts as a third tentacle wraps its way around Jaskier's cock, leaving him completely engulfed.

His mind swirls with mindless thoughts of pleasure as Geralt fills him fully and wraps his way around him. He has very little movement, but he doesn't feel trapped. Instead, he just feels pleasantly held as Geralt moves under him, thrusting into him with slow, languid thrusts.

His cock is angled just so that it hits his prostate with the first thrust and doesn't stop, continually bumping against it until Jaskier is breathless and completely limp in his arms. And when Geralt dips down to kiss him, brushing damp hair out of his eyes, he's panting. He looks good like this, all dark eyes and parted lips, putting all his energy into holding Jaskier up and fucking him and Jaskier can't find the words to properly describe how Geralt makes him feel.

Then, just as he doesn't think he can get any more full, as he doesn't think he can take much more, a tentacle presses around his rim, sliding around the girth of Geralt's cock where it's buried within him.

"Please," Jaskier finds himself mumbling, "please, Geralt, I need it-"

"Shh," Geralt whispers, his voice unsteady as Jaskier squirms against him. "Let me take care of you." The tentacle presses in, winding around Geralt's cock inside him and shifting steadily.

He's so full he can hardly think, so overwhelmed and oversensitive and he can't do anything but cling to Geralt's shoulders and bury his face in his neck.

"Please," he whispers, "gonna come, please-"

He didn't think he could but his cock aches, throbs with the need to come. He needs it so bad it hurts and all he can do is grind up against Geralt as best he can in his bonds.

One of Geralt's hands comes around to hold the back of his neck and the other slips to his chest, thumb rubbing over his nipple and Jaskier very nearly comes right there. He whines and whimpers, writing amongst the mass of tentacles and Geralt kisses him hard, pinching his nipple and Jaskier thrusts into the coil of his tentacle, crying out as he comes.

Pleasure tears through him, bordering on pain as Geralt continues fucking into him, but it's so good, too good. The tentacle slips from his mouth, sliding back to cradle his head as it drops back and Geralt leans in to kiss him. He's twitching around him now, his cock snapping into him until Jaskier's seeing stars and then, with a groan against his parted lips, Geralt thrusts deep and shudders, pressing Jaskier tight against his chest.

After a moment, he continues rocking lightly, gently leaning Jaskier back so he can look at him. His expression is soft and he pulls a tentacle to take the place of his arm as he runs his fingers down Jaskier's chest.

"Feeling okay?" he asks and as Jaskier just groans softly in response, Geralt chuckles. "We've still got a few hours left until the tide is out far enough for it to be safe for you."

"Geralt," Jaskier huffs, "you're incredible, but I can't-" Geralt laughs again, dipping forward to kiss him.

It's soft and gentle and for a moment, Jaskier lets himself be drawn in, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck. His cock brushes up against him and he whines at the sensitivity, but Geralt shifts, laying him down on the ground and slipping off to the side.

It's cold without Geralt around him and he feels suddenly very alone, but Geralt gets a hand on his hips and pulls him closer. Jaskier cuddles in, rolling onto his back with one leg slung over Geralt's.

"It's been a long time since I've had company," Geralt says, "do you mind if we just… talk?"

"That sounds lovely," Jaskier hums, "I don't think I'm up for a whole lot more than that tonight," he turns his head, flashing a grin at Geralt and earns himself a kiss for it. It worries him a little, how easily he responds to Geralt's affection, how readily he gives himself over to him. His mother always told him he'd end up hurt because of it, but he never fully understood what she meant before, but he thinks he might now.

"What would you like to talk about?"

Geralt asks many things about where he lives and what it's like there, how far it is whether Jaskier is happy there. Jaskier is happy to tell him anything he wants to know, but as time goes by, he starts to nod off, worn out from being fucked so thoroughly. Geralt just pulls him in and curls around him as he drifts, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair.

When Jaskier wakes, Geralt is still there, breathing softly against him, though not asleep, and it only takes a moment to realize Geralt is the one who woke him.

"The tide is out if you want to go," he says softly, fingers coming up to slip through his hair.

"And if I don't?" Jaskier mumbles, shutting his eyes again and turning to throw his leg over Geralt's again, pressed against his chest.

"It'll be a while before the next tide-" he starts but Jaskier cuts him off with a grin, leaning up to kiss him softly.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay."

"Mm," Geralt hums, lacing his fingers with Jaskier's, "and why is that?"

"Because I like it here. I like the beach, I like the company. I'd like to get to know some of them better." Geralt scoffs, but when he rolls his eyes, his expression is fond.

"I wouldn't be… opposed to that, either."

"Good," Jaskier grins, "because I'd very much like to do this again sometime."

[taechaos]

A Night of Discovery

pairing: hybrid!Taehyung x fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, yandere au, smut

synopsis: For a learning trip, a seemingly innocent fox has taught you to never trust a predator in one day.

warnings: noncon, mention of murder, sadism

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ok so i may have made a moodboard to make up for how bad this is, SUE ME 😭 the request (spoiler warning)

The road is bumpy as the bus navigates through the looming forest, endless pine trees passing by your eyes in a blur. Chatters swirl in the fresh cold air, windows slightly cracked open as you try to sleep for the nth time with your head leaning against the smudged glass. You jolt awake each time, and it’s been two hours since your first attempt because of the reckless driver in the front. You’re clutching your backpack in your lap as you fantasize about the summer, your upcoming graduation.

Being in your final year of high school, the stress has been eating at you, but your biology teacher had the sheer niceness to give her students a break by taking you on a field trip to a marine zoo. It’s related to your syllabus, studying about marine ecology and all, and you were given the freedom to choose an aquatic animal of your choice to make a project on. You aren’t the least bit excited, because the zoo is so huge that your parents had to pay for the night you have to spend in a motel. Walking for hours and searching for one interesting fish is not at all thrilling.

Your body lurches forward when the driver abruptly hits the brakes. You take out your earphones as everyone stands up. The bus doors open with a hiss from the rush of air as students step outside one by one. You are sluggish when you hop on the cement, and the zoo is huge in front of you. The glass panels complement the surrounding greens, and you can catch the crashes of the waves from the shore behind. You can’t see it, and the environment is rather lonely except for the building close by: the motel next to the zoo.

Ms. Kang is directing your classmates to the motel first, and you’re about to follow before you stumble on your shoelaces. You crouch down to tie them, and when your teacher looks back, you say, “I’ll be there in a second!” When they’re inside, you decide to stretch your limbs after sitting in a stiff chair for so long. You walk to the woods by the parking lot, curious about the sights under the grey clouds. The weather is rather gloomy, and it doesn’t exactly help you feel better until you step on the grass ahead of the road. You sling your backpack over your shoulders and start touching the tree trunks out of boredom. It isn't entertaining, but it's relaxing.

A distant growl snaps you out of your sightseeing and you search around with your eyes for the source. The sound is very peculiar, and it has you feeling slightly nervous but undoubtedly curious.

You aim to take a step forward until your name is hollered, and you yell, “I’m here!” You hear hasty footsteps until Jimin appears next to you.

“Ms. Kang is asking for you. It’s your turn to check in,” he informs and you’re about to reply until you hear another growl. It’s louder compared to the previous one, and the both of you look into the forest in fright. It’s drawn out, but it gradually grows quiet. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” you furrow your brows a little anxiously and eventually enter the building with Jimin.

After everyone settled into their rooms, ate in the café provided by the zoo, the real trip began. You have to admit, the aquarium is gorgeous. The blue light reflecting from the water is easy on the eyes, and you’re fawning over all the swimming fish in admiration. There is a guide with you, and you listen to any information that is related to your favorite animals so far. You note down the names as a requirement from the teacher, and research some on your phone throughout your exploration. It’s actually interesting in the beginning, but you do get somewhat bored when a few hours pass. It’s 7PM when the tour ends for the day, and the rest of your time is leisure. 

You’re allowed back in your rooms for the evening, and you rest on the comfortable bed to gain back some of your energy. You’re more interested in the forest just outside, and you take out a box of fruits from your bag before leaving the motel. It’s dark when you munch on a sliced green apple while eyeing the forest. The lights from the motel sign help with your vision and you’re just standing on the empty lot while twirling around absentmindedly. It’s not like you’re close enough with anyone to hang out with them at this time, but it allows you to appreciate the breeze more. You’re wearing a cardigan to keep you warm, and you’re enjoying your time until you hear a whimper. 

You stop in your tracks before inching closer to the sound. It’s pained, or at least you think it is, and you take out your phone to shine a flashlight at the eerie forest. More whimpers resound in your ears, and you timidly trudge into the darkness. You yelp when you feel something soft lightly graze your calves, and jump away before seeing it: it’s the tail of a red fox. You gasp in slight fear because you don’t know if you trespassed or are in danger. The fox stares at you, and you stare back until it quietly whines again. “Awww,” you unintentionally coo. You’re scared when it wraps its fluffy tail around you, but you’re not so intimidated when it starts snuggling into your legs. You crouch to level with it and hesitantly bring your fingers to its head. Its fur is so soft that you wonder if it has been tamed.

“You’re so cute,” you gush in a whisper when it leans into your hand. You retract your hand and take out a blueberry from your container and feed it to the fox. Your heart warms just by watching it chew, and you give it some more. This encounter might be the best part about this trip, because the animal is just so adorable. You want to cry from how overwhelmingly precious and pure it seems with its adoring gaze. You’re grinning brightly as you eat with it, sharing your only snack for this whole expedition. 

You entertain yourself with it for a little while before deciding to go back. You ignore its protests guiltily and bid farewell, “I’ll see you again, cutie.” It’s already been an hour and your legs ache from bending for so long. You know you shouldn’t be out too late, and as you retrace your steps back to the motel, you hear it run off deep into the woods. 

The night is spent tossing and turning in bed because you wanted to sleep early in order to function at 8AM the next morning, but you can’t force it. Surfing through the media or keeping your eyes closed for 15 minutes straight didn’t help in the slightest, and somehow your energy has been increasing instead. The window adjacent to the mattress glares at you with its beauty of the crowd of unsaturated trees. You didn’t bother pulling the curtains because it’s a pleasant view, and the stars that you rarely see in the city shine brightly in the countryside. You think back to your interaction with the fox, and a smile creeps up on your tired face. You want to see it again.

Putting your shirt back on, you’re adjusting your cardigan when you crack open the door of your room. No one’s roaming in the halls, as expected since it’s midnight, but you try to be mindful of your temporary neighbours as you sneakily exit the building. You turn to your left instantly to scurry towards the mysterious forest. You don’t know if the fox is still around, but you whistle lowly anyway. Twigs snap beyond your vision, and you warily wait for something to happen. 

An extremely loud growl rips a tiny scream out of you and you immediately flinch backwards. You’re frozen in your spot, almost paralyzed as the growls continue. It’s confusing because the noise is more like an aggressive hiss, and it’s unlike anything you’ve heard before. It suddenly switches to a whimper, a plea. You don’t know if you have to break a fight between two animals, but it doesn’t matter when your curiosity takes over and makes you confidently (albeit feigned) stride into the jungle. 

As if your actions are being encouraged, the whimpers grow more desperate and you take slow steps while watching out for any predators waiting to attack. You’re trembling in fear, but then your fox also might need help… 

The motion is way too quick for you to process and you let out a blood curdling scream when you’re tackled to the ground. You don’t stop screaming even when your mouth is covered, muffling your cry for help. 

“Calm down,” a honeyed rich voice tells you, soothing with its calm tone, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You quiet down and peek at the assailant through heavy lids. A confused hum catches in your throat upon seeing batlike ears that poke through dark hair. They easily blend in together, and you scrutinize his features and notice a swishing bushy tail behind the man on top of you. Terror dawns in your eyes, though the man looks fairly tranquilent by the ordeal.

“You fed me earlier,” he recounts and slowly removes his hand from your face. You’re gawking up at him as he clarifies, “Fox hybrid.” You squeak when his tongue darts out to lick your cheek and chuckles at your expression.

“What a-are you doing?” you snivel shakily. 

He gently tucks a stray strand behind your ear before answering nonchalantly, “Scenting my precious doll. You’re so pretty, and kind… and naive.” 

Your breaths quicken when he leans into you, but he conveniently misses your lips to bury his face into your neck. The fur on his pointy ear tickles your jawline, and you’re startled when he starts to sniff you. You feel him lick your sensitive skin and clench your fists with a mewl. You’re utterly terrified by the discovery of a new species, who also seems to be very strong and stealthy. He’s handsome, gifted with a heart shaped face and a set of charming black eyes with full lips, but it’s not important when he’s crushing you with his weight to keep you in place. His mouth and nose are all over you as they explore your taste and smell, and his satisfaction is evident with his sighs of bliss.

“I couldn’t get enough of you earlier,” he reveals with a subtle moan, “I've never had the experience of smelling something so delicious. It's fortunate that you're so easy to fool.” The only thing that you do know about foxes is how cunning they are, but you didn’t think one would land you in this situation. You’re heaving to breathe with a struggle, but he pays no mind to it. “I can’t wait to claim you.”

Despite rendering you immobile, he sounds more desperate and needy than you do; as if he’s the weaker one, like the roles are switched. You might be able to use that to your advantage… “I would love that,” you choke out, though you have no idea what he means by his words, “but I can’t move. I-I want to kiss you.” You want to smack your forehead for coming up with such a terrible lie; you don't even know if his intention is to kiss you.

“Yeah?” he drawls seductively and withdraws his knees from your thighs, most likely leaving a bruise from how hard he dug them in. He holds himself up by his palms that previously clung onto your shoulders and limits your peripheral vision. Your eyes trail to his defined collarbone for a short moment, the moonlight casting a shadow over his fine features. “Kiss me then.”

You inhale sharply before raising your leg to kick him, but his reflexes are faster than yours as he prevents it with one knee. He tuts, “I’m offended; I thought you found me cute.” A knowing smile graces his pink lips, and it doesn’t falter even when you open your mouth to scream again. His calloused hand immediately silences you before you can make any noise, and his other hand reaches down to your lower region. “I even wore a pretty outfit for you today. Such an ungrateful doll...” 

He tugs on your pajama shorts, dragging them down to your knees along with your underwear. You shake your hand and beg unintelligibly, “Please don’t.” You clench your thighs together, but he forces them open and leans back to take your bottoms off completely. The weather feels like it’s dropped to negative degrees as you shiver and he gently hushes you when you begin to sob. 

“Oh doll, there’s no reason to cry yet,” he sighs in fake empathy, “I just really, really want to fuck you.” He heaves his shirt over his head, and that’s when you get a glimpse of his so-called “pretty outfit”. The black garment is familiar because it's the merchandise of an indie band with its flamboyant logo; you know you’ve seen someone else wear it today. He has to use both hands to take it off completely, and once it’s off, your wails echo in the deserted land as he ties it around your mouth. It’s Jimin’s outfit. “Don’t take your eyes off of me. I love having your attention.” His voice is a mere breath, filled with anticipation to touch you.

He slides down to your knees as he continues to undress himself. He’s throbbing under the uncomfortable fabric of the tight jeans, and instead of attacking him with your now free hands, you cover your face stained with tears as you cry. You feel like you’re having a heart attack as your gut churns in defeat; there’s no point in fighting a man who might’ve killed your classmate, a fox no less.

The moment his pants are down his thighs, his stiff length grazes his stomach before he palms it and rubs himself up and down your folds. Your heat is damp with your natural discharge, but it’s so warm and he feels so aroused as a moan slips past his luscious lips. “You must think I’m so rude,” he whispers and hovers over your face, “I haven’t even introduced myself and yet I’m already marking you.”

He whines cutely at a particular tingle before saying, “My name’s Taehyung. I’d love to hear you moan it, but you’re just so naughty.” His emphasis is airy, and you’re terrified by the contrast of his soft tone and rough actions. He’s calculated, but also very reckless; almost amateur as he begins to position himself by your entrance.

Your words are gibberish as you repeat: “No, no, please no!” He clicks his tongue in response and locks eyes with you just before he shoves his cock inside, no adjustment whatsoever as his pitch grows higher in wonderment. He’s down to the hilt, and the fabric in your mouth isn’t enough to drown out your scream of pain. The stretch is excruciating. His eyes screw back as he loses himself in you, and it’s as if he’s lost all control when he starts slamming into you at an unforgiving pace. 

As opposed to your protests, he starts chanting, “Yes, yes, fuck yes, my perfect little doll.” He’s never had intercourse with a human before, but it’s not up for comparison when he’s feeling so heavenly because of your tightness. You’re pulsating around him, walls clenching in discomfort because you’re in so much agony. You push his shoulders, but it’s futile as he doesn’t budge in the slightest; he almost appears possessed, but his loud moans disprove the theory. 

He can’t form coherent words, and neither can you. If you weren’t in such a shock, you’d be encouraging him to be louder in case anyone is nearby to help you. You thrash under him, but your movements are limited because of his firm build. You beg and beg, but he is animalistic with his chase for his high. The sound of slapping skin have no pauses in between because of his pace, and dare he admit that the predator in him enjoys your attempts at getting away. It makes it so much more fun for him, but he’s unable to savour it from how your pussy sucks him in so deliciously. "You feel so fucking good, I'm going crazy."

Once he’s gained some of his sensibility back, he latches onto your neck to lick and bite you. You pull at his hair to yank him away, his canine teeth sinking into your flesh for a second before he moves onto another spot. His torture is endless, and his growls scare you enough to remove your hand and shake like a leaf under him. He wants to taste all of you, and you can't serve as an obstacle.

“Pet my ears,” he grunts, “touch me, touch me, dolly.” 

The initial pain is starting to subside, and your thoughts are coming together although they’re hazed. You’re still aching, but you know he just dropped you a hint; the sooner he’s satisfied, the earlier this nightmare ends. Your fingertips stroke the back of his twitching ear. His fur is so velvety, and petting him is the least bad part about this experience. You must be doing something right, because he’s getting so noisy that there’s no way someone would miss you now. You suck your teeth with a hiss as he sets an impossibly rapid rate, rearranging your guts with every snap of his hips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries breathlessly. His release washes over him as spurts of cum paint your throbbing walls in white, and you’re relieved that this is the end. 

His intakes of air are hot on your skin as his breath fans the crook of your neck. Your stomach drops the moment he murmurs his next words, “I want to do it again.”

“Hey!” a gruff voice interrupts his huffs, and your whole world lights up when you see a man in a uniform with a flashlight over your heaving nude bodies. Taehyung is surprised that he didn’t catch the man’s footsteps when he walked over. “This is indecent exposure, you know–” the security officer goes quiet in shock when he notices the perk of Taehyung’s ears, and then the stiff, unmoving tail behind. “What the fuck?”

Taehyung rolls off of you before disappearing from your sight in a single second. He is stealthy and quick, and his footsteps are light when he leaves; presumably shifting as he goes. The guard attempts to chase after him before stopping in front of you. His eyes trail down your figure before he looks away in disgust. “Goddammit, kid, put your clothes back on.” 

“Thank you so much,” you choke on your tears of joy as you ignore the ache in your thighs, the swelling in your heart and your suffocating turmoil. You stand up on wobbly knees and slowly dress yourself. The officer has his back facing you while you change, and you’re grateful he doesn’t witness how fragile you are. 

“What are you thanking me for?” he asks after a moment of prolonged silence.

“H-He was raping me,” you speak in a hushed tone, “and I think h-he killed my classmate.”

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll go notify the police. Are you staying in the motel?”

When you return back to your room with the company of your savior, you’re hurting everywhere and sleep comes to you easily from all the crying you’ve done. You wake up from a knock on your door, and it’s early in the morning as your teacher says, “Pack up dear, we’re leaving in half an hour.”

They found the clothes, you note when you limp outside with your bag dragging you down. There are dried tear stains on your cheeks when you step on the open bus, and you see a bunch of cops surrounding the forest through the window. Jimin isn’t inside, and you shake your head with pursed lips as sobs bubble up in your throat. This feels nothing short of a nightmare. 

The class is informed of Jimin’s disappearance after taking off, and you lean your head against the window as the driver recklessly drives. Your vision is blurred with tears as you watch the forest, but it doesn’t distort it enough for you to miss the flash of a blood red tail skip between the trees, following the path of your transport.

After all, foxes are known for being fast. There’s no way this one wouldn’t be able to track you down sooner or later, your scent bringing you back to him.

[laequiem]

kiss you off my lips - folktober day 5

Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 05. She who pulls the strings @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar but seen through Nicasia/Cardan Greenbriar? lol

Rating: mature

Word count: 2,532

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

read on ao3

Masterlist • She kills my self-control masterpost

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

Most days—more than a King, more than a marionette—I feel like a courtesan. Dabbling in steamy displays with courtiers I am barely interested in, all to keep the façade of the immoral king. I pretend at power, desperate for a nod of approval from my seneschal, while she does all the work. Of course, she had never asked me to whore myself out.

Until today.

I do not know who started our tumbling. Maybe I did, my anger blinding me to the foolishness of what we were about to do, in that small room behind the dais. Forgetting that touching Jude again would remind me of everything I have tried to forget since that day she rode me in her rooms. When I kissed her, that anger melted away, replaced immediately with the desire I have been helplessly fighting against for years.

Or maybe this was Jude’s plan all along. She is more faerie than she seems, at least in the way she schemes and bargains. I will charm Nicasia and get her the info she wants. In exchange, she gave me what I want: her.

Her tart taste lingers in my mouth. I did not kneel for her this time, but licking her taste off my fingers made me regret not indulging that particular thirst.

I find Nicasia easily, splendid in a pearl white gown, talking to Randalin. The small sprite does not stand a chance against her. His goat eyes shift towards me, then he bows deeply. Nicasia turns to me, unable to hide her surprise and delight that I have come to her.

“Cardan,” she croons.

Randalin chokes on nothing, animal eyes going wide. I raise a brow at Nicasia and cross my arms.

“Your Majesty,” she corrects herself, a purplish tint blossoming on her cheeks. I will never tire of this.

“Princess Nicasia.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Would you accompany me on a walk? For old time’s sake.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she beams up at me.

We make boring small talk as we walk, her arm looped around my elbow. The path leads us away from the Palace, towards the beach separating the Shifting Isles. Jude seemed to think Nicasia still liked me, and I suppose I can see it. She looks up at me with clear interest, though the conversation is as weary as can be. I work my charm up even more. A small hibiscus shrub blossoms as we walk past and I pluck a flower, tucking it in her hair with a calculated graze of my knuckles against her cheek.

The sea does not rise to greet us as we set foot on the sand.

“The sea is unnaturally calm,” I say.

I chuck off my shoes and Nicasia’s eyes dart straight to my bare feet. I hope Jude does not ask me if she was right that Nicasia still holds feelings for me, I fear I would not be able to lie.

“It is,” she says, turning back towards the sea.

I slowly uncuff my shirt for the second time today. I chase away the memories of Jude’s curious fingers on me. The way she explored and grabbed at me like she needed to figure me out, to plan out how to efficiently unravel me next time.

Next time.

I hope there is a next time.

“I must admit I am surprised,” I tell her nonchalantly, "I thought the Undersea always made true on their threats.”

I will the nearest tree to stretch out a branch towards me. I unbutton my shirt and remove it, then hang it on the branch.

“What do you mean?” Nicasia asks.

She turns to me. The way she devours me with her eyes takes me back to a time of shared wickedness and complicity. A time when it was us against the world, a time when she chose me over my siblings.

Until she chose Locke over me.

Now do you believe me that she wants you? Jude had asked. I suppose I do.

At one point, this look on Nicasia’s face would have set all my nerves on fire. Now, I feel the same as when strangers ogle me.

“Cleave together lest you face the rising tide,” I singsong, reciting the words from Queen Orlagh’s minion at the Hunter’s Moon revel in the same melody they used. “Yet the sea stays quiet. I take it your kind has another plan.”

I reach for the lace holding together my breeches and pull at the knot. Nicasia looks down at her hands, suddenly captivated by her nails.

“Perhaps,” she says too quickly. “Or perhaps we hope you will come to your senses.”

“We all hope so.”

Including me. Just not about this particular issue. My issue is of the mortal kind, the kind who deals in secrets and knives.

I hang my pants next to my shirt. Nicasia is still fully dressed, standing with her back straight and her lips tightly shut. I stop in front of her and trail a finger up her arm before slipping it under one of the straps of her dress.

“Will you not join me, Princess?”

My tail brushes up her spine and she arches towards me. I don’t wait for her to answer, though. I run into the sea.

The water is cold, unwelcoming. Before becoming High King, the salt water would not have bothered me as much. With only minor magic, only ingesting salt would have hurt me. Now, it grates at my skin like sandpaper, as if eating away my skin to get to the magic within. My magic recoils from any part of me in contact with the water. It’s heinous. I would rather take a dip in the Lake of Masks.

On the shore, Nicasia strips off her dress, hose, heels, tiara, everything. Then, she runs towards the water in a wave of blue-tinged skin and blue hair. She dives under, agile and more in her element than I could ever be.

She resurfaces next to me, a smile on her painted lips.

“Like old times,” she says.

“Like old times, but so much more complicated.” I sigh, then cast my line. “It used to be so easy.”

She takes a step towards me, biting the bait. “What was?”

And I reel it in.

“Everything,” I say with a frown. I take a step towards her, and put my hand on her cheek. “Us.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly.

“It does.” I sigh again. “Do you realize how hard it is to please everyone? The Living Council is always on my case. And my seneschal—”

She groans. “Why do you even keep her around?”

Because she commands me. Because she is the true ruler of Elfhame. Because I love her.

“I have to.”

Nicasia puts her hand over mine. Her fingers are webbed now, I notice. No gills, however. I suppose she knows I have no desire to ever follow her under again. Now that I am High King, I don’t have to—unlike when I was no more than the lover of the Future Queen of the Undersea.

I wonder if Nicasia notices the way I look at Jude. I wonder if I used to look at her like that, or if it was something else. I did love Nicasia, once, but it was never as labyrinthine.

I try to emulate that look just now, I try to look at her like I used to. Nicasia is still the same beautiful creature she always was: a perfectly symmetrical face composed of sharp angles and large, deep eyes. She is beautiful in the way a painting is, a piece of art to be admired. Just like art, she can make you feel things—but it’s nothing as primordial as what I feel for Jude. Like she is the beating heart I am tethered to.

“There are things I can choose for myself.”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. She leans into my touch, angling her head towards my hand.

“… things?” Nicasia asks.

“Lovers. Consorts.” I lean in towards her ear and whisper, “A Queen.”

The words sound so wrong, they claw at my throat as they come out. I am surprised I can even say them, but they are not lies. I simply have no desire to make Nicasia any of these things.

“Ca—Your Majesty,” she gasps.

“We’re in private. Cardan is fine.”

I kiss the soft spot under her ear, then pull at the lobe with my teeth. Her skin tastes salty. Like seawater, of course, not the salty tang of sweat drying on skin after an exhausting training session. The point of her ear is unsettling, sharp like a blade.

“Cardan.” She slides a hand behind my neck, toying with my hair the way she knows I like. “Why refuse me so often then?”

I pull back to look at her, my hands roaming down to settle on her small waist.

“My subjects think me… young. Foolish.” I look towards the Palace, the grassy hill looming over the trees. “They already say I am a puppet.”

“They are the fools,” she spits.

I shake my head. “I am a fool. Regardless, if I were to marry so early after being crowned, they would think you the mother of puppets. The one who pulls my strings.”

“Especially given my mother’s insistence,” she says and I nod.

I pull her to me, her hips pressing against mine. Bone against bone. Wildly different from the soft but strong body I was exploring hours earlier.

“Politics, you know.” I sigh. “Tedious.”

I think I am overdoing it on the sighs, but what can I say? I am quite dramatic, even when I am not acting.

“Still,” I lean in, barely a hair’s breadth away from her face, “I have a say in whom I woo.”

Our lips crash together like waves on rocks. Hers are cold, which is fitting seeing how unaffected I am by this. It’s the kind of lustful kiss I give my partners, no feelings other than desire. My body is not fooled, however—kissing Nicasia has about the same effect on me as listening to Fala’s ramblings. I tip her head backward and she complies, malleable and utterly bewitched. My other hand slides from her hip to her buttox. I squeeze a barely-there cheek and she giggles against my mouth.

One of her hands is tangled in my hair while the other one slips from my shoulder down my back. As she has always done, she avoids my scars like they are made of iron. When we were together, I thought it was for my own sake that she never acknowledged them. That she was being kind, in her own way. When I had fresh wounds and I refused to take off my clothes, she understood. But when I ended it and my mind stormed to figure out what went wrong and led her astray, it started to feel more intentional. Like she sees my scars as weakness and she fears that touching them would contaminate her.

“I miss us,” she whispers against my lips.

I only hum an agreement, pulling away to kiss at her throat. Her hand continues its careful trek down my back, until she gets at the base on my spine. A dreadful shiver goes up my spine as I anticipate what she is about to do. Sure enough, her fingers circle the base of my tail. She strokes it, letting it slip between her fingers for the whole length of it. I jerk away, take a step back. As if to spite me, the sea places a slimy rock right under my foot and I slip, falling backwards into the water with the grace of a drunken redcap.

I spit out no less than a gallon of water as I resurface, choking on the salt that is sure to take days to leave my system. Nicasia’s mouth is twisted up in remnants of a smile, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“What happened?” she asks as I stand.

“Something… touched me,” I grumble, a faerie truth if nothing else.

She reaches out, moving a wet strand of hair away from my face. “The High King is afraid of a little fishie?”

I scowl, then splash her with water. “I am not afraid.”

Nicasia chuckles. I shrug her off, starting towards the beach.

“Leaving already?” she teases.

“My guards will start looking for me soon enough, if my seneschal isn’t already on her way.”

Nicasia grunts, probably rolling her eyes dramatically as she follows behind me. “That mortal has too much power.”

I stop in front of the branch I left my clothes on. I still feel the salt on my skin, drying there as the water drips away. I grab my tail and wring water from the tuft at the end of it.

“Does she?” I ask, bored.

“Yes!” Nicasia steps around and puts herself between me and the branch. “What will our world become if mortals do not learn their place? As their power grows, we ought to unite. The Land. The Sea.”

“Nicasia—” I start, but she interrupts me.

“The sea is growing impatient, Cardan,” Nicasia continues, a hint of irritation hidden under the usually pleasant lilt of her voice. “My mother thinks the Land is weak, she might act any moment.”

I inspect my nails, picking a grain of salt from under one of them. “If the Crown is so weak, why try to unite with us at all?”

“I want us to be united,” she spreads her hands, palm up.

“And I want to bathe. Your regnal birthright is quite cold.”

I step around her and start dressing up. Behind me, I hear her stop, then the rustling of fabric.

“Do not jest,” she scolds. “What she’s planning—you should take it seriously.”

“I do. And I will think it over, once I am warmed up.” I finish cuffing my shirt, then hold my arm out for her. “Will you accompany me?”

Arm in arm, we return to the Palace. Even without their High King, the Folk still partake in their traditional merriment. Unheeding of my vague promises and empty words, Nicasia spends the rest of the night at my side. We trade kisses and caresses for everyone to see. Later, we move to the rooms assigned to her to do more of the same, to bathe and exchange soft whispers. When I leave Nicasia’s chambers, she hands me notes regarding her mother’s plans to attack during Taryn Duarte’s wedding.

As I collapse on my bed, finally alone, I curse Jude’s name for being right. Still, her name is the last thing on my mind as I drift asleep.

-

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[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Wrecker x Reader: Beach

(Author’s Note:  Wrecker and the beach, oh my).

Warnings- Ocean 

   Endless blue.  That’s what you saw when you stood staring out at the ocean before you.  There was a lapse in the onslaught of waves, a brief calm that allowed you to see the line where the water meets the sky.  It took your breath away knowing that both the sky and water went far beyond that line.

   The sun was shining, the air was salty, and gulls sang their songs.  And in addition to all of that, you could hear the laughter of your teammates.  Wrecker had Omega on his shoulders as the two of them waited for the next wave to build up.  Back on shore, the others were sitting in their chairs under the umbrella.

   You felt the familiar pull of water back out to sea, which signalled the buildup of another wave, and you planted your feet firmly in the soft sand to keep yourself from being tugged along by the current as you scanned the water for signs of where the wave would begin.  The swell was significant, and you realized that you’d have to swim forward just a little more in order to not be caught in the crash of the wave.  Your first instinct was to check on Wrecker and Omega to make sure they were aware, and to your relief, Wrecker was already carrying her closer to the oncoming wave as it doubled in size.

   “Here it comes!” you called.

   “Hang tight, Omega!”  Wrecker shouted.

   A big smile spread across your face as you jumped, gliding over the wave before it began its crash.  It was always a thrill, no matter how many times you did it.  No wave was alike.  Sometimes they were smaller than they looked on the horizon, and other times they were bigger.  You had to be aware at all times and never have your back turned to the ocean.

   Once the wave had crashed onto the shore, you and Wrecker exchanged grins.  You absolutely loved how much fun your boyfriend was having.  He hadn’t stopped smiling since the Batch arrived on the beach early in the morning.  As soon as the umbrella was up, he was throwing off his shirt and heading toward the water before even applying sunscreen.

   Fortunately, you convinced him to come out long enough to spray him down with it and let it set.  A few flinches and complaints of “that’s cold!” later, Wrecker got the bottle and helped spray you down as well.  You had squeaked at the cold sensation. There was also quite a bit of flirting of course from both of you.

   But now, you’d been in the water for the majority of the day already.  After many hours riding or diving through waves, you’d reached your limit.  You swam up to Wrecker.

   “I’m going back to the blanket for a while!” you told him.

   He stole a glance out at the ocean and back at you.  “Want me to come with you?” 

   “No, you two keep having fun,” you insisted.

   “Alright!”  He and Omega high-fived, and you clambered out of the water onto the sandy beach with a big smile on your face despite your tired limbs.

   “Finally had enough, eh?” Echo asked.  He was leaning back in his chair with an arm behind his head and a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

   “Yeah,” you replied, shuddering as you grabbed the towel Hunter offered you and dried yourself off.  “It was perfect today.  The water wasn’t too rough, but there were plenty of waves to keep us busy.”

   “If you like that sort of thing,” Crosshair muttered.  He had waded in ankle-deep a few times, but didn’t express much interest in the water other than that.  You wondered if he had an issue with the ocean that his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit.  Still, he didn’t seem to mind the scenery as he napped in his chair out of the sun.

   “Those two are still at it,” you said, turning to see Wrecker toss Omega into the water with a hearty laugh.  Her playful shriek was followed by a loud splash.

   “Can’t say I’m surprised.”  Hunter let out a low chuckle.  “The water was all they talked about until we got here.”

   There was a lull in conversation as you spread your towel out on the sand and laid down to let the sun’s rays warm you.  There was the sound of the cooler opening, and the snap and hiss of a soda can being opened by Crosshair.  The quiet hum from Echo as he accepted Crosshair’s offer of a can for himself.  Tech had actually dozed off in his lounge chair in the middle of fiddling with some device.  It seemed that the last few sleepless nights working on projects finally caught up to him.

   You got comfy and relished in the heat that soaked through your skin.  I felt wonderful after being in the cool water for so long.  You could still hear the rush of water crashing onto the sand and the quiet conversations between your teammates under the umbrella.  It wasn’t long until you slipped into a nap.

   You woke to the feel of something cold and wet pressed against your side.  It caused you to mumble a complaint at the sensation.  That’s when you felt a shudder beside you.

   “Sorry, love,” Wrecker said, voice slightly shaky from chill.  “Just trying to get warm.”

   While you were out, it seemed Wrecker had emerged from the water and returned to the blanket.  You peeked an eye open to see him stretched out on a towel right beside yours, droplets of saltwater gleaming on his skin.  You reached up and ran a hand down his forearm, brushing over a few scars.  Wrecker obliged your silent request and lifted his arm so you could scoot over and curl up against his side.

   You glanced up to see him gazing at you with the warmest expression before he leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips.  It took some shifting around for Wrecker to settle down, but when he finally did, he was out.  Snores and all.  The ocean could tire anyone out- even someone with as much strength and energy as Wrecker.  Your head rose and fell on his chest with each deep breath he took.  It was peaceful enough for you to fall back asleep.

   Omega was telling Hunter all about her adventure in the waves, and he listened with all the interest and enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t seen it all already from where he sat.

   “We should start packing up soon,” Tech’s voice said.  He must have woken up and checked the time.

   “Give ‘em more time,” Echo replied.  “Besides, it’s not like we really have anywhere to be.”

   And that was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep again- this time, in your love’s arms.

[ererokii]

— desires

zhongli x childe

wc: 2.2k synopsis: zhongli tells childe the stories of guides that lead you to your desire, but realizes what he wants the most.

“Why are butterflies our guide? Well, they want to be Seelies when they grow up!” Hu Tao has a smile on her lips, hands hidden behind her back as she leans forward, staring at the young group of kids who have come up to her.

Zhongli remembers that moment like it happened a few seconds ago. Of course, children's tales were nothing but a mere example of entertainment, but sometimes he can’t help but truly understand her words. 

He recalls the time when he first encountered a blue wisp near Luhua Pool. It was shaped differently than the ones he met before in his years as God. This one seemed more round, ear-like horns prodding from the top of its head. 

There was no doubt that the remnant of wisdom was excited to see him— the bursts of squeaks and flips gave it away. 

Stories were told to the people of Teyvat of the Seelies. If you were to come across one, follow it, they said. Good fortune would come your way or, it would take you to something you desired 

Beside him sat the Fatui harbinger, his red scarf swaying behind him due to the crisp autumn wind. Goosebumps ran up the younger man’s arm, his bare hand reaching under his sleeve, providing warmth to his skin. 

“Maybe one day I can bring my entire family to see the waves of the beach,” Childe says into the wind, gazing off at the sky, eyelids fluttering shut. The refreshing air brushes against him, the smell of the sea fills the atmosphere--one of his favorite scents he’s grown to love during his time in Liyue.

His toes wriggle in the sand, the waves crashing against his heel. The harbinger lets out a loud exhale, shoulders slumping forward as he tilts his head backward and then opens his eyes. “I’m sure they would love the warmth the harbor has to provide. Being in the cold winters of Snezhnaya has nothing on the sunny days this has to offer. But--” and he goes silent.

The uncharacteristic quietness from the ginger man catches Zhongli’s attention, amber eyes drowning with concern. 

“But what?” His baritone voice cuts the silence like a knife, his bare fingers digging into the sand, the grains going under his nails that have him shivering on the spot but something he’ll have to worry about another time. “What is wrong, Childe?

Like a kid, Childe brings his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his body in an attempt to keep himself safe, but for what? His eyes lowered, the liveliness no longer shining with excitement. 

“I miss the cold of my home,” he mutters quietly that even Zhongli had to take a second to realize what he said. “I miss the company of my siblings. When Teucer came unexpectedly, it just made me miss it even more.” His voice isn’t energetic as usual, nor was there a movement to his words. 

Zhongli felt his heartache at the sudden mood change of the younger. He wracks his brain for any words to say, but none comes to mind. Suddenly his mouth goes dry, tongue swelling up as he’s unable to speak, and all he can do is hum with a nod.

Blue eyes stare at him from the peripheral view before gazing forward at the vast sea. Childe buries his head in his arms, shoulders lifting before heaving down in a deep exhale. The older man tears his gaze away, clearing his throat. 

He scans the sun that sets afar, the colors of the sky reflecting onto the water. There’s a wrinkle that forms by the corner of his eyes in content, his lips curling up slightly into a smile. 

“Have you heard of the tales of Seelies, Childe?” he asks suddenly, completely disregarding the vent the Fatui harbinger let out. “Even if it’s an act of entertaining the children, I too believe you would enjoy it.”

“Seelies? I can’t say I have before but, I do love your storytelling, Zhongli.” Childe says with a small smile, turning his head and resting his cheek against the top of his knees. 

There’s a light pink dusting his cheeks, and Zhongli can’t help but notice it right away. He adored seeing that color reside on his face; it made his heart swell with joy, something he hasn’t felt in forever. 

“Well, thousands of years ago, these Seelies were a race of wise and guiding beings that held all sorts of beautiful forms. Some even say that they had palaces that shined from top to bottom and shimmered when the light resided on them, a place where no god had authority over it.”

The smile that grows on the ginger’s face is enough for Zhongli to know that he’s immersed in the tale, and the excitement that shows in his eyes reminds him of a young child’s curiosity. 

“It’s even said that some gods followed these wisps for good fortune and prosperity for their nations. Even... Rex Lapis was one of them.” Zhongli’s smile never seems to falter. “Although it’s quite silly to hear divine beings doing child’s play.”

“Even you did?” Childe whispered, lifting his head. “Kind of hard to believe the almighty Rex Lapis would believe in something like that. Were you desperate or something?” he teases, nudging his shoulder against the consultants. “Didn’t take you for that type.”

“You can call it desperation.” Zhongli lifts his hand and pats the top of Childe’s head lovingly. “I call it a solution.” Childe’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden intimate gesture, tensing for a second before relaxing into his touch, staring up at him through his lashes. 

It grows silent between them as Zhongli's fingers run through the orange hair, flattening the strand that sticks up, only for it to go back into place, and he chuckles.

‘Stubborn just like him,’ Zhongli thinks, finding the expression on Childe’s face to be endearing. 

Zhongli enjoys these little moments that might mean nothing to the world, but to him, this is everything. Ever since he met the follower of the Tsaritsa, he found him captivating upon hearing his first words spoken to him. He enjoyed spending the time he had with him for work only, but of course, that was never really the case.

It amused Zhongli greatly to see Childe struggle with the wooden chopsticks at the restaurants they ate during lunch hours. Even after a few lessons of teaching him how to correctly use them, to no avail, it was useless. 

So at their next meeting, he gifted him a pair of Dragon and Phoenix chopsticks to practice and maybe a token of his affection.

After several hangouts with him, Zhongli remembers the blue infant of a Seelie he came across before meeting with the diplomat. No days go by where he doesn’t think of it. Maybe it was fate he met the-wisp, and something was coming his way. But in this case, it might have been a certain harbinger.

“But of course, it didn’t last long.” He pulls his hand away, pretending to ignore the sigh of annoyance coming from the other at the loss of touch. “I realized that, as God at the time, of course, I wasn’t gifted with such things as a human would. And so, I gave up.”

“Huh..” Childe trails off, scratching his chin in thought. “Well, what about now?”

“What about now?”

“You’re speaking of the past as Rex Lapis. And well, you’re Zhongli now. Surely it should be different, no?”

It is.

“What do you desire now?”

It’s pretty simple. Zhongli grows silent, scanning over Childe’s face. Amber hues take in every curve, every imperfection that’s perfect in his eyes. The light pink that dust his cheeks, showing off the tiny freckles that sprinkle the swells of his face— to the bangs that move slightly from the gust of wind near the shore.

The blue of his eyes reminds him of the ocean, full of beauty and life within. If he were allowed to stare for millennia, he would waste away his immortal life doing so.

“What are you doing out here?” Zhongli muses to himself, taking small steps towards the blue wisp, listening to the squeaks. The noises cause a hint of a smile to grow on his lips, stopping right in front of the creature. Big circles that were the eyes looked directly at him, the ears flickering in attention.

“Cute, if I must say.” Zhongli hesitantly sticks his hand out, palm up for the creature to come closer. Bubbling and babbling can be heard as the wisp lowers itself onto his hand. 

He has to admit, the texture of the Seelie brings back terrible memories of his time during the Archon War, but this time it’s different. The water-like feeling was smooth against his hand— it was genuinely fascinating. 

The funeral consultant stares intently at the being; eyes squinted as he examines it. “Is it now my time?” He asks quietly, cocking his head to the side, and the Seelie follows suit with its whole body. “After years, will it happen?”

Childe feels a heat rush up to his cheeks and lets out a cough, scratching the back of his neck with a wet hand from the water, dampening the skin. 

‘He’s so close to me.. why is he staring all of a sudden?’ He thinks, averting his gaze away, but Zhongli doesn’t seem to care— he continues to admire the ethereal beauty beside him.

The Archon still resents a part of himself for deceiving Childe in such a manner during the fiasco of almost destroying Liyue. That night, the ginger visited him before he departed back to Snezhnaya. Words of anger and betrayal and, most of all, hurt were sent in his direction— but Zhongli deserved every ounce of it.

There was no way around it; Childe wanted nothing to do with the associate nor wanted to be in his presence. 

“Childe.”

The harbinger stops in his tracks by the frame of the door, head hanging forward. He doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough for Zhongli to continue.

“Do you resent me now, Childe?”

Childe messes with the grey sleeve of his outfit before turning around to face the man. There’s a blank look in his eyes, almost dull and no life within them, but he can spot the slightest of tears that start to form. 

“I can never resent you, Mr.Zhongli,” he starts, shifting his gaze up towards the ceiling. “I wish you had told me instead of leaving me in the dark. That’s all.”

“Childe..”

With a shake of his head and a half-assed wave, Childe walks out the door of the consultant's home, closing it behind him. 

And then he returned once more to Liyue for business matters. It was shocking, to say the least when he showed up in front of his door again, but this time with a bag of wine and another filled with food. Zhongli learned that Childe healed quite fast, but of course, the mark lingered for a bit longer than he would have liked.

Petty remarks were thrown his way, but Zhongli could care less. His heart ached when Childe had left with the harsh news, but now he was here back with him, and that’s all that mattered to him.

“Zhongli?”

“Hm?” Zhongli blinks twice, taken back from his reverie, and finally makes eye contact with the harbinger. “My apologies. It appears I got lost in thought.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Childe lets out a little laugh. “But did you hear what I said?”

“You asked me what I desired?” he asks, and the latter nods.

Zhongli’s heart begins to pump at an alarming rate to the point where it feels as if it’ll burst from his chest. His tongue peeks out faintly and licks his lower lip, contemplating how or what he should do. Then he throws everything into the open.

Hesitantly, Zhongli reaches over to Childe and caresses his jawline with clothed fingers. The action takes him aback, but he doesn’t resist the affection. Zhongli’s thumb brushes over Childe’s lips, parting them ever so faintly. His fingers run-up to the spot underneath his ear, forcing him to gaze up.

“You want to know?” he asks once more but more quiet, leaning forward to the point where their noses brush against each other, and all Childe can do is nod.

His following words are drowned by the younger’s lips on his, his body falling back on the damp sand. Hands roam his body, fingers gripping down on the front of his shirt. Their kiss is nowhere near their combat style-- not rough and dominating, but sweet and gentle. Zhongli savors every moment, loving the small moans that escape from Childe’s lips.

Childe lets out a small laugh, pulling away, and rests his forehead against Zhongli’s. His lips curl upward, cradling the back of the harbinger’s neck and bring him closer. No words are spoken between them, only the love radiating off of them to speak. 

Both of their emotions had been bottled up for so long, and now given a chance to be let loose, everything had come out, but neither of them would have it a different way.

“What I desire most… is you, Ajax.”

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[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aquarium | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You thought you and Jeon Jungkook would be last forever, but you had to read the ending yourself, in the form of typed words. When it arrived, you went to the blue sea. The grey sky would come and the black storm would appear.

warnings: cheating in established relationship; (very sad) angst; language; ambiguous ending; non-idol!AU; video game streamer!Jungkook x reader; ft. kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung

--

now playing – trauma (aquarium) by ONEWE

this place has been transformed into something unknown i’m trapped alone in an aquarium

You could see the ending.

At first it was the little things. He held your hand a little less, stood a little further from you when you two walked side by side. Stared at his phone a lot.  Didn’t share his snacks as often. Spent all his time on his computer, streaming video games for longer and longer hours.

You had nothing to say. It was his job, after all.

You made his meals, washed his dishes. Changed his water bottles, gave him a kiss for the camera. Felt a little part of you die inside each time you went to bed alone, only to hear him slip under the blankets, hours after you. You went to work for longer and longer hours. There was no reason to go home. He ordered take-out for dinner every night.

Being Jeon Jungkook’s girlfriend was supposed to be fun.

And it was fun, at first. At first, he spent all this time with you. At first, he was always with you, by your side. He only streamed a little back then. It was a slow, gradual growth, and, like all parasites, it took over every aspect of your life. From your nights, to your days, to your time – making meals, cleaning up after him, doing all the laundry.

You could tolerate it. He made a lot of money. He was having fun. He was smiling. You would do anything for Jeon Jungkook. He dragged you into his sea and you swam in it happily. Until you realized you were stuck and alone, glass walls all around you, keeping you away from him. Seeing him, and yet not being able to touch him, kept away from his heart.

Caught in an aquarium.

He would give you kisses and tell you he wanted to get married.

He would say he loved you, but it was all a lie.

You weren’t in his Instagram photos. You weren’t part of his Twitter bio anymore. You weren’t listed in his phone with a little purple heart next to your name. Even that, you wouldn’t mind. He told you he didn’t want you to get harassed by trolls. He told you that he wasn’t ashamed of you, that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

But.

Then again.

He told every girl in his DMs that.

You stared at them that faithful night, unable to sleep, reading them all. Jungkook was asleep beside you, snoring away, and you read every single one. The WhatsApp messages were worse. They were so much worse. More sexual, detailing what he wanted to do to other people. Not you. Not you, the love of his life. Not you, the one by his side.

You knew how to backtrack and retrace your steps. Make it seem like you were never there. Placed his phone on his side of the bed and went to sleep. He held you that night. Turned around in his sleep and wrapped his arms around you.

Inside, you drowned.

When he told you that he was going to a gaming convention, he was very excited. Grinning his beautiful grin, snacking on shrimp chips as you washed the dishes. It was only the weekend, only two days. He wasn’t going to go for the Friday or Monday, so he could spend time with you.

“I would totally invite you, but you said you have to work that weekend.”

You said apologetically. “I know. I’m sorry. But I have to be there for my co-workers.”

He frowned and nudged you. “You work too much. You know you don’t have to. We can just live off my streaming money. I can buy you nice things.”

“I would feel bad for leaving them. I’ve worked at that office for seven years.”

He smirked, elbowing you a little. “Cheating on me with all the cute guys?”

You carefully wiped down the glass, placing it back in the cabinet, smile plastered to your face.

“No guy is cuter than you, Jungkook.”

That was the weekend you left.

You went to work, confirmed your month-long vacation of all the hours you’ve collected over the years, and packed every belonging you owned in that apartment. To be honest, there wasn’t very much. Anything Jungkook had ever bought you, you left behind.

There was no reason to hold onto it.

For a long moment, you stared at the photos, the stack of photos of you and him. Your smile, his smile, the places you’ve been, the things you’ve seen with him. Then you placed them on the bed, scattering them, spreading them all over the blankets.

You left it like that.

-

You went to the ocean.

You dropped the boxes at a storage unit in the city. Took only a carry-on bag of clothes and took a train to the coast. You left your phone in the storage unit too, telling your parents you were going on vacation to the sea. Didn’t say where, only mentioned you wanted to unplug, unwind, disconnect.

Disconnect.

The cottage you rented was cared for by a nice young man with dark brown hair and tan skin. He said it was his parents’ and that he was renting it out for them. If you needed anything, you could contact him and he wouldn’t hesitate to help. He had a bright, boxy smile and a cheerful tone. You thanked him for being so considerate.

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. You were in a long-sleeved white dress that was going to get dirt and grass stains on it, but that sort of thing didn’t matter now.

Clothes could be replaced.

The garden rock in your hand spun round and round, dancing between your deft fingers. Your left hand. The hand that held his when you two walked side by side, fitting in his right covered in small tattoos. He had a king’s crown tattoo on his ring finger and asked you if you would get a queen’s crown tattoo someday. It didn’t have to be on your hand. Anywhere was fine. 

You looked at your left hand then, the hand that was holding his, and then it didn’t.

And then it didn’t.

You stared down into the crashing waves and jagged rocks under you. It was cold here. How far down was that? White forth slammed against eroding stone. Even mountains weren’t forever. Even something as solid as rock could be ground down into nothing with water.

Your eyes shifted to the shimmering sea, the endless blue, sun reflecting harshly off it. It didn’t matter how beautiful the water was or how many extraordinary creatures were under the surface. The deep sea hid all the worst creatures, all the terrible monsters. Not even science could go that far and discover all those horrors.

You pulled your arm back and threw the rock as far as you could. You couldn’t even see where it landed. The seawater was too rough and wild.

“Why would you throw my garden stone into the ocean?”

You started, turning around sharply to the heavy, baritone voice of your landlord. He was wearing a white sunhat, a beige shirt and pants, clutching a pair of dirty and worn brown gardening gloves. He frowned at you, staring into the ocean.

“What did my rock ever do to you?”

You looked back to the choppy waves and then faced him again, ashamed.

“Well, come. You will have to help with the garden to repay for that. I’m harvesting winter squash.”

-

“You can cook.”

You nodded to Kim Taehyung, the young man who was caring for the sea cottage. He was tasting some of your winter squash and fresh bamboo combination after he asked if you could do something with the two. You had added garlic, ginger, and made a light white sauce as you sautéed it all together.

“I got this bamboo from a friend who lives in the mountains. I can’t cook very well though. Can you?”

You two ate in steady silence, listening to the sounds of nature and waves crashing into shore. He had made rice while you cooked the vegetables.

“The only thing I can make, really,” he had chuckled.

You chewed, listening to Taehyung mix the leftover sauce with the rice and slurp it up.

“The world is quiet here,” you said softly.

He nodded; mouth full. His brown eyes shifted to the overhanging cliff as he swallowed.

“It is.”

-

You tended the garden with him.

You hadn’t even realized all the greenery around the cottage was a giant garden. To you, they were just pretty plants. Taehyung taught you all about the plants, which ones he was growing, which ones the season was already over, which ones he was trying to grow next season. Some were flower bushes he was trying to learn, but you learned that they were finnicky and not as hardy as the vegetables.

“I don’t even like vegetables that much,” he laughed, rich, full, heedless. “But they’re easy to care for, so they make me the happiest.”

He had tried fruits, but the wild animals always got to them despite his best efforts.

“I must share with nature, I suppose.”

Sometimes, you missed the internet. You missed the distractions, the games you played, the ability to like random thoughts on someone’s Twitter. In those times, you would stare at the never-ending blue ocean and then Taehyung would tap you with the rake and tell you that you needed to help him loosen the soil.

“We need all of nature’s nutrients.”

-

You stared out to the blue ocean, wearing a large straw hat and a navy dress. You weren’t at the cliff this time, but farther back. The breeze was softer at this moment. Taehyung had given you the hat a while ago, telling you it was better than the white scarf you wore around your hair. It did provide better sun protection for your face.

The cobalt sea was violent today, sky grey and dark. Taehyung told you it might rain, so the garden could be skipped today.

You held your hat and looked up.

“Me too, sky. Me too,” you murmured quietly.

You wondered when the feeling would disappear. It would probably be gradual, silently vanishing as each day was replaced, memories fading into the vast abyss of thoughts, mixing with fantasy so that you wouldn’t be able to know the difference between what was real and what was fake. That’s why eyewitness accounts were never trustworthy.

That’s how all memories were.

You let go of your hat for only a second. It flew off your head and you spun around, surprised at the strong ocean breeze.

Taehyung caught it with one hand, standing a few meters behind you.

Your lips parted at how easily he was able to catch it. He was wearing a yellow raincoat and brown pants with his usual brown gardening boots. He smiled, walking up to you and putting the straw hat back on your head.

“I warned you that you might lose it if you stand too close to the ocean.”

You hand came up and brushed against his fingers as he retreated his. He looked away quickly, into the stormy blue sea threatened by grey clouds.

“What have you lost to be looking so sad?” Taehyung asked gently.

You followed his gaze.

“Memories.” The water churned, smacking against the cliffside. “A whole book of them.”

“What do you mean?”

You turned back to Taehyung, who was now watching you curiously. You held onto your straw hat, not wanting it to blow away again.

“I left all the photos, so I wouldn’t have to see them again.” You sighed. “Pictures of moments, years etched out visually. I was going to make a memories photo book when we got married.”

You looked back to the ocean, seeing the sky darken ever more.

“And now we won’t.”

There was a loud clap of thunder. Your eyes searched for the lightning.

And then your name, shouted across the grass, harsh and angry like the thunder.

At first, you didn’t hear it. You were distracted by the sky, waiting for the rain. But Taehyung snapped his head around, startled. You noticed his movement and turned around too. A figure in black jumped over the fence, yelling your name on the top of his lungs.

The glass walls came up inside you, trying to protect you from the stumbling, turbulent sea that was Jeon Jungkook.

Taehyung frowned. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Jungkook spat, glaring at him and his yellow raincoat. He called you again, sharply, stomping over. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? When I came home from the convention and you were just gone? No note, nothing, only to find you running off with some random guy!”

The thunder sounded again, but there was no lightning yet.

“I called everyone! Your work, your friends, your family, your phone! You wouldn’t even answer your fucking phone. I had to find out from your work that you were on vacation,” Jungkook hissed, glaring at you. “Vacation from our relationship that is, fucking cheating on me.”

Taehyung glared back. “Dude, it’s not like that at all. I’m just the landlord of the cottage she rented–”

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you.”

You stared at Jungkook, his dark brows and wild black hair, so angry at you that he was cursing. The irony was not lost on you. You held onto the straw hat.

“Is that all it was?” you said quietly. “You were upset that I would find affection in someone else?”

“Of course, I was! You’re the love of my life!”

You smiled gently. “Is that what you tell them all?” Your navy dress fluttered in the harsh ocean breeze.

Jungkook scowled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You looked down to your pink flats, dirty and grass-stained now from running around the cottage garden. Taehyung had teased you, telling you they weren’t good gardening shoes, but you hadn’t brought any other shoes with you. Everything else Jungkook had bought you, with his money.

“Even now, you pretend, Jungkook.” Your hair tangled in the wind, salty and tousled from the sea. You looked back up at him and his expression was changing now. “I remember asking you once, should you comment like that on other people’s Instagram posts?” The thunder was louder now, sky ripping apart with flashing light. “You said, everyone is like that. It’s part of the business.” The color was draining out of Jungkook’s face. “Were the DMs only for show too? What about the WhatsApp messages? The things you wanted to do to them? The ones you wanted to shove your dick into?”

“That’s fucked up,” Taehyung muttered next to you.

“That… That wasn’t…” Jungkook struggled for words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded. You felt it first, the fat drop on the hand holding your hat.

“I know you didn’t. Everything was for fun. Everything.”

Smile plastered to your face, because what could you do now?

“Even me. Even I was for fun.”

You inhaled a deep breath. You had cried for many nights when you crawled into that unfamiliar bed upstairs. For hours, long after Taehyung was gone. Drowning in your own endless sea, filling your glass aquarium. Cried yourself out, and now you let the sea cry for you when you watched it every day, while you worked on the garden with Taehyung.

The rain began to fall.

You looked back to Jungkook, torn, guilty, exposed.

“You should come in and wait for the rain to subside before going home. Your viewers will miss you.”

Taehyung pulled his hood over his head. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked you, voice sharp. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The way he said it implied in more ways than just physical pain. But it was a little late for that.

“I think I will be okay, Taehyung,” you said, water seeping through your hat, rain drenching your dress., turning you into a soaked doll. “Nature has taught me to keep growing.”

He bit his lip, still frowning, but bowed. “Alright.”

And then you watched him go, back to his car, hurrying along. You went in the opposite direction, to the cottage. You had one more week in your hideaway. Rainwater seeped into your flats as you stepped into the grass, soaking your feet. But somehow, it was nice. It was nice to feel the sky cry on you, because then you didn’t have to. You made your way to the covered porch, wringing out your dress the best you could. Took off your hat, opened the door.

Heard heavy black boots in your wake.

“You… left all the pictures.”

The choked, sorrowful voice of Jeon Jungkook behind you.

“I did.”

You stepped inside the cottage. Placed your hat on the hook, dripping wet. Stepped out of your drenched pink flats. Didn’t wait for him. Just went upstairs to the bathroom, trailing rainwater, locking the door behind you. You turned on the water, plugging the drain. Ran a bath and sank into your own hot aquarium.

You heard the heavy fall against the door. Your name, softly spoken through the door.

“I’m sorry.”

You sank further into the water.

“No apology will ever fix what you have done to me.”

The water was cloudy and milky with whatever bath salts Taehyung had provided with the other personal goods.

“I can prove it to you.”

You felt the tears come now, the anger, the sadness. You submerged your head underwater, blocking out all the sound, blocking out your own thoughts. Your hair floated around you, washing out the salt of the blue sea. You waited, waited until your lungs screamed, and still you waited until your vision was fading to grey before you resurfaced, taking a shuddering breath, surprisingly calm.

“The trauma has already spread, Jungkook.”

You heard a slight sob at the tone you used to say his name, cold and unfeeling.

“I really didn’t mean it, I swear.”

You took a deep breath and dove into your man-made aquarium once again.

-

part ii

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masterpost

extended playlist blue & grey by BTS 기억 세탁소 (eraser) by ONEWE 기억 속 한 권의 책 (a book in memory) by ONEWE