#prompt fill for the loveliest of beans

[soleilnomoon]

Hello~~ It's me~~ Again, don't block me, you coward. Can I request calla lily and evening for Nami with deep kisses and goodbye kisses themes #5 and #6 please? I beg of you. I will take even crumbs, thank you.

thank u for being so patient, this was definitely a labor of love, made it extra special for you ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

1.4k words, gn reader (no pronouns, babeyyy), nsfw 18+ mdni, it's angsty and you'll love it idc <3 (i made myself sad when i wrote this ok)

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖 starring: “cat burglar” nami x reader. calla lily (smut) at evening, deep & goodbye kisses, #5 & 6 (massage and bath).

a lively festival takes up the majority of the main street — brightly colored balloons, drinks made from the fresh fruits from the cluster of trees that huddle closely together on the east, steamed buns, fried fish, rice and beans, sauteed vegetables, tiny sponge cakes decorated with bits of fruit and powdered sugar — the party goers dine on decadence, the divinity from the festivities filling them with pretty promises of a never ending night, their bodies moving in tandem with each other to the beat of the music; drums pounding louder and louder and louder. 

barefooted in the sand, you chase after her — shrieks of laughter spill from the deepest parts of her, the loveliest melody you’ll come to know in your entire lifetime. her voice is honey, words heavy with intent and intrigue, long lashes beckoning you forward. hypnotic, impetuous, dizzying. you follow without prompting, heart beating hard enough to give you pause. uncertainty brings about a fog that has you stumbling as you walk — one foot operating on its own, while the other remains put.

when she catches you, the moon sits prettily behind her — pink and full, an impressive fixture in the expansive night sky. a crown worthy of a queen. with lips parted, her sigh contemplative, doleful, a harrowed experience that pierces you thrice - heart, mind, soul.

the body is a husk of flesh and pitiful emotions that hold no place, but for her — for tonight, you keep it together.

if this isn’t love, you’re not sure what is.

hand in hand, skin to skin; one step after another, until you’re both sprinting away from the sandy beach and back to town. breathless. sweaty. a fit of giggles at the sight of your disheveled hair. 

chagrin gives you the incentive to make yourself a little more presentable, tufts of dark curls that refuse to be tamed. a single touch from her stops your movements altogether. the tips of her fingers ghosting along the back of your hand; your heart sputters out of control—this, you think, this. this is love.

i like it, her words carve themselves into you, one painful letter at a time, you’re beautiful regardless.

your heart is so full it could burst — it most certainly feels that way when she stands on her toes, head tilted just so, the same mouth that uttered those life-ruining words now pressed gently against yours, minuscule butterflies flapping inside your chest, a collective warmth that calms you so suddenly you almost forget to breathe. so you revise your previous statement because this—this is love.

it’s hard to deny when you follow after her again, or when she stops to grab another pastry to eat with you, or when her whispers remind you of a forgotten lullaby from long ago.

the festival continues even after you take her to your room, drunk off of the night, feet aching from all the dancing and walking, fatigue nearly claiming your body. her laughter revitalizes you, her energy infectious, her smile devastating, cheeks lightly flushed and inviting, her fingers nervously twirling around her long ponytail.

you’re not a fan of marmalade, but you love the color of her hair. if she’s the sun, then you are the moon—always chasing after one another, unlucky enough for fate to keep you apart. 

it sits in your stomach, heavy like iron, your only solace that you have the night to yourselves. her last night on the island, you remind yourself.

heartache shouldn’t crush you, but it does. it does, it does, it does. swallowing back the bitterness, refusing to cry, you smile at her — you must, for her sake alone.

the door to your balcony remains ajar, the music sailing through the air and finding you both. breathless, again; she has a funny habit of stealing your breath away without any hint of remorse. the mattress dips as you pull her onto the bed with you. hands tangled in her hair, the taste of powdered sugar on her tongue. her lips mold themselves against yours—pliable, soft, feather-light. 

a dream within a dream within a dream.

it’s not nearly enough, and yet you feel completely full from it all. it’s not greed that motivates you, it’s love—that’s what you tell yourself when you kiss her again, that’s what you keep telling yourself when you roll her onto her back, tongue finding hers; star-crossed, ill-fated. you have no intention of stopping now. her nails dig into your forearms, sinking into the skin, the pain a reminder that you’re running out of time. 

your inhales mix with her exhales and vice versa; her mouth is a treasure trove of wonder and miracles. you kiss her slowly, to taste and memorize; fate is a cruel thing that loves to take and take, but here at least, you’re in control.

she follows your lead, peeling off layer after layer of clothing until you’re both naked, until you’re both too caught up to notice the tears that stain your cheeks. are they hers or yours? you’re not sure. at a certain point, she kisses the tears away, and when your fingers graze her nipples, her soft whimpers echo all around, a pleasant parting gift before she leaves you forever.

with skilled hands, you knead her breasts, coax more sounds from her, her hips lifting to meet yours, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses down her abdomen, tongue darting out to sample her skin one last time. a breeze coasts by, a shiver traipsing down your spine, but you keep going.

what’s the word that the flirtatious and professionally-trained cook in her crew likes to use?

oh. nutritional.

that’s what comes to mind the moment your tongue swipes at her cunt; her arousal greeting you without shame. with her legs spread like that, an invitation to a private feast; she’s several meals and dessert all at once.

you devour her with fervor, devout in your worship, tongue lapping at her wetness, brazen and practiced. she gasps loudly, her lithe fingers working their way into your hair, tugging as her hips roll forward, her pussy the most tender piece of fruit you’ll ever have the pleasure of sampling. sweat accumulates along her brow, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her moans quiet.

but she can’t; you’ve deliberately rendered her weak, and she gives in, allowing for the lewd noises that you bring out of her to come center-stage. it makes her helpless, desire staking its claim, her chest heaving as you continue crafting your love letter to her. you’ve never been fond of your name, but when she moans, your name a breathy whisper that follows suit—it reminds you, painfully, that this is love.

slipping your fingers inside of her, you bring her to a different plane; wrist angled, fingers curling, her plush, warm walls closing around your fingers snugly. you look up at her and are met with a mesmerizing sight—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, reddish-purplish bite marks along her tanned skin. when you suck her on her clit, she shatters underneath you, writhing uncontrollably as your fingers scissor delightfully. her orgasm is a tsunami that knocks both of you over; you drown in the waves of her pleasure as she drowns in you.

if this is love, she doesn’t want it; she’d rather not breathe or remember that she was allowed to have a sliver of this feeling.

you lick your lips and fingers, the flush on her skin is enough to keep you happy for the rest of your life. she sits up shakily, pulls you towards her, and kisses you deeply, the taste on your tongue intoxicating her further. you’re both panting, both sweaty, both too tired to continue. 

light on your feet, you bring her to your bathroom and draw a bath. the water warms quickly; you climb in first, she sits in between your legs, easing back against your chest, your hands finding hers again, fingers laced. she turns, melancholy taking hold of her face; you brush your lips against hers, leaving behind a warm kiss — one that will haunt you both.

are goodbyes actually final? can’t you simply say i’ll see you again? you’re unsure, and even as tears spill down her cheeks again, you don’t stop kissing her, wanting to savor this moment, despite the messy feelings that attach themselves, despite the impulse that courses through you to tell her to stay behind. with you.

it’s love that keeps you in the bathtub with her for longer than necessary; and it’s love that has you holding her close to you, afraid that if you give her any room to breathe, she’ll disappear and take those precious moments and memories of the weeks you’ve spent together with her.

🌙 credit to @leafsea​ for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

#all done at last #fic request #cat burglar nami #one piece smut #one piece imagine #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #nami x y/n #nami x reader #ask and ye shall receive; only 4 u mi corathon <3 #nami smut #🌙 la vie est drole event 🌙

[wherethewordsare]

Because you said it so wonderfully and i crave more, please my love give me more of this 🥺

”Jaskier saying that people weren't made to be alone and Geralt shooting back something about barely being human anymore”

Pretty please

As always, thanks @kuripon for the beta reading and edits TT~TT

You Gently Gift it to Me: Geralt hated Jaskier. That was to say he hated how easily Jaskier reached for him, how he did not flinch away when Geralt grew close to him or how casually he would touch Geralt’s shoulder, his arm, even his hand. It made Geralt recoil into himself, his skin growing tight and hot where Jaskier’s hands landed, felt even through the layers of armor. 

But most of all, Geralt hated how much he craved every single one of those things and how desperately he wanted to push into every touch like it was a lifeline to a drowning man. 

He was grateful that Jaskier seemed to understand when the touch was simply too much, never rolling over in the dark to press against Geralt and retreating if Geralt scowled. Though he always scowled, he just assumed there was something particular Jaskier had picked up on. And he never pushed, he never took or invaded beyond that. 

Part of Geralt wished he would, wished that Jaskier could hear the way his blood screamed under his skin while they sat around the fire and the world seemed too small and too large until Jaskier would press his shoulder easily into Geralt’s and the tension in his body would melt ever so slowly. 

The worst of it though was the too tender look in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt returned from a hunt, battered and bleeding, as if Jaskier himself had been inflicted with the wounds. Geralt wouldn’t let him tend to the wounds, no matter how he hovered or how he fussed or how much he needed those same gentle hands on the parts of him that felt like were breaking into pieces. 

This time had been a particularly spectacular fuck up on his part. The cockatrice had a mate apparently and they were smart enough to flank him. He had taken down one while the other sank it’s razor sharp claws into his shoulder and arm. He could barely move it after that but he, by some miracle, still managed to slay the other beast. 

Looking down he knew that it was too much blood dripping out of his armor. He had survived worse, but this wasn’t good. Stitching it up was going to be another matter altogether. 

When he finally stumbled back into camp, it had taken Jaskier exactly three seconds before realizing what was happening and jumping up to rush the witcher. 

“Sit down, darling, come on, right there…” He was nearly frantic, his eyes never settling on one particular part of Geralt as he took in the damage. Geralt could only sit and let the bard ramble at him. 

Then he couldn’t. Jaskier was on his knees between Geralt’s thighs, leaning in, deft fingers undoing the buckles of his armor with a kind of familiarity Geralt couldn’t begin to understand. The aching tiredness in his bones warred with his need to escape those bright blue eyes that seemed to pin him in place. 

Instead of pulling away, mostly because he could barely move, Geralt schooled his face into the look that usually made Jaskier retreat. The air smelled of fear and blood and salt. When those same eyes met his, they were shining wet and Jaskier was blinking rapidly. 

“No, Geralt. Not this time. If I don’t help, you’ll bleed out,” Jaskier said firmly. Geralt’s armor fell away, catching only for a moment against the bulk of his good shoulder and then those hands were on him, tugging away the remains of his ruined shirt. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled in warning. Only when fingers, steady and warm, grazed against his sides did he pull away, remembering himself. Remembering the things he was allowed. Gentleness had never been on that list. He simply couldn’t afford it. 

“No, you’ll never reach this one where it is. Just let me help you,” his voice broke and that smell of salt seemed to flood against Geralt’s tongue, hot and bitter and bright. 

Still he flinched away, his hand coming up to protect his wound from Jaskier’s prying eyes and prying fingers. He looked away from where Jaskier hovered too close, too warm, and too kind. He felt the tension of it behind his eyes, in his fingertips; the need to reach out and hold screaming in his sore muscles and torn skin. 

“I’ve done this alone plenty of times, Jaskier. This time isn’t any different,” he said flatly, tugging the small medical kit of theirs from the bard’s hands. “I don’t need you to do it.” It felt like a lie, one that hollowed him out and rang in his chest. He needed. 

Jaskier didn’t move from where he sat, his head tilting to catch Geralt’s eyes. “People weren’t made to be alone, Geralt,” he whispered. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands covered Geralt’s on the kit, not pulling it back but waiting. “You don’t have to be alone. When was the last time you let someone care for you?” 

He felt sick and his head swam. He knew his hands would never be steady enough to hold the needle and thread, but still he could not relent so easily. 

“I’m not a person,” he snarled, pulling so far back he nearly tipped off of the log completely. “I’m a mutant, Jaskier. I haven’t been a human longer than you’ve been alive.” He tried to roll his shoulders but winced as more blood seeped from the gashes left there. 

“That’s a load of shit, Geralt of Rivia, and I don’t care what your ridiculous pride says.” Jaskier’s voice shook but his hands were still steady, not pulling away for once. It was too easy to give in and hand over the pack.

Geralt turned his face away as he relented, unable to watch as those same hands slowly cleaned his wounds, dosed him with potion and poultice and sewed his tattered body back together. He bit down on his inner cheek to stop the stifle the small noises that seemed to bubble up in his throat every time Jaskier brushed away the gore or carefully pressed into his skin. 

While he sewed, his free hand rested on Geralt’s shoulder blade, more as a way to soothe than to move the process along. Geralt could hear him humming softly, a tune that was all at once familiar and unknown to him, as though he had heard it dozens of times in a dream.

He wanted to ask about it. He wanted to lean into the warmth of Jaskier’s body and rest while his body healed. 

He wanted to pull away and retreat into the dense woods around them and not come out again until he had had a chance to figure a way to discourage the bard from following him. It only took a moment to consider turning around on the path and not seeing Jaskier there for that thought to be banished nearly instantly. 

For his part, Jaskier did not flinch away when growled at, did not stammer or falter when Geralt winced and tensed. All he did was continue his litany of soft words and half remembered melodies while his hands never once left Geralt for a moment. 

When he was finished, he wiped Geralt’s skin again with what could pass as a reasonably clean cloth before helping him, albeit unnecessarily, to his bedroll. He let himself be maneuvered carefully into the furs, a waterskin pressed into his hand with a gentle nudge to drink. It dawned on him with frightening clarity that Jaskier wanted to do this for him. His chest ached with the want of it. 

“When was the last time you let someone care for you?” He had asked with that look in his eyes that made Geralt feel too seen, too exposed. He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him sound pathetic and alone in this world but that answer simply didn’t exist. No one cared for witchers, no one had to. They were built to exist without the need of compassion. 

No one except Jaskier, who now pulled his own bedroll close to his but did not lay down. Instead sat up, his hand hovering unsure. Geralt swallowed, his throat tight. Slowly, he lifted his good hand and wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s wrist, pulling it towards his head. For a moment he let it hover there, unsure, until Jaskier leaned down slightly.

“Geralt, I won’t…” He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “Only if you want, but know I’m not going to tell you no and I would never-”

“I know.” It sounded harsh even in his own ears so he tried again. “I know and I want you to.” Geralt closed his eyes as he brought Jaskier’s hand down the rest of the way. 

Slender fingers slid into his hair and blunt nails dragged gently across his scalp making his whole body tingle. It felt like heaven and he groaned as everything else faded away. 

Above him Jaskier began to hum softly again, that tune he still couldn’t place. He cracked an eye open and turned slightly, making Jaskier’s fingers drag over his forehead and down to his cheek where he let them rest lightly. 

“That’s not one of your usual songs,” Geralt murmured. He felt nearly boneless under the attention of those fingers. For a moment he wanted to drag the bard down into the bedroll to feel the weight of him against his chest but that would be asking for too much. 

“I didn’t realize I was humming it. It’s not mine, you’re right,” Jaskier smiled, humming through a few more bars. “My gran used to sing it to me and my sisters. I sometimes hum it when you’re tossing and turning.” In the dying firelight, his cheeks flushed. “I won’t anymore if you don’t-”

“No, please,” Geralt turned again, pressing his cheek into Jaskier’s palm. “Please. I-” he huffed. “It’s nice.” He felt his insides quake as Jaskier shifted ever so closer, his hand sliding easily back into Geralt’s hair. 

He made no move to press in after that and Geralt was immensely grateful and also deeply disappointed. 

He could see himself easily trusting those hands that had pulled him back together, even when they couldn’t see the wounds they darned back together. As he drifted into sleep, Geralt thought that maybe in the morning, he’d like to still feel what it was like to be cared for.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #touch starved geralt #jaskier #geralt whump #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #angst #hopeful ending #jay writes #jay answers #prompt fill for the loveliest of beans #cw: blood #cw: injury

[youcancallmecirce]

Elemental, Chapter 8: Stroll

Gah, why is it so hard to get to the good stuff?  This chapter sets the stage for the scene drawn by artisticFlutter, and we will actually see that scene next chapter.  

No, I really mean it this time!  

Seriously, how has it taken me EIGHT CHAPTERS to set up ONE sex scene?  For crying out loud, this is ridiculous.  Oh well.  Thanks for your patience while I worked through my writer's block! I hope you guys like it!

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5    Chapter 6     Chapter 7     Read it on AO3

So, to recap:  Adrien and Nino have joined the girls for a sleep-over.  They had dinner and a video game tournament, and are now watching Star Wars.  In this chapter, Nino and Alya get side-tracked during the movie, and retreat to Alya's room for some privacy.  The walls are thin, though, and Adrien and Marinette decide to take a walk to escape their friends' rather vocal enthusiasm.

Since Adrien was completely new to Star Wars, and had somehow managed to avoid picking up on the biggest “surprise” of the series, there was some debate over how, exactly, to introduce him to it.  Marinette saw no reason not to watch them by order of release, but Nino insisted on something called the Machete Order.  Marinette had conceded gracefully, though now, at the end of A New Hope, she glanced at Nino in irritation.

Or, more specifically, at Nino and Alya.

Adrien had traded places with her, claiming the bean bag chair for himself so that he could sit closer to the TV, and Marinette now sat in his spot in the corner of the couch.  Nino still sat in the opposite corner, but now, instead of sitting next to him Alya sat on him with one knee on either side of his hips and her tongue down his throat.

Marinette poked Nino’s side with her toe.  “Stop snogging, you’re distracting me,” she hissed, trying not to disturb Adrien’s enjoyment of the movie. “I thought you wanted to watch this with him?”

“S-sorry,” he sighed as Alya moved her attentions to his jaw.

“They’re not bothering me,” Adrien said as Princess Leia briefed the Rebel pilots on their attack plan.

Alya shot her a coy glance.  “You’re just jealous that you’re not snogging someone right now.”

“No!”  Maybe.  “I just think you should stop dry humping and actually watch the movie.  Or get a room.”

“Perhaps we should.”  Alya kissed Nino again, and tugged his lip gently with her teeth.  “What do you think, babe?  Finish the movie?  Or say ‘good night’ now and go get more comfortable?”

She raked her nails over his nipple, through his shirt, and his breath hitched.  “Uh…com—comfortable sounds good.”

“You’re shameless, Alya.”   Marinette rolled her eyes, aroused in spite of herself, and focused her attention back on the movie.  It was either that, or imagine herself snogging with Adrien.  In all honesty, that was what she wanted, but their relationship was too new for her to just attack him out of nowhere, and he really was enjoying the film.

Alya pushed herself off of his lap and stood, then threw a glare at Marinette as she held out her hands to pull him up as well.  “Don’t you slut shame me either, M.”

“Oh, no, slut it up, girl,” Marinette grinned.  “Just try to do it where I can’t see you.”

“Spoil sport,” Alya laughed, leading Nino to her room.  “’Night, guys.”

Marinette giggled, and waved somewhat enviously at their retreating forms.  “Goodnight!”

“’Night,” Adrien called absently.

“Later dudes,” Nino replied, just before he disappeared into Alya’s room and the door clicked firmly shut.

By that point, the Rebel fighters were desperately trying to bullseye the exhaust port before the Deathstar came within firing range of their base, and Adrien was riveted.  When the credits began to roll soon after, Adrien stood from his place on the bean bag chair and joined Marinette on the couch while she picked up the remote to shut off the movie.   In the absence of the music, however, they could now hear the sounds coming from Alya’s room, and their eyes widened.

“Well,” she chirped, desperate to fill the void with something to distract from their friends’ noises, “what did you think?”

He chuckled, recognizing her over-loud question for the distraction it was.  “It was good!  The special effects are obviously dated, but it’s a good film regardless.”

Marinette gave him an amused look.  “Those dated special effects were revolutionary at the time it was released.”

“I’m sure.”  He shrugged.  “But that was what, forty years ago?”

Marinette returned the shrug.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’s a classic.”

“I can see why.”  Adrien smiled. “When can we—” There was a particularly loud moan from Alya’s room, and he stopped abruptly.   “Not subtle, are they?” Adrien remarked, giving up on trying to avoid the topic and tossing a look at the closed door.  “Are you sure she’s not Mer?”

“Definitely not,” Marinette snorted.  There was another moan, even louder than the one before, and she cleared her throat awkwardly.  “Would you want to go for a walk, or something?  They’re uh, they’re going to be like that for a while.”

“If you want to, but they’re not really—”  He was interrupted by a muffled obscenity in Nino’s voice, and an accompanying feminine moan.  He cleared his throat.  “Actually, yeah.  A walk sounds really nice.”

Marinette laughed.  “Come on, we can walk to the beach and back.”

“The beach?”  He stood, and pulled her to her feet.  “Want to go for a swim while we’re out there?”

“In the middle of the night?” she asked, frowning.

“Why not?” he shrugged.  “I do it all the time.”

“You…do?  Isn’t it dangerous?”

“No more dangerous than during the day.  At least, not for me.”  He chuckled softly.  “I grew up there, remember?  A midnight swim for me is no different from a midnight walk for you.”

“Oh,” she blinked, and ducked her head sheepishly.  “Right.  I um—just, let me go and put on my suit, then.”  She walked backwards towards her door a few steps, and at his nod, turned to hurry through it.  She stuck her head back out long enough to say, “I’ll only be a moment,” and then shut herself inside.

Marinette opened her drawer to see that she had only one clean bathing suit: her oldest one.  She grimaced, but began changing.   She’d acquired several bathing suits over the last few years, since she’d started swimming daily, but all of the newer ones were either hanging in the bathroom or waiting in the hamper.  This one would do; it was still in decent shape, and it was the loveliest shade of rose that complimented her skin well.  

She grabbed her dress and pulled it on over her bathing suit, slipped into the bathroom for a couple of towels, and then met Adrien in the living room.

He’d changed, too, she saw.  “You brought swim trunks?” she asked, pointing at his shorts and passing the towels to him.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need,” he admitted.  “I wanted to be prepared.”

“Well, it worked out.”  She grabbed her beach bag, tossed her keys and phone into it, and then held it open for him to add the towels.  “Ready?”

In Alya’s room, the headboard began to slam rhythmically into the wall, prompting blushes to bloom on both their faces.   Adrien nodded his head emphatically.  “Absolutely.”

They were quiet as they made their way down to the street, trying to be respectful of the other people in the building.  Just because they were still up at midnight, didn’t mean that everyone else was.  Under normal circumstances, Marinette herself would have been in bed hours ago, and she knew the frustration of being woken by inconsiderate neighbors.

Outside the building, though, they relaxed.

“I’m sorry about Alya,” Marinette offered, her cheeks warming.  She hoped he wouldn’t notice, strolling as they were down the darkened street.   “They’re always kind of noisy, but I can usually tune them out.  They only get like that when they’ve had a bit to drink.”  She shook her head ruefully, a wry smile tugging one corner of her mouth.  “I should have anticipated it, honestly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets.  “It was a bit awkward, but I’m not scandalized.  My people are not shy about their sexuality.  Honestly, it was just the noise.  I’m definitely not used to that.”

“The Mer aren’t, uh…vocally expressive?”

“Not as much, no.  And sound is different, underwater.”

“That makes sense,” she allowed.

He glanced at her assessingly.  “It really does make you uncomfortable, though, doesn’t it?”

“No!” He raised a skeptical brow.  “Well, maybe,” she amended.  “It’s just so…private, you know?”  Then she frowned.  “Or maybe you don’t.  You keep saying Mer are a lot more open about sex.”

“More open, yes, and far less shy.  But most of us do prefer some degree of privacy.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” she teased, bumping playfully into his shoulder.  Before she could shift away again, he caught her fingers in his and twined them together with a gentle squeeze.  “Oh!”  She glanced up at him in surprise, and he met her blush with a warm smile.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence as they walked through the darkened streets towards the beach.

Adrien enjoyed their quiet camaraderie as they walked to the beach, their hands linked and arms brushing as they moved.  Marinette was a restful companion; she didn’t find it necessary to fill the quiet with incessant chatter, as Chloe did.  It was wonderful to simply enjoy the night, breathing in the scent of the ocean and soaking in the presence of the woman beside him.

Wonderful—and torturous.

In the absence of conversation, his mind was free to wander.  Given the explicit sounds they’d left behind in the apartment, and the svelte body brushing his, his mind was fixated on the erotic.

He had wanted her days ago, from the time she’d first touched the delicate skin between his fingers.  As they’d spent more time together, his interest and desire had only grown.  And now, with the sounds Alya had made fresh in his mind, he was hard pressed to think of anything else. Would Marinette make the same noises?  Could he draw those sounds from her?   Arousal rippled through him anew.  He glanced at his companion, who was strolling beside him with a distant expression and a faint blush on her cheeks.

Were her thoughts running along the same path as his?   Was she thinking about him making the same low, primal sounds that Nino had made?  Was she thinking about being the one to elicit those sounds?

Gods, he hoped she was.  Aside from a brief, impersonal liaison with an acquaintance the one time he’d been home since coming here two years ago, he’d only had the company of his own hands during that time.  He ached for the touch of someone else.  But, he wanted it to be someone he cared for.  He wanted someone who cared for him, and wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He wanted Marinette.

He swallowed thickly, and looked down at her again.  They’d reached the sandy path leading to the beach, and out here there were no more street lights to pollute the night sky.  The undiluted moonlight limned her skin, making her look ethereal.  Soon, she would have water droplets clinging to her body, refracting the light, and already he itched to kiss the water from her skin.  When he’d kissed her before, she’d tasted sweet, like coffee and cream.  How would she taste with the salt of the ocean on her lips?  He wanted to know, wanted to know that and more, but it didn’t matter if she was interested only in a midnight swim.

Adrien took a deep, steadying breath.  He wasn’t sure how this kind of thing worked, here.  He’d already indicated his interest in her, and he knew that she returned his interest.  At home, with another of the Mer, he’d address the question directly, and receive just as direct a response.  But here?  From what he’d observed, it was taboo to issue a frank invitation to have sex.  He shook his head in bewilderment.  Humans made things unnecessarily complicated.

“What is it?”

He started at the soft question, and looked at her with his brows raised in question.

She stopped, and pulled him around to face her. “You shook your head, and you’re frowning.”

“Oh. It was nothing.”  He smiled gamely, grateful that she wasn’t privy to his thoughts.  Then again, it might make communicating with her a lot easier…

She looked as if she wanted to press him, but shrugged and slipped her bag from her shoulder to clutch it in her hands.  “This is where I usually leave my things when I swim.  Did you want to go in the water, or just keep walking?”

“Low tide, it looks like.  It’s a good time for a swim.”  He looked back at her hopefully.  “I’d like to go in, at least for a few minutes, but that doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“No,” she replied, smiling.  “I’ll go in with you.  I rarely come out here at night, but it’s beautiful.  Do, um, do you want me to go in first, so you can, um…?”  She trailed off, blushing furiously, and gestured to his shorts.

“Oh!  Ah, yeah, that would be—um, yes.  Thank you.”

Marinette giggled, and tugged her dress off over her head, revealing a bathing suit that he hadn’t seen her wear before.  It was simple, but the lines of the suit complemented her figure as if it had been designed for her. She bent to stow her dress in the bag, and he forced his eyes back to her face as she stood and began to walk backwards, towards the water.

“I’m not going to go far, until you’re able to join me.  I love swimming at night, but I’m not ashamed to say that it frightens me.”

Adrien smiled at her admission.  Smart girl, he thought.  Aloud, he said, “I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”  She turned around and jogged to the gently lapping water, shrieking a bit when the chill water splashed up her legs.

Adrien waited until the water reached her waist, then shucked off his clothes and left them piled atop her bag.  He almost forgot to grab the leather thong for his ring, but remembered only two steps away from their things.  With the thong in hand he ran to join her in the water, anxious to conceal his nudity beneath its surface.

Even though it was late spring, with summer right around the corner, the water was cold.   It was no wonder that Marinette had squealed; without the warmth of the sun on his skin, or the protection of his natural form, the chill of it was a shock on his skin.  He, at least, could revert to his Mer form and be comfortable, but Marinette would not be able to stay in the water long without becoming chilled.  With that in mind, Adrien removed his ring as soon as he’d moved out far enough.  The warm tingle of his transformation washed over him and he sighed in relief.

“That was…wow.  Your transformation is an incredible thing to watch.”

Adrien spun in the water with a start, and saw Marinette treading water only about a meter away from him.  His eyes widened.  “You saw—”

“Only your transformation!” she rushed to assure him.   “I didn’t see, uh, anything else.  I promise.”

“Right.”  He relaxed, then wondered why he cared so much.  Hadn’t he just been thinking about being naked with her?  He gave himself a mental shake, and told himself to say something, anything to banish the sudden awkwardness between them.  “What…um, what did it look like?”

Her expression blanked in confusion.  “Look like?”

“My transformation.  I’ve never seen myself change.”

“Really?”  Her eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Nope. I always close my eyes, no matter my intention to keep them open and watch.”  As he spoke, he carefully looped the thong through his ring, and slipped it on over his head.  Losing it wasn’t an option.  Without it, he couldn’t leave the sea.

“Oh.  Well, it’s…otherworldly.  You glow, with this subtle light.  It’s…it’s like…oh, damn.”  Her brow furrowed and her lips puckered in thought as she searched for the word, and Adrien felt his lips curve.  Her expression was adorable.  Then her expression abruptly cleared, and she snapped her fingers in triumph.   “Bioluminescence!  You looked almost bioluminescent.  Then the light intensified at your head and kind of moved over you in a wave, changing you as it went.  It was amazing.”

Adrien looked at his webbed hands wonderingly, trying to imagine what she’d described. “I wish I could see it happen.”

“Maybe I could record it happening sometime, and you could watch the video?   We could delete it after, just in case, but at least you’d get to see.”

Adrien blinked, and then shrugged.  “Maybe.”  He wasn’t sure how they could do that, since cell phones and water were generally not compatible, but they could figure that out another time.  She was shivering, so they either needed to start moving around, or get out of the water entirely. “Do you have Tikki with you?”

Marinette nodded and touched her earrings, which he now noticed were darker than they had been.  She tilted her head in question.  “Shall we head down?”

In response, Adrien only grinned and dove into the waves.  He sought and found the little eddies in the water that told him she was following, so he continued, leading her both farther from shore and deeper into the water.

“Slow down, you crazy fish!”  Her mental voice was tinged with laughter, nullifying any sting the words might have carried.  “Not all of us have fins, you know.”

He slowed and turned to wait for her, smiling in apology.  “Sorry about that.  I’m still getting used to swimming with a human.  I forget that your underwater breathing does not come with a fish tail.”

She swam closer, grinning at him girlishly.  “I wish,” she returned, projecting an image of herself with a shimmering red fish tail.

Though it had been intended to be playful, the image hit him, hard.  If she were a mermaid…  His eyes drifted over her body, filling in the details of the image she had sent him—her breasts unbound, strands of shells and pearls draped over her hips, coral combs anchoring her beautiful dark hair out of the way, a mother of pearl necklace at her throat and rose red scales against her fair skin…

Marinette must have sensed the change in his mood, because her smile fell.  “Adrien?  Did I do something wrong?”

He jerked his gaze back to hers, and in answer, projected her updated image back to her. Her eyes darkened, and her cheeks flushed.  “No.  Not at all.”  He flicked his tail lazily, drawing closer to her still-shivering body, and caught her hand in his.  “I quite like the thought of you as a Mer.”

“O-oh.”  Her wide eyes searched his, and the fingers of her other hand sought his.  “So do I.”

Another flick of his tail brought him closer, until her cloth-covered breasts brushed his chest and her knee bumped his fin.  Her breath caught, and he groaned.  “I want you, Marinette.  I don’t know how to court you as a human male would—“

 “Then don’t.”

Her mental voice was laced with both desire and assent, and Adrien’s blood surged in his veins.  He bared his teeth in a growl, yanked her fully against him, and seized her mouth in a kiss.  He felt a tremor of nascent fear run though her, and immediately gentled.  “I’m not going to hurt you, Mari.”

“I know,” she replied.  “This is just a bit new, for me.”

He pulled back to look at her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands.  “We can stop at any time.”

“I don’t want to stop, Adrien.”  She grasped his neck and pulled his lips back to hers.  "I want you, too."

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #mer!Adrien #mage!Marinette #Elemental #callmecirce writes #unbetaed #please forgive any errors #thank you for being patient #writer's block sucks