#none of that MODERN BEACH WAVES

[aurantia-ignis]

Design drafts for my summer exchange gifts (here and here)!

The Regency era has some very lovely styles of clothing, and I was determined to keep them mostly historically accurate, apart from colours and embroidery styles (for which I chose to match the characters' original colours and designs).

I will admit that Diamant's hairstyle is /not/ historically accurate, but that's because (1) he'd be very unrecognizable if I took away his sleek flips, and (2) If there's one thing I'm not fond of design wise in the Regency era, it's the men's hairstyles....

Anyway, for historically accurate Regency (or western period costumes), check out Karolina Zebrowska or Bernadette Banner on youtube!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over the Rainbow event and my main card over at @steddiebingo.

he had a marvelous time ruining everything

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Modern AU || CCF Prompt: Green | Song: the last great american dynasty by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 2500 | Rating: T | CW: Previous Loss, Grief, Language | Relationship(s): Steddie, Platonic Stobin, Eddie & Corroded Coffin | Tags: Modern AU, Bisexual Widower Eddie, Bisexual Divorced Steve, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Annoying His Neighbors For Fun

and in a feud with her neighbor, she stole his dog and dyed it key lime green

His reputation precedes him. It always has, ever since he was a kid. Now, Eddie relishes ruining everything these uppity ups hold dear. He enjoys annoying the shit out of this small seaside town. Buying the old mansion on the water, fixing it up, and then painting it black. An eyesore in the middle of the other cookie cutter houses, all painted very appropriate shades of white.

Gareth named it The Frog Pot, declaring that he's sure Eddie's slowly boiling himself alive in that heat trap. Eddie has embraced the name. Ceramic frogs decorate the porch, the yard. The uglier the better. All the eccentricities he's ever had, growing worse with age. With boredom. With becoming a widower. She'd been the one to keep him grounded, and now he's untethered. 

Mad Munson. 

The Freak.

A Problem, with a capital P.

None of it is new, he's been called names since he was in grade school. Let them clutch their pearls, let them side step him on the beach, or downtown.

The fact that this uptight town thinks the men formerly known as Corroded Coffin are still something to be feared in their late forties delights him.

He's heard the gossip. That he killed his wife. That, no, he didn't kill her. Not directly, but it had to have been his fault her heart gave out so young. Just look at the way he acted. Lashing out like an animal, as flashbulbs blinded them on sidewalks. A has-been heathen, with his irrelevant model wife.

Lies always spread.

It must have been all that partying.

A coke problem.

An eating disorder. 

All that jet-setting travel.

They don't know shit. She was sick, she was always sick, but never wanted to live like she was dying. So they didn't. Corroded Coffin came to its natural conclusion. Leave them wanting more, and all that. And Eddie went directly from being on the road with the band to traveling the world with her. 

They went, went, went until she was gone, gone, gone.

Eddie left the city, headed for the shore, and made his grief everybody else's problem.

For two years, he's terrorized this small town, one annoyance at a time.

His friends descend on the beach house every month like clockwork, more often than they probably have time for. Eddie throws open all the windows, and they jam together long into the night. Not stopping until the cops have shown up on his doorstep. Corroded Coffin, reunited, live and in person once again, at least in his living room.

Gareth's got another band, on the road, still touring, still loving Di and his girls from afar.

Jeff and Goodie have their own shit going on, too. Maybe not music shit, but just as important. Yet, they all still manage to coordinate schedules to turn up at The Frog Pot.

Tonight, Eddie steps out on the porch to talk to the young rookies sent out to try and wrangle him. Not possible. If they don't arrest him, and they won't, because his money talks in this town. Eddie bought his bad behavior, fair and square. The asshole neighbor who definitely called in the noise complaint is standing on his porch wearing a shit-eating grin. 

When Eddie makes eye contact, the asshole wiggles his fingers in a little wave, clearly pleased with himself.

Eddie flips off the smug bastard, and then strums a loud power chord on the guitar that's still strapped to his chest. The neighbor's wife ushers her husband back into their house, their yappy white Pomeranian at their heels. Eddie's point made.

He doesn't get how they can complain about him making noise, when they have a dog like that that barks all the fucking time. Hypocrites.

Eddie paces the beach at midnight. He can't sleep. Not anymore. A couple hours a night are the best he can hope for these days. He hates his empty bed, so he just avoids it all together. Sleeping as little as possible, mostly on the couch, or out in the hammock.

Unless Gareth's here. Then his body can be tricked into thinking they're young, on the road, sharing a motel bed.

"Shouldn't you be banging on all your pots and pans by now?" a voice calls out, and Eddie turns.

The asshole neighbor is tapping his watch smugly, "It's getting late. Better get a move on."

"I'm saving that until three. Make sure you leave your windows open for the show," Eddie taunts, standing ankle deep in the ocean.

"Where are all your loud friends?" he asks, his dog clearly wanting to keep moving down the beach. The leash pulled taut, even if the little rat of a thing can't budge his asshole of an owner an inch.

His friends went back home, to their lives, to their wives, to their families. 

Eddie's alone again.

"It's just me tonight. Don't be too disappointed," Eddie says, and the yappy dog barks. The guy lets it boss him around, walking away, disappearing down the beach.

Eddie is out rearranging his frogs. Putting them into new and fun compromising positions. Making sure the ugliest ones are seen from the street. Wayne says he has more money than he has good sense.

Then, he's rudely being accosted. The yappy fucker from next door, jumping up on his thigh, trying to reach up to lick his face. 

Eddie looks around. Nobody. No asshole. No asshole's wife.

He looks at its tag. The Boss. 

Eddie laughs, of course.

Well, now he has an idea. He scoops up the dog, and carries it inside his house. The dumb thing has no idea it's been dognapped, and just happily goes along with him without any fuss.

"Eddie," Gareth says through the tinny cellphone mic. Watching from his phone screen thousands of miles away, helpless to stop Eddie's latest chaos. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Is it even safe? Don't you dare poison that dog."

Eddie laughs. Of course it's a good idea. 

The dog has only been missing six hours and there's already a door-to-door canvassing effort, and a reward on all the light poles. It took that long for the same day delivery to arrive. He paid extra for a driver to bring it all the way out here from the posh pet store in the city. What's the point of having money if you aren't going to blow it on dumb shit?

"I'm not poisoning it. This stuff is specifically made for dogs. I'm not as crazy as you and this town think I am."

The neighbor is gonna shit when he sees his perfect little dog looking like he's auditioning for a dog production of Wicked. Or like it belongs in Eddie's garden, as one of the frogs. 

Eddie rubs the green dye into the dog's coat, and laughs to himself. 

The dog is pretty well-behaved, wagging its little butt, spinning, happy as can be. Unbothered by the new color. Thrilled with being pampered, even as Eddie uses the blow dryer to set the doggie dye. 

It's clearly used to being groomed, and it might be the only being on this whole island that isn't judgmental of Eddie for being Eddie. 

The Boss is alright.

Eddie takes the dog back home and sneakily ties it up on the porch.

Then he waits, watching from his house. 

The wife sees the dog first, yelling for her husband.

Steve. His name is Steve. 

Steve comes out onto the porch, and his face is fucking priceless. 

It was goddamn worth it, even if he's expecting another visit from the cops before the night is over.

The doorbell rings, and right on time by Eddie's best guess. But by the time Eddie gets there, nobody is there. No cops. Nobody.

Just a new, and very ugly ceramic frog, with an obscenely wide open mouth. It looks tortured. It's not the standard green, no, it's more colorful, making it look poisonous. This might be a threat. Eddie loves it. It's holding down a note:

Well played. Robin wants to know the brand of the dog dye and where you got it. Damn you all to hell. — S.

There's also a Polaroid photo of Steve in his easy chair, the newly dyed key lime green dog settled on his lap.

Eddie laughs, putting the frog on the top step, a new centerpiece of his collection. Then, he puts the picture up on his fridge. Proud of his artistic handiwork.

He can do better than telling her the brand. He pulls out his laptop, goes back to the site of the store he originally ordered from, and overnights a box full of the doggie dye in every color to his next door neighbors.

The next time he sees The Boss, he's got a freshly dyed rainbow coat, and Eddie grins. For being in a feud, he's been having a lot of fun going back and forth with them. Today, there's no Steve, only Robin, and she's walking right towards him.

"I thought your uptight husband would freak out. He hates my black house, I figured he'd hate my doggie dye job, too. I misjudged the situation," Eddie teases, and she laughs. The dog spins at Eddie's feet.

Robin laughs, "That's not my husband. Jesus." She points at herself, "Lesbian." Then at her house. "Dingus." 

Eddie's gaydar must be broken from disuse. Damn. 

"Bisexual," he says, pointing at himself. At least historically. Before decades with her, and her alone.

"Oh, just like Steve," she says, and Eddie's gonna need a minute to recalibrate. To replay a lot of the interactions he's had with Steve over the last couple years. Were they flirting? 

No. 

But — maybe?

Pulling each other's pigtails, definitely.

"After his second divorce a couple years ago, we picked out a house, and moved to the beach. The plan was for him to relax. You moved in a month later, and well, it's been an experience. Not really a relaxing one."

Eddie laughs, smiling wide. An experience might be the nicest thing he's ever been called.

But Eddie thinks he understands what's happened here. Two men, both grieving different losses, mad at the world, were thrust into each other's orbits at exactly the wrong time.

That's honestly too bad.

"I love the frog, thanks," he says, and she shakes her head.

"That was all Steve. We took a pottery class. That hideous thing is what he made. He thought he might need it to barter with you in the future. I guess that day came."

Eddie swallows, nodding. It did. He can't believe Steve made him a frog, while Eddie was annoying the shit out of them.

It's so ugly.

It's his favorite.

"I was thinking of repainting my house," he blurts out. He hadn't been thinking that until right this second. Maybe he should be a better neighbor. "You want in on that action? Two for one?"

She shakes her head, "I like the rainbow dog, but you're not painting my house. Yours looks like a sad goth dollhouse. A place fit for Wednesday Addams. Or Elvira."

Eddie fucking cackles. It is a sad goth dollhouse.

He doesn't want it to be. Not anymore.

Eddie looks up at his house, "What color should we paint it next?" 

Robin thinks for a minute, then answers, "Pink. Definitely bright pink."

Eddie stares at it, and grins, "I'll order the paint. Well. The painters will order the paint. Pink it is."

And Robin laughs. 

The crew is about halfway done painting the house, and Eddie sits out in the yard in a lawn chair, watching. It's gonna look like a Malibu Barbie Beach House.

Gareth, horrified as he watches through his phone, says no. It's the Pepto Bismol house. 

He's not wrong, but Eddie doesn't have time to admit it, because he unceremoniously hangs up on Gareth when he sees Steve trudging across his own lawn, a chair in one hand, a small cooler in the other.

He unfolds it right next to Eddie, opening the cooler and pulling out a couple longnecks. Offering one to Eddie.

Eddie takes it.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs and clinks his bottle against Eddie's, "Something like that."

They watch the paint go on together, then Steve looks over at him, "Wanna come over for dinner?"

"Definitely," Eddie says. "I'll bring the frog legs."

And the way Steve laughs, loud and real, sends a zing through Eddie's chest. He hasn't felt anything like it in so long, he holds his hand to his heart.

One Year Later

Steve's digging right next to him, helping Eddie put in a frog pond. For real frogs. Not just the ceramic ones. They should have gotten a permit. They didn't. Who's gonna call the cops on them? Steve?

Not with that shovel in his hand, a willing accomplice.

The pink house only lasted one fun summer before Eddie reverted it back to the original white, the only color now found on the aqua shutters and trim.

It looks nice. Like new beginnings. 

It looks happier. He's happier.

She would have loved this house like this. And he misses her like crazy, still. Always, he hopes. He's never been ready to let her go.

And he hasn't.

But now, there's Steve. Proving happiness can sometimes come around twice in a lifetime.

The guys are visiting less and less. Every month, to every other, and now it's been nearly four since he's seen them all at the same time. He misses them, but he knows that their absence means they think he's pulled himself out the hole of despair he was wallowing in.

The Boss at their feet, lying in the shade, Eddie hugs Steve from behind, pressing his sweaty face into Steve's shoulder. Steve covers his hands with one of his own, taking a break, leaning on the shovel. The hole is dug. Now they need to line it, lay the rocks. Fill it.

Wait for some frogs to arrive.

They've pulled each other closer to center. Tasteless new money, and uptight old, meeting somewhere in the middle. Eddie's wild ideas being made a little more refined by Steve's influence.

Eddie kisses Steve's shoulder, and squeezes him tighter. 

This is gonna stick, gonna last. Eddie can feel it in his bones. A continuation of his life story that was already damn good. This is extra. A bonus. A pleasant surprise. A new love.

Broken hearts can mend, can love again.

They're proof of that.

"The lily pads arrive tomorrow," Steve says. 

"We've got work to do, then," Eddie answers. He doesn't mind doing work, not when it's with Steve.

Eddie has a ring burning a hole in his pocket. The third time will definitely be the charm for Steve, Eddie will make goddamn sure of it.

He bought it fast.

When you know, you know.

And Eddie knew.

Eddie has missed being her husband. Now, he wants to be Steve's.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Somewhere Over the Rainbow popup event!

And don't forget to head over to @steddiebingo!

Notes: I think Eddie's wife was Chrissy, but it's certainly open to interpretation.

[doreminimi]

love is blind [Bang Chan One-Shot]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Idol!Bang Chan x Teacher!Reader 

₊˚⊹♡⋆ 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 15.1k (I got a bit carried away sksksk)

‧͙☾⁺༓˚*･ 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: None

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝓢𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: In this modern era of finding love and vulnerability, Christopher and Y/N embark on an extraordinary journey in the experiment of "Love Is Blind." From the intimate and emotionally charged pods where they connect deeply without seeing each other, to the reveal and romantic getaway that cements their bond, their story explores the highs and lows of finding true love in unconventional ways. As they navigate the challenges of returning to their real lives, meeting families, and integrating their vastly different routines, their relationship is tested in ways they never anticipated. With moments of joy, tension, and growth, Christopher and Y/N learn what it means to truly commit to each other, culminating in a heartfelt preparation for their wedding. Will their love withstand the pressures of reality and blossom into forever?

a/n: Hi guys! I wrote this story because I’ve been recently obsessed with the Love Is Blind series, and it sparked an idea. I also noticed that there’s a Too Hot to Handle series about Bang Chan on here (do read her series @seospicybin — it’s so good, I’m obsessed! but remember it is for +18 audiences!). I thought, why not add a Love Is Blind one-shot to the mix? I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you have any suggestions or requests for stories, feel free to let me know—I’d love to hear your ideas. Don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoyed reading this story. Your support means the world to me! Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! 💕

One: 

Bang Chan adjusted the microphone inside his pod, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest as he took a steadying breath. Despite years of performing on the world’s biggest stages, this moment felt completely different. Here, he wasn’t the leader of Stray Kids or a global sensation—he was just Chris, a man hoping to connect with someone who saw him for who he truly was.

The anonymity of Love Is Blind was both exhilarating and terrifying. Without the weight of his career or the expectations of others, he felt a rare sense of freedom.

He tapped the microphone gently and leaned forward, his Australian accent warm and inviting. “Hi, I’m Christopher, but you can just call me Chris. What about you?”

There was a brief pause before a voice came through, light and confident. “Hi Chris, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chris smiled, a bit of his nervousness fading. He leaned slightly closer to the opaque wall, as if that could somehow shorten the distance between them. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. So, is this as weird for you as it is for me? How are you feeling about this whole... talking-to-a-wall situation?”

Y/N’s laugh was immediate, bright and disarming. “Oh, absolutely. It’s bizarre! I mean, I’ve had long phone conversations before, but knowing there’s a person on the other side who might... you know, become my future husband? That’s a first.”

Chris chuckled, his own nerves softening at her lighthearted tone. “Same here. It’s exciting, though, isn’t it? A bit nerve-wracking, but exciting. Like, this could actually lead to something real.”

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed. “Okay, let’s start simple. Tell me something about you—what’s your dream vacation?”

Chris leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Definitely the beach. Growing up in Sydney, the ocean was my happy place. There’s something about the sound of waves, the salt in the air—it just clears your head, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N replied with a sigh. “Anywhere with a beach and good food? That’s my dream too. Add in no cell phones, and I’m sold. I’d love to completely disconnect for a while.”

Chris laughed softly. “Alright, but if we’re talking beaches, I need to know—are you competitive? Because I’m already imagining us having a sandcastle-building contest.”

Y/N’s tone turned playful. “Competitive? Let’s just say I don’t like to lose. But what about you?”

“Oh, I’m competitive, alright,” Chris said, his grin evident in his voice. “But I should warn you, I don’t lose easily.”

“We’ll see about that,” Y/N teased, her voice laced with mock challenge. “I hope you’re ready to eat your words.”

“So, Chris,” Y/N began, her voice curious. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

Chris hummed thoughtfully.  “Tough one, but I think I’d have to go with pizza. You can change the toppings, make it fancy, or keep it simple. Plus, who doesn’t love pizza? What about you?”

“Noodles,” Y/N said without missing a beat. “You can have them fried, in soup, hot or cold, with all kinds of meats, veggies, or sauces. Plus, there are so many different shapes, each one feels like a whole new experience!”

Chris laughed. “Solid choice. Okay, what’s your guilty pleasure TV show?”

“Oh, definitely The Great British Bake Off,” Y/N admitted. “There’s something so comforting about watching people bake under pressure while I’m curled up on the couch, eating snacks.”

Chris flashed a wide grin. “That’s a solid pick. Mine’s probably Friends. I’ve seen it so many times, it’s practically a comfort blanket at this point. And yes, I absolutely dominate at trivia.”

Y/N laughed, her voice playful. “Oh, is that so? Challenge accepted. Trivia showdown coming up—you better bring your A-game.”

A mischievous glint sparked in her eye as she leaned closer to the wall. “Alright, let’s switch gears. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

Chris chuckled, the question catching him off guard. “Teleportation, without a doubt. Imagine skipping traffic or spontaneously showing up at a beach halfway around the world. Total game-changer.”

“Good choice,” Y/N said approvingly. “I’d go with the ability to stop time. Think of all the naps I could take and still get everything done!”

Chris laughed, his voice warm. “Now that’s both practical and genius. I’d never have thought of that, but honestly, I might be jealous of your choice.”

As their laughter echoed in the pods, both felt a growing ease and connection. The wall between them didn’t seem like a barrier—it was just part of the journey toward something real.

By the second day, Chris and Y/N’s conversations felt natural, as if they’d known each other for years. The initial nerves had faded, replaced by genuine curiosity and growing comfort.

“So, tell me about your family,” Y/N asked. “Do you have siblings?”

Chris smiled, leaning back. “I do. I’m the eldest of three. Growing up, I was always the one looking out for everyone else. I guess that’s why I’ve always been in leadership roles,it’s kind of ingrained in me.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” Y/N said empathetically.

“It was,” Chris admitted. “But it also taught me a lot about love and responsibility. My family’s my anchor. When I moved to a new country to pursue my career, they supported me, even though it meant being so far away. That kind of love... it’s something I want to give back.”

“That’s beautiful, Chris,” Y/N said softly. “It’s clear how much they mean to you.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your family like?”

“Well,” she began, “I’m the oldest too. But things changed a lot when I lost my younger sister. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but it also made me appreciate the little things. It’s why I ended up going into teaching,I wanted to make a difference, even in small ways.”

Chris’s voice softened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must have been incredibly hard.”

“It was,” she admitted, “but it shaped who I am. Teaching gives me purpose. I love seeing kids discover their potential, it reminds me to keep pushing forward.”

“You sound like an amazing teacher,” Chris said sincerely. “Your students are lucky to have you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Thank you. And if I ever need to win over their attention, I’ll just bring you in to talk about your sandcastle skills. What about you? What’s something that’s shaped who you are today?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Honestly? Music. It’s been my constant through everything, good days, bad days, everything in between. It’s how I express myself when words don’t feel like enough.”

Y/N’s voice softened. “That’s beautiful, Chris. It sounds like music isn’t just something you do, it’s who you are.”

Chris smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “Exactly. Thanks for getting that, Y/N. Talking to you... it just feels easy.”

“It does,” Y/N agreed, her voice warm. “I can’t wait to see where this goes.”

Chris glanced at the clock, reluctant to end their conversation but knowing they’d have more time tomorrow. “I guess we have to wrap up for now,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. “But I can’t wait to talk to you again tomorrow.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft and shy. “Me too, Chris.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N. See you tomorrow,” he said softly, listening as the gentle click of the door on her side signaled the end of their conversation.

As the session ended, Chris leaned back in his chair, a lingering smile on his face.

In the men’s lounge, Chris quickly bonded with a few of the other participants. Mason, a marketing executive, and Elijah, a chef, became his closest allies.

“Alright, Chris,” Mason said, leaning back on the couch. “Tell us about Y/N.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “She’s incredible. Thoughtful, smart, funny... Talking to her feels effortless. Like we just click, you know?”

Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re smitten.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris said, his grin widening. “But yeah, there’s something special about her. She has this way of making me feel comfortable, like I can just... be myself.”

Mason clapped him on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got a keeper, mate.”

Meanwhile, in the women’s lounge, Y/N found a confidante in Amelia, a bubbly nurse with a knack for reading people.

“You have to tell me about Chris,” Amelia said one evening, practically bouncing with excitement.

Y/N smiled, her cheeks flushing. “He’s amazing. He listens in a way that makes me feel... seen. It’s like he really cares about what I have to say.”

Amelia sighed dreamily. “That’s how it should be. So, are you falling for him?”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “I think I might be. He just gets me in a way no one else has.”

By the fourth day, their conversations turned more reflective and meaningful.

“What does love mean to you?” Y/N asked one evening, her voice soft but steady.

Chris paused, considering his words. “I think love is showing up. Even when it’s hard, even when you’re scared. It’s about being vulnerable and trusting someone with the messy parts of you.”

“That’s beautiful,” Y/N said. “For me, love is a choice. It’s deciding every day to be there for someone, no matter what.”

Chris smiled. “I like that. It feels real.”

They spent hours talking about their hopes, fears, and dreams. Chris shared stories about nights when he felt lost and how he’d turn to his guitar for solace. Y/N opened up about her first teaching job and the joy of watching her students grow.

By the fifth day, Chris was certain he had found something truly extraordinary. Kneeling in his pod with a velvet box in hand, he took a deep breath, steadying himself before finding the words to speak.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but emotional, “I’ve never felt so connected to someone I’ve never even seen. You make me want to be better, to show up in ways I never have before. Will you marry me?”

There was a moment of silence, and then her voice came through, trembling with emotion. “Yes, Chris. I’ll marry you.”

Though separated by the pod walls, both felt an overwhelming sense of joy and certainty. Chris had found someone who understood him, not as an idol, but as a man. And Y/N had found someone who made her feel cherished and seen.

Their journey was just beginning.

Two:

The moment had arrived,the reveal. The anticipation was palpable as Chris, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, stood at one end of the runway. He fidgeted slightly, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his cuffs, his nerves visible despite his calm demeanor. At the other end, Y/N waited, her heart hammering in her chest. She smoothed down her dress, whispering to herself, “This is it. No turning back now.”

The sound of the sliding screens filled the room as they began to part. Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the sides of her dress. As the screens opened fully, their eyes met for the first time.

Both froze.

Chris’s breath caught in his throat. She’s stunning.

Y/N’s eyes widened as recognition sparked. “Wait a second,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heartbeat.

The man standing before her wasn’t just Chris, the kind, thoughtful voice she had grown to love in the pods. This was Bang Chan,Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids, a global music sensation.

Chris noticed her hesitation and smiled nervously, his dimples deepening. He stepped forward tentatively, his voice soft. “Hi.”

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Hi,” she replied shyly, her voice muffled against his shoulder as he pulled her into a warm embrace.

As they stepped back, her hands instinctively flew to her mouth. “You’re...you’re Bang Chan,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

Chris scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Surprise?”

Y/N laughed nervously, her eyes darting between his face and the rest of him. “This is... I mean, I didn’t expect, You’re him! I didn’t think I’d be meeting a literal superstar!”

Chris chuckled, his voice soothing. “I was kind of hoping I could just be ‘Chris’ for you. The guy you’ve been talking to in the pods, not the guy on stage.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she tried to process. “You’re still him. You’re still Chris. But... wow. This is a lot to take in.”

“I get it,” he said gently, his eyes searching hers. “I should’ve told you, but in the pods, I just wanted to be honest and real without all the noise that comes with... you know, my career.”

Y/N’s initial shock began to fade, replaced by a soft smile. “You’re right. And honestly, I’m glad I got to know you like that first. You’re amazing, Chris. Superstar or not.”

His smile widened, relief evident in his expression. “Thank you. That means everything to me.”

He reached for her hand, his touch grounding her. “Can we start over, right here? Just Chris and Y/N?”

She nodded, her smile growing. “I’d like that.”

They moved to the nearby bench, their hands naturally finding each other. Sitting down, Chris turned to her, his expression serious but filled with warmth. “You’re exactly who I hoped you’d be,” he said, his voice soft. “Inside and out.”

Y/N laughed nervously, still absorbing the reality of the moment. “It’s so weird seeing your face now. It’s like... I know you, but you’re also this whole new person.”

Chris chuckled. “I feel the same. You’re familiar, but seeing you now... you’re even more incredible than I imagined.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and she squeezed his hand. “And you... well, you’re way more than I ever dreamed of.”

Chris took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, his tone tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched as he knelt down on one knee, her breath catching.

“Y/N,” he began, opening a small velvet box to reveal a sparkling ring. “I already know I want to spend forever with you. Will you marry me?”

Her hands flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Chris,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She nodded fervently, her words spilling out. “Yes, Chris. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands steady despite his own emotions. Standing, he pulled her into a tight embrace, their laughter and tears mingling in a moment of pure joy.

As the screens began to close behind them, signaling the end of the reveal, they walked back toward their respective lounges. But their eyes never left each other, their faces lit with joy and the promise of the life they were about to build together.

Y/N glanced back at Chris one last time before stepping through the door, a wide smile spreading across her face. “This is going to be one heck of a story to tell,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement and disbelief.

Chris grinned back, his dimples deepening. “Our story,” he said softly. “And it’s just beginning.”

Three:

The following week, the couples began arriving at the resort, one limo at a time, provided by the production team. The energy was palpable as each pair prepared for the next stage of their journey.

Day One

Y/N was the first to arrive. Stepping out of the sleek black limo, she marveled at the beauty of the beachfront property. The hotel’s elegant façade and the sound of crashing waves immediately put her at ease. A staff member escorted her to her suite, a luxurious space with a spacious balcony overlooking the ocean.

She placed her bags in the bedroom, admiring the plush king-sized bed adorned with soft white linens, then began to explore the rest of the suite. She trailed her fingers along the marble countertops in the kitchenette, peeked into the enormous bathroom with its spa-like tub, and finally stepped out onto the balcony. The sunset cast a golden hue over the water, and Y/N smiled to herself, feeling a sense of peace.

Chris arrived shortly after. As his limo pulled up, he took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He was excited and a little nervous to see Y/N again after their reveal. He quickly made his way to their shared suite, the door opening with a soft click.

“Hey beautiful,” he whispered as he stepped inside, spotting her on the balcony. She turned around, her face lighting up as she saw him. He walked up to her and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Long time no see.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. “You’re late,” she teased, leaning into him.

“Worth the wait?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile widening.

They spent the next few minutes exploring the suite together. Chris pointed out the little details he loved, like the vintage-inspired art on the walls and the sleek coffee maker in the kitchenette. Y/N couldn’t stop laughing as Chris dramatically tested the couch for “maximum comfort.”

Eventually, they found themselves back on the balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Chris leaned against the railing, his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “This feels unreal,” he said softly. “Like a dream.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes on the horizon. “But it’s our dream,” she replied. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

After a while, they began preparing for the evening’s event. Y/N slipped into a stunning crocheted bodycon dress that accentuated her figure, while Chris opted for a casual yet stylish beach-ready look: a cotton button-up shirt paired with khaki shorts.

“You look beautiful,” Chris said as Y/N adjusted her earrings.

“And you look like you belong on a magazine cover,” Y/N teased, brushing a hand over his shoulder.

Hand in hand, they strolled toward the poolside bar, anticipation bubbling as they prepared to meet the other couples.

On their first night at the resort, the couples gathered by the pool for drinks, laughter, and the much-anticipated moment of putting faces to the names they’d been hearing about in the pods. The warm breeze carried the faint sound of waves in the background as everyone slowly began to gather, the energy buzzing with curiosity.

The men grouped together by the bar while the women settled into lounge chairs near the pool. Both groups exchanged nervous glances, clearly intrigued by the people their significant others had been talking about during the pod experiment.

Mason, one of the more outspoken men, finally broke the ice. “Alright, let’s meet these women you’ve been talking about nonstop,” he said, nudging Chris playfully. “I need to see if Y/N is as amazing as you’ve made her sound.”

The women laughed from their side of the pool, clearly overhearing the comment. Amelia leaned over to Y/N and whispered, “They’re already hyping us up. Let’s see if they live up to the chatter.”

Y/N grinned. “No pressure, right?”

One by one, the men approached the women, introducing themselves and exchanging warm handshakes or hugs. Chris found himself locking eyes with Sarah first. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, smiling. “Mason hasn’t stopped talking about how funny you are.”

Sarah laughed. “I’m sure he’s exaggerating, but it’s nice to finally meet the guy Y/N won’t stop gushing about.”

When Chris finally reached Y/N, the room seemed to pause for a moment. He leaned down slightly, grinning. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “And this is the guy who’s been making me blush in the pods.”

The group naturally broke off into smaller conversations, everyone eager to learn more about each other. Mason was deep into a conversation with Amelia about their mutual love for hiking, while Chris and Y/N mingled with the others, exchanging stories about their pod experiences.

Eventually, the women regrouped on the lounge chairs, a playful energy bubbling between them. “Alright,” Amelia announced, holding her drink up dramatically, “it’s time to interrogate these men. Let’s call them over one by one.”

The women erupted into laughter as Sarah called Mason over first. “Come on, Mason! Time to put you in the hot seat.”

Mason walked over, mock apprehension on his face. “What are you guys plotting?”

Amelia grinned. “What’s your favorite thing about Sarah?”

Mason’s expression softened as he looked over at Sarah. “It’s her humor. She has this amazing ability to make everyone feel comfortable and laugh, no matter the situation.”

The women cheered as Mason walked back to the bar, shaking his head and laughing. One by one, the men were called over and asked the same question. Each gave heartfelt answers, earning playful teasing and cheers from the women.

Finally, it was Chris’s turn. “Alright, Y/N,” Amelia said, turning to her with a grin. “Get ready. Your boy’s about to spill all.”

Chris walked over, his usual confident demeanor softened by the teasing smiles of the women. “What’s going on here?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Chris,” Amelia began dramatically, “what’s your favorite thing about Y/N?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Her heart,” he said simply, his eyes finding Y/N’s. “She’s got this way of making everyone around her feel seen and appreciated. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I can be completely myself. And her laugh? Don’t even get me started.”

The women swooned collectively, cheering loudly as Y/N blushed. “Okay, that was definitely the best answer of the night,” Amelia declared.

Chris returned to the bar, shaking his head and laughing as the women continued their playful teasing. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her heart full from the words he’d shared.

The group dissolved into laughter, and the evening continued with lively games, shared anecdotes, and even a chaotic impromptu karaoke session where Chris belted out a tune. Y/N cheered louder than anyone else, clapping along with the beat.

After the couples mingled for a while, the men naturally gravitated to a corner by the pool, drinks in hand, while the women gathered near the lounge chairs. Chris leaned back in his seat, listening to the other men recount their pod journeys and impressions of their partners.

“So, Chris,” one of the guys asked, nudging him, “what’s Y/N like in person? She seems really sweet.”

“She’s incredible,” Chris replied, his dimples deepening with his smile. “She’s so much more than I expected. She’s got this strength that’s so inspiring but also this warmth that just draws you in. Honestly, she makes me feel grounded.”

The other men nodded in approval. “That’s a big deal, man. You seem smitten,” one of them teased.

Chris chuckled. “Guilty. What about you guys? How are things looking now that we’re out of the pods?”

The conversation turned lively, with each man sharing stories of their first impressions and the quirks they were discovering about their partners. Laughter erupted as one recounted a chaotic wardrobe mishap earlier in the day, and another shared how his partner had dominated him in a poolside trivia game.

“It’s crazy how different this is now that we’re face-to-face,” Chris remarked. “But honestly, I think it’s made everything feel...real.”

The others nodded in agreement, raising their glasses for a toast. “Here’s to surviving the pods and what comes next.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and the other women sat on lounge chairs, chatting animatedly. One of the women leaned closer to Y/N. “Okay, spill. What’s Chris like in real life?”

Y/N smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s amazing. He’s thoughtful and funny, and honestly, I think I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s real. And those dimples...they’re dangerous,” she added with a laugh.

The group laughed along, and one of the women playfully fanned herself. “Dimples will get you every time.”

“So, what’s surprised you the most about him?” another asked.

“How much he pays attention,” Y/N said, her voice softening. “In the pods, I knew he was a good listener, but now I see how much he remembers the little things I’ve shared. Like earlier today, he mentioned this random thing I said about my favorite flowers, and I didn’t even remember telling him.”

One of the women sighed dramatically. “Ugh, he sounds perfect. Can we trade?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance.”

The women exchanged more stories, comparing notes about their partners’ habits, quirks, and sweet gestures. They cheered each other on, promising to support one another through the challenges ahead.

The conversations among the men and women set the tone for a night filled with camaraderie and connection. As the evening wound down, both groups left with a deeper appreciation for their relationships and the shared journey they were all embarking on.

Day Two

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden hues across the ocean as Chris bounded down the sandy path, his energy contagious even this early in the morning. He stopped by a row of surfboards neatly propped against a wooden rack, glancing back to see Y/N trudging behind him, her coffee still in hand.

“You’re way too cheerful for this hour,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“That’s because today’s mission is to turn you into a pro surfer,” Chris declared, flashing his signature grin.

Y/N raised a skeptical brow, looking at the boards like they might attack her. “A pro? Let’s aim for ‘not immediately falling flat on my face,’ shall we?”

“Trust me,” he said, grabbing a board and handing it to her. “I’m a fantastic teacher. Just follow my lead.”

“And by ‘fantastic,’ you mean you’ll laugh at me when I inevitably wipe out?” she teased.

“Absolutely,” Chris replied with a wink.

After a quick lesson on the basics, they waded into the water. Chris demonstrated how to paddle and pop up onto the board with effortless grace. “See? Easy,” he said, balancing perfectly as a wave carried him to shore.

Y/N glared at him, hands on her hips. “Show-off.”

Her first few attempts were, predictably, disastrous. She fell forward, then backward, swallowing a fair share of saltwater. Chris paddled over, chuckling. “You okay there, champ?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, spitting out water. “Just rethinking all my life choices.”

“Come on,” he said, his voice encouraging. “You’re getting there. Just keep your knees bent and look straight ahead. You’ve got this.”

With his guidance,and a fair amount of determination,Y/N finally managed to stand on the board as a gentle wave carried her toward the shore.

“Look at me!” she shouted triumphantly, her arms flailing for balance.

“Who’s the pro now?” she teased, glancing back at Chris just before she lost her balance and tumbled into the water.

Chris paddled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell off his own board. “That was impressive for a solid three seconds.”

Y/N splashed him playfully. “You’re supposed to be encouraging, not heckling.”

By the afternoon, the adrenaline of surfing gave way to the peaceful calm of paddleboarding. The turquoise waters shimmered under the sun as they drifted side by side.

“So,” Y/N said, balancing her paddle across her lap. “What’s a guilty pleasure you’d never admit on TV?”

Chris paused, his paddle still. “Rom-coms. I’m a sucker for a good ‘enemies-to-lovers’ plot.”

“No way!” Y/N said, nearly tipping her board as she burst into laughter. “That’s my favorite trope! Alright, we’re definitely having a rom-com movie night after this.”

“You’re on,” he replied, his grin widening. “But only if you promise not to roast me for quoting all the lines.”

“Deal,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat at a small table on the beach, the flicker of candlelight casting soft shadows. Plates of fresh seafood and tropical drinks adorned the table.

Chris reached for Y/N’s hand across the table. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this at peace,” he admitted, his voice quiet but sincere.

Y/N smiled, her fingers curling around his. “Me neither. This feels... easy. Like it’s supposed to be this way.”

He nodded, his eyes locking with hers. “I could get used to this.”

“Well, you’ll have to keep up the charm, Mr. Surf Pro,” she teased.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chris replied with a smirk. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Later that night, they sat on the sand, the ocean waves gently lapping at their feet. Chris leaned back, resting on his hands as he looked up at the stars.

“Alright, my turn to ask a tough question,” Y/N said, tilting her head. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance?”

Chris thought for a moment. “Honestly? Just... take a step back. Life’s always been so go-go-go. I’ve never really taken the time to just be.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Well, consider this your start. No deadlines, no expectations. Just... being.”

Chris smiled at her, his expression filled with gratitude. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is,” she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Day Three

The third day brought a new kind of excitement as Chris and Y/N ventured into a charming seaside town. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful storefronts, their windows displaying everything from hand-painted ceramics to jars of locally made jam. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked pastries, sea salt, and hints of lavender from a nearby flower stand.

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she spotted a small bakery with its doors wide open, the scent of buttery croissants wafting through. “We’re stopping there,” she announced, grabbing Chris’s hand and tugging him along.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he said, laughing as he pulled out his wallet. “I smelled that place from two blocks away.”

Inside, the bakery was cozy and inviting, with wooden shelves stacked high with golden pastries and an old chalkboard menu listing the day’s specials. Y/N pressed her face to the glass display case, eyes darting between the flaky croissants, glistening fruit tarts, and delicate macarons.

“Everything looks so good,” she said, practically drooling.

Chris leaned over her shoulder, pointing to a chocolate almond croissant. “That one. Trust me, it’s life-changing.”

They ordered a selection to share, along with iced lattes, and found a small table by the window. Y/N took a bite of the croissant and closed her eyes, letting out an exaggerated groan of delight. “Oh my god. This is heavenly. How did you know?”

“I have excellent taste,” Chris said smugly, taking a bite of his own.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “We’ll see about that when we debate ice cream flavors later.”

After their indulgent breakfast, they wandered the streets, stumbling upon a street performer playing a soft melody on his guitar. The music drifted through the air, drawing a small crowd. Y/N stopped in her tracks, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she teased, turning to Chris.

“No,” he said immediately, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“Come on,” she coaxed, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re literally a musician. How can you not?”

“I’m not doing it,” Chris insisted, shaking his head.

“Please?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock pleading. “For me?”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re cute when you beg.”

Y/N clapped excitedly as Chris approached the street performer, who graciously handed over his guitar. “Don’t judge me too harshly,” he muttered to the crowd before launching into a cheesy rendition of I'm Yours by Jason Mraz.

The playful tone of his voice and exaggerated gestures had everyone laughing and clapping along. Y/N’s cheeks flushed red as he pointedly sang the chorus to her, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

When he finished, the small crowd erupted into applause, and Y/N threw her arms around him. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing. “But I love it.”

“Ridiculous and charming,” he corrected, grinning. “Don’t forget that.”

The rest of the day was spent wandering through the town’s quirky shops. They tried on silly hats at a boutique, debated over the best scents for candles at a local artisan’s stall, and picked out small souvenirs for each other.

“Okay,” Chris said, holding up a tiny ceramic seahorse. “This one’s for you because it reminds me of how determined you were on that surfboard yesterday.”

Y/N laughed, taking the figurine from him. “And this,” she said, handing him a keychain shaped like a wave, “is for you, because you’re officially my surf coach now.”

They continued their playful banter as they explored, eventually stumbling upon an ice cream stand with a long line of locals,a clear sign of quality.

“Alright,” Y/N said as they approached the counter. “What’s your flavor?”

“Chocolate. No contest,” Chris said confidently.

“Boring,” Y/N teased. “Strawberry’s where it’s at.”

“Strawberry?” Chris repeated, feigning disbelief. “You’ve lost all credibility.”

As they sat on a bench overlooking the pier, licking their cones, they continued their mock argument.

“You’re objectively wrong,” Y/N declared.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Chris said with a smirk. “But deep down, you know chocolate is superior.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of pink and orange, Y/N leaned her head on Chris’s shoulder. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the pier added to the tranquil atmosphere.

“This is officially one of my favorite days,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of contentment.

Chris kissed the top of her head, his hand resting lightly on hers. “Mine too. You make everything better.”

Day Four

“Today,” Chris announced with theatrical flair as they entered the resort’s open-air kitchen, “we conquer the art of pasta-making. Prepare to be amazed.”

Y/N paused, eyeing him skeptically as she tied her apron. “Amazed at how badly this will go?”

“Have a little faith,” Chris teased, adjusting his own apron with a flourish. “I’m practically a professional chef.”

She snorted, rolling up her sleeves. “You burnt toast the other day.”

“Details,” he said, waving her off dramatically. “That was a fluke. Today, I’m in my element.”

The kitchen was set up with individual stations, each equipped with flour, eggs, rolling pins, and pasta machines. The instructor,a jovial Italian chef named Marco,gave them a brief tutorial on making fresh pasta.

“Remember,” Marco said with a heavy accent, “the dough must be smooth, like a baby’s cheek.”

“Smooth like a baby’s cheek,” Chris repeated, winking at Y/N. “Got it.”

It wasn’t long before the kitchen descended into chaos. Chris’s dough came together quickly, the perfect blend of soft and elastic. He kneaded it with surprising precision, humming a little tune as he worked.

Y/N, on the other hand, was struggling. Her dough stubbornly stuck to the counter, her hands, and even the rolling pin.

“Are you sure you’re following the instructions?” Chris asked, leaning over to inspect her work.

“Excuse me, Chef Gordon Ramsay,” Y/N shot back, “but this dough has a personal vendetta against me.”

Chris chuckled, effortlessly rolling out his own dough into a perfect sheet. “Natural talent,” he said smugly, tossing a small pinch of flour in her direction.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, a mischievous glint flashing. “Oh, it’s on.”

She grabbed a handful of flour and flicked it at his face, laughing as it landed on his nose and hair.

Chris froze, blinking through the cloud of flour. “You just declared war,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Before she could react, he scooped up a handful of flour and lobbed it back at her, laughing as she squealed and ducked.

The instructor sighed dramatically from across the room. “This is not how you make pasta!”

By the time they finished, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour covered the counters, the floor, and both of them. Despite the mess, they managed to produce two plates of pasta, though neither looked particularly appetizing.

Sitting at a small table overlooking the garden, they tasted their creations.

“Mine has character,” Y/N declared, twirling a forkful of slightly lumpy pasta.

“Character is code for uneven and chewy,” Chris countered, smirking as he took a bite of his perfectly uniform noodles. “Boringly perfect tastes better.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a bite of his pasta. “Okay, fine. Yours is better. But mine has personality.”

“Personality doesn’t make up for the fact that you almost broke your teeth,” Chris teased, dodging a playful swat.

That evening, they lounged by the resort’s infinity pool, the moon casting a silver glow over the water. Each had a cocktail in hand, their earlier antics giving way to a quieter, more reflective mood.

Chris leaned back on the chaise lounge, swirling the ice in his glass. “You know, I used to sneak out of the house to write songs when I was younger. My parents thought I was sleeping, but I’d be in the garage scribbling lyrics.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “What kind of songs?”

“Terrible ones,” he admitted, laughing. “But it didn’t matter. Writing was my escape. It felt like the only way I could say what I was feeling.”

“That’s amazing,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I used to make my cousins sit through my ‘teaching lessons.’ I’d make these little worksheets and quizzes, and they’d bribe me with candy to let them leave.”

Chris chuckled. “Sounds like you were a natural educator from the start.”

Y/N smiled, leaning her head back to look at the stars. “I guess we both found what we love early on.”

Chris glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ve been on a lot of adventures, but this? Sitting here with you, talking about life? This might be my favorite.”

She turned to him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “You’re going to make me blush, Chris.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to many more moments like this.”

Y/N clinked her glass against his. “To many more.”

Day Five

By the fifth day, Chris and Y/N had settled into an effortless rhythm,a blend of playful teasing and deeply meaningful conversations. The morning began lazily, with the soft sound of waves in the distance and the gentle strumming of Chris’s guitar on the balcony.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The sunlight caught the angles of his face, and she smiled to herself, feeling a warmth she couldn’t quite explain.

“Good morning, Rockstar,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Chris glanced up, his dimples showing as he grinned. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” she replied, settling into the chair across from him. “Play something for me?”

“What do you want to hear?” he asked, his fingers pausing on the strings.

“Surprise me,” she said, resting her chin in her hand.

He nodded, strumming a few soft chords before launching into a gentle, romantic melody. His voice, low and smooth, carried the tune effortlessly. The lyrics spoke of longing, connection, and finding someone who felt like home.

When he finished, Y/N clapped softly, her smile wide. “You’re unfairly talented. It’s actually annoying.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, setting the guitar aside. “Do you play any instruments?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope. I tried piano as a kid, but my teacher said I had the attention span of a goldfish.”

Chris laughed. “That’s a shame. You could’ve been my duet partner.”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “I’ll just have to be your number-one fan instead.”

In the afternoon, they headed to the beach for a snorkeling excursion. The water was crystal clear, revealing vibrant coral reefs teeming with marine life. Chris helped adjust Y/N’s mask, his hands steady as he tightened the strap.

“Alright,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by his snorkel. “You ready to meet some fish?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N replied, though her wide eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely confident.

They waded into the water and dipped below the surface. Y/N’s initial nervousness melted away as she marveled at the underwater world,schools of colorful fish darting among the coral, sea urchins nestled in crevices, and the gentle sway of anemones.

Chris stayed close, pointing out interesting sights and giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up every time she spotted something new.

Suddenly, a small, curious fish darted toward Y/N, brushing against her leg. She squealed, surfacing quickly.

“What happened?” Chris asked, laughing as he came up beside her.

“That fish got way too personal!” she said, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused.

Chris laughed so hard he nearly swallowed seawater. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yeah, and it was a great idea,until the fish decided to invade my personal space,” she retorted, making him laugh even harder.

They floated side by side, the gentle waves lulling them into a peaceful rhythm.

“This is amazing,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so... connected to everything.”

Chris nodded. “It’s pretty incredible. Moments like this remind you how small we are, in the best way.”

That evening, they found themselves back on the balcony, the sky painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sound of the ocean was a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

Chris leaned against the railing, his gaze on the horizon. “What scares you most about this?” Y/N asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “Letting you down,” he admitted. “I know my life can be chaotic,always moving, always busy. I don’t want that to overshadow what we have.”

Y/N reached out, her hand finding his. “We’ll figure it out,” she said firmly. “I don’t expect perfect,I just want us to try. That’s all I need.”

Chris smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You make me want to try,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

They stood there for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky.

Later, they curled up together on the outdoor sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket. The night air was cool, but the warmth between them made everything feel just right.

Chris traced patterns on Y/N’s hand with his thumb, his voice low. “I don’t know how this happened, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing. It’s like... all the pieces just fit.”

They talked about their favorite moments from the week,the flour fight during pasta-making, their impromptu duet with the street performer, and Y/N’s three-second surfing triumph.

“You’ve made this week unforgettable,” Chris said, his voice soft.

“So have you,” Y/N replied, her eyes meeting his.

They sat in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the moment settling over them. Both knew they’d found something extraordinary,something worth holding onto long after the week was over.

Four:

The final morning of the honeymoon phase arrived, and the couples were gathered together at the resort’s grand dining area. The hosts greeted them with a bittersweet announcement. “The holiday is over,” one began. “Now, the real test begins. You’ll be returning to your day-to-day lives. The following weeks will determine if the connection you’ve built can survive outside this bubble.”

There was a mix of excitement and apprehension among the couples. The hosts continued, “During this phase, you will meet each other’s families, experience their homes, jobs, and routines. You’ll get a glimpse into the realities of what married life might look like for you. This is your chance to see how your lives align.”

As the gathering concluded, the couples were handed their phones for the first time in weeks. “You can reconnect with your loved ones,” the hosts explained. “Update them on what’s happened in the pods and during your vacation.”

Y/N turned on her phone, her notifications exploding with missed messages from friends and family. Beside her, Chris chuckled as he scrolled through similar chaos. “Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do,” he said.

Returning home meant diving headfirst into the rhythm of their daily lives, a stark contrast to the dreamy bubble they had shared at the resort. The transition was jarring, but both Y/N and Chris were determined to make it work.

For Y/N, her first day back at school was chaotic yet fulfilling. As soon as she walked into her classroom, a chorus of excited voices greeted her.

“Miss Y/N! You’re back!”

“Where did you go? Did you go somewhere fun?”

“Did you bring us souvenirs?”

Y/N laughed, setting her bag down on her desk. One of her younger students, Sarah, tugged on her sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss Y/N, was it a secret mission?” she asked, whispering as if she’d uncovered something big.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied with a playful smile. “Let’s just say it was a very special adventure.”

Her students buzzed with excitement, their imaginations running wild. The joy of being back reminded Y/N why she loved teaching, but the demands of her job quickly caught up to her. Lesson planning, grading, and endless meetings filled her days, leaving her exhausted by the time she got home. Still, she made it a point to text Chris during her breaks, sharing snippets of her day,a funny thing a student said, a picture of the classroom art project, or simply a quick, “Hope your day’s going okay.”

Meanwhile, Chris was equally swamped at his music company. His team welcomed him back enthusiastically, but a mountain of projects awaited him. Deadlines loomed, and the pressure to catch up was intense. Late nights in the studio became the norm as he worked to tie up loose ends and push forward with new initiatives.

During one particularly hectic day, Chris slipped into a quiet corner of the studio and dialed Y/N’s number. The line rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, you,” she said, her voice soft but tired.

“Hey,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “How’s my favorite teacher?”

She chuckled. “Exhausted. My kids were like little tornadoes today. One of them tried to convince me that glue sticks are edible.”

“Sounds like an adventurous day,” he said, grinning. “I, on the other hand, have been trapped in the studio for hours. If I hear one more drum loop, I might lose it.”

“Can’t you take a break?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“This is my break,” he said warmly. “Talking to you.”

Her heart softened, and for a moment, the exhaustion melted away. “I miss you,” she admitted quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said. “But we’ll get through this. Just a little more juggling, and we’ll find our balance.”

Balancing their busy schedules was no easy task. There were days when their texts went unanswered for hours and calls were cut short by unexpected meetings or studio interruptions. Yet, they both made an effort.

One evening, Y/N sent him a photo of a sunset she’d caught on her drive home with the caption, “Reminded me of our trip. Hope your day’s winding down.”

Chris replied with a quick selfie from the studio, his headphones askew and a tired but playful smile on his face. “Not quite, but this helped. You always know how to make my day better.”

Though they were miles apart, those little moments of connection kept them tethered to each other. Both Y/N and Chris knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but they were determined to navigate it together, one day at a time.

The weekend brought the much-anticipated meeting with Y/N’s family. Chris, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt and jeans, clutched a bouquet of flowers in one hand while the other fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as they walked up the driveway to her parents’ house.

Y/N noticed his nervous energy and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re nervous,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckled nervously. “Just a little,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Meeting the parents is a big deal. What if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” she said confidently. “Just be yourself. And maybe don’t mention the time you set off the fire alarm trying to cook.”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Noted. No fire alarm stories.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Y/N’s mother, who greeted them with a warm smile. “There you are!” she exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. Her gaze then shifted to Chris, scanning him curiously but kindly. “And this must be the famous Chris.”

Chris stepped forward, extending the bouquet. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

Her mother’s smile widened as she accepted the flowers. “A gentleman. I like him already. Come in, both of you.”

Inside, Y/N’s father stood near the dining table, his arms crossed in a posture that was more analytical than intimidating. His handshake with Chris was firm, deliberate, and conveyed an unspoken message: I’m watching you.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Chris said evenly, meeting his gaze.

“Good grip,” her father replied with a small nod of approval. “That’s a start.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling Chris toward the living room.

As dinner was served, the atmosphere began to relax. The conversation started light, with Chris sharing anecdotes about his work in the music industry and Y/N’s mother gushing over the stories of their recent trip. Her father, however, steered the conversation toward more serious topics.

“So, Chris,” he began, setting his fork down and fixing him with a pointed look, “what are your plans for the future?”

Chris didn’t flinch. “I’ve worked hard to build a career I’m proud of,” he said, his voice steady. “But I’ve realized that having someone to share life with makes everything more meaningful. Y/N has shown me what that could look like, and I’m committed to making sure we build something strong together.”

Y/N’s father nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good answer.”

Her mother smiled, clearly charmed by Chris’s sincerity. “You know,” she said, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/N this happy. It’s good to know you’re treating her well.”

“She makes it easy,” Chris replied, glancing at Y/N with a warm smile.

By the time dessert was served, the initial tension had dissolved into laughter and easy conversation. Y/N’s father even seemed impressed when Chris volunteered to help with the dishes.

As they stood by the sink, her father handed him a towel. “You’re a hard worker, I’ll give you that,” he said gruffly. “But relationships take more than that.”

“I understand, sir,” Chris replied, meeting his gaze. “I’m not perfect, but I’m willing to put in the effort for Y/N. She’s worth it.”

Her father gave a small nod, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

When it was time to leave, Y/N’s mother hugged her tightly at the door. “He’s wonderful,” she whispered. “You’ve found someone special.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I think so too.”

As they walked to the car, Chris let out a long breath. “Well, that was... intense.”

Y/N laughed, slipping her hand into his. “You did great. I think you might’ve even impressed my dad.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure he was trying to bore a hole into my soul during that handshake.”

“He does that with everyone,” she assured him, grinning. “But for the record, my mom already adores you.”

Chris looked relieved, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Because I adore her daughter.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she leaned against him as they walked. Meeting her family was a milestone, and Chris had passed with flying colors.

The following weekend, it was Y/N’s turn to meet Chris’s family in Sydney. The flight was a whirlwind, and as they arrived at his childhood home, Y/N felt her nerves creeping in. “Do I look okay?” she asked, adjusting her dress.

Chris laughed softly and kissed her temple. “You look perfect,” he said, squeezing her hand. “They’re going to love you. Trust me.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Chris’s mother, who greeted them with open arms. “Welcome, Y/N,” she said warmly, pulling her into a hug. “We’ve heard so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Thank you for having me,” Y/N replied, her nerves easing slightly at the warmth of her welcome.

Chris’s father appeared next, shaking Y/N’s hand firmly. “We’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, his tone kind but appraising. “Chris’s been singing your praises.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope,” Y/N joked, earning a chuckle.

Hannah, Chris’s younger sister, was the first to approach Y/N. At 20, she was vibrant and brimming with curiosity. “So, you’re the famous Y/N,” Hannah said with a teasing smile. “Chris talks about you nonstop.”

Y/N grinned, feeling more at ease. “I hope it’s all good things.”

“Mostly,” Hannah joked, nudging her brother. “He left out how pretty you are, though.”

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with animated conversation and heartfelt moments. Chris’s mother served a delicious spread, and the family quickly made Y/N feel at home. Chris’s father shared stories about his childhood, many of which had Y/N laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“He was always the most responsible one,” his father said, a touch of pride in his voice. “But don’t let that fool you,he was just as mischievous as the rest of them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Chris interjected, shaking his head. “I was an angel.”

“Sure you were,” Hannah teased, rolling her eyes. “Like the time you got us locked out of the house because you were busy playing your guitar on the roof?”

Y/N leaned into Chris, laughing. “I need to hear more of these stories.”

“I’ll tell you all the embarrassing ones later,” Hannah promised with a grin.

Later in the evening, Y/N and Hannah found themselves chatting on the back patio, the cool Sydney air wrapping around them. Hannah’s teasing demeanor gave way to a more serious tone. “So, how’s it really going?” she asked. “With Chris, I mean.”

Y/N took a moment to consider the question. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, “but it’s not without challenges. We’re both figuring out how to balance our lives with this new relationship.”

Hannah nodded knowingly. “He works a lot. Sometimes I worry he doesn’t slow down enough to enjoy the little things.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Y/N said, her voice thoughtful. “But I think he’s trying. He wants this to work just as much as I do.”

“I can tell,” Hannah said with a small smile. “He’s different with you. Happier. Just... don’t let him get away with making excuses, okay?”

Y/N laughed, appreciating her candor. “Deal.”

By the end of the night, Y/N felt a genuine connection with Chris’s family. As they prepared to leave, his mother hugged Y/N tightly. “You’re exactly what he needs,” she whispered. “Thank you for making him so happy.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the words. “He makes me happy too,” she replied, glancing at Chris, who was engaged in a cheerful goodbye with his father.

As they walked back to the car, Chris looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with warmth. “So? How did I do?”

“You mean how did I do?” Y/N teased, nudging him. “Your family’s wonderful. They’re so warm and welcoming. And Hannah’s a riot.”

Chris grinned. “They loved you. I knew they would.”

Y/N smiled, slipping her hand into his. “Well, they raised a pretty great guy, so I’m not surprised.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. “Thank you for doing this,” he said softly. “It means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too,” Y/N replied, leaning in to kiss him. Meeting his family was a milestone, and it felt like one more step toward the future they were building together.

After meeting Chris’s family, Y/N thought she had a good grasp of the important people in his life. But when Chris told her they’d be meeting his bandmates next, her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves. These weren’t just his friends, they were his second family, his brothers in music and in life.

As they arrived at the studio, Chris gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, they’re going to love you. Just... brace yourself for the chaos. They’re not exactly subtle.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Noted. Should I be scared?”

Chris smirked. “A little, maybe.”

The moment they stepped into the lounge area, a wave of energy hit them. The room was filled with laughter, loud voices, and snacks strewn across the table. All eyes turned to Y/N as Chris led her in.

“Guys,” Chris announced, his voice cutting through the noise, “this is Y/N.”

There was a brief pause before Felix bounded over, his face lit with excitement. “Finally! We’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Dying,” Han echoed dramatically, throwing himself onto the couch. “We thought he made you up!”

“Very funny,” Chris muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smiled, instantly charmed by their playful energy. “It’s nice to meet you all. Chris talks about you guys all the time.”

“Does he now?” Lee Know said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” Y/N teased, shooting Chris a playful look.

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, if you’re here, you must already know that he’s a bit... intense. Has he started rearranging your schedule yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N laughed. “But he did try to reorganize my fridge the other day.”

The room erupted into laughter, Chris groaning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ‘reorganize’ it. I just... suggested a more efficient layout.”

“Classic Chris,” Changbin said, shaking his head. “Always optimizing.”

“Alright, Y/N,” Han said, scooting closer with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got to hear some of the juicy stuff about Chris. Like the time he tripped on stage during our debut performance.”

Chris groaned, covering his face. “Don’t—”

Han ignored him, leaning in conspiratorially. “It was this dramatic fall too, like slow motion. And he tried to play it off by doing some weird spin.”

Y/N burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Chris. “Is that true?”

“It was not that dramatic,” Chris protested, his cheeks flushing. “And the spin was intentional.”

“It wasn’t,” Hyunjin added with a smirk. “But we all pretended it was because we felt bad for him.”

Felix chimed in. “Or the time he accidentally called himself ‘Bang Can’ during an interview and didn’t realize it until the fans started trending it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, throwing a cushion at Felix, who dodged it with a laugh.

“Oh, no, we’re just getting started,” Changbin said, grinning. “Y/N, did he tell you how he tried to bake us cookies once and used salt instead of sugar?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, her laughter spilling out. “No way!”

“Way,” Seungmin said, his tone deadpan. “He tried to bribe us with free coffee to forget about it.”

Chris sighed dramatically, though he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are supposed to make me look good, not ruin my image.”

“That’s our job as your bandmates,” Han quipped. “To keep you humble.”

As the afternoon went on, the teasing turned into genuine conversation. The members asked Y/N about her life, her job, and how she’d managed to put up with Chris so far.

“I’m honestly impressed,” Seungmin said. “You’ve survived this long.”

“He’s not that bad,” Y/N replied, smiling at Chris. “I think the secret is just letting him think he’s in charge.”

The room erupted in laughter, Chris shaking his head but clearly enjoying the banter.

By the end of the visit, Y/N felt like she’d been welcomed into a new family. The warmth and camaraderie between the members were undeniable, and their teasing only made her love Chris more—it was clear how much they all cared for him.

As they left the studio, Chris slipped an arm around her waist. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not at all,” Y/N said, leaning into him. “I think I love them almost as much as I love you.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “Well, they already love you. So I guess it’s a win.”

However, as the days passed, the honeymoon glow began to dim, replaced by the realities of their demanding lives. Their packed schedules started to take a toll, and the cracks became evident one evening when Chris canceled plans for the third time in a row due to work.

Y/N, who had spent the day looking forward to their rare night together, couldn’t hold back her frustration anymore. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh, her disappointment evident. When Chris finally walked through the door, his tie loosened and fatigue written all over his face, she stood in the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“I get that your job is demanding, Chris, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m second place,” Y/N began, her voice tight with emotion. “I’m always the one making time, rearranging my schedule. It’s like... I’m the only one fighting for this.”

Chris dropped his bag by the couch and rubbed his temples. “It’s not about priorities, Y/N,” he said, his tone weary. “I’m trying to make this work, but my job,there’s so much at stake. Deadlines, responsibilities,they’re not just going to disappear because I want them to.”

“And you think I don’t have responsibilities?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “We both have demanding lives, Chris. But relationships take effort. I can’t be the only one putting us first.”

The room went silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Chris let out a long breath and walked closer, leaning against the counter. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to stay afloat at work that I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting us.”

Y/N softened slightly at his admission but still felt the sting of being sidelined. “I just... I need to know that we’re on the same team here,” she said, her voice trembling. “That no matter how busy life gets, we’re making time for us.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I hear you,” he said. “And I hate that I’ve made you feel this way. What can we do to fix it? I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone.”

Her arms uncrossed as she leaned against the counter across from him. “We need to make changes. Let’s set aside one night a week, no matter what’s going on, just for us. No work, no distractions,just time together. And if you have to cancel something, I need you to communicate better. Let me know what’s happening instead of me waiting around.”

Chris nodded earnestly. “Okay. I can do that. And I’ll try to plan better so I’m not always last-minute scrambling.”

They continued talking late into the night, unpacking their frustrations and figuring out how to navigate their busy lives together. By the time they were done, the tension had eased, and a sense of understanding filled the room.

“I’m not perfect,” Chris said softly, taking her hand. “But I want this to work. I want us to work.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her gaze steady. “Me too,” she said with a small smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

For the first time in weeks, they felt like they were on the same page, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

Five:

As the wedding date approached, Y/N and Chris dove into preparations. The process was both exciting and overwhelming, filled with appointments, decisions, and moments of unexpected joy.

One sunny afternoon, they visited a tailor for Chris’s suit. Chris stepped onto the platform, looking slightly out of his element as the tailor measured his shoulders and chest.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, glancing nervously at Y/N.

She smiled, stepping closer to adjust the fabric draped over his arm. “That’s what I’m here for,” she teased. “And don’t worry, you’re a natural. Look at you, already looking like a movie star.”

Chris chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she said, tilting her head as she studied him. “Let’s go with the navy suit. It makes your eyes stand out, and it’s classic but modern,just like you.”

“You’re good at this,” Chris said, reaching for her hand. “Remind me to take you shopping every time I need a new outfit.”

“Deal,” Y/N replied with a laugh.

Later, Y/N went dress shopping with her mother, Chris’s mother, Hannah, Sarah, and Amelia. The boutique buzzed with excitement as the women sifted through racks of gowns, their voices mingling in a symphony of opinions and laughter.

“What about this one?” Hannah asked, holding up a dress with a plunging neckline.

Y/N’s mother raised an eyebrow. “It’s beautiful, but maybe not for the ceremony.”

“I’ll save it for the honeymoon,” Y/N joked, making everyone burst into laughter.

When Y/N emerged from the dressing room in a lace gown with a flowing train, the room fell silent. The intricate details of the dress caught the light, and the soft fabric seemed to mold perfectly to her figure.

“You look stunning,” Hannah whispered, her eyes wide with admiration.

Chris’s mother clasped her hands to her chest, tears welling up. “Absolutely breathtaking,” she said softly.

Y/N turned to face the mirror, her own reflection taking her breath away. Her mother stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is the one, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the one.”

Hannah enveloped her in a tight hug. “Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you,” she said, her voice full of affection.

“He’d better,” Y/N replied with a watery laugh. “Otherwise, I’ll make him wear this dress.”

The room erupted in laughter again, and the boutique became a place of shared joy and anticipation. By the end of the day, Y/N felt more connected than ever to the people around her, and the dream of her wedding felt more real than ever.

As they left the boutique, Chris’s mother squeezed Y/N’s hand. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride,” she said warmly. “But more importantly, you’re going to make Chris very happy.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Thank you. That means so much.”

The preparations were far from over, but in moments like these, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just about the wedding day,it was about the love and connections they were building along the way.

The week before the wedding, the excitement reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Chris celebrated their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It was a chance to unwind, laugh, and revel in the company of their closest friends before stepping into their new chapter.

Y/N’s party, orchestrated with flair by Amelia, was a beach-themed soirée that felt like a scene straight out of a romantic movie. The women gathered at an elegant beachfront venue, complete with twinkling fairy lights, tiki torches, and a soft ocean breeze. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of tropical flowers.

As they sipped colorful cocktails and nibbled on gourmet hors d’oeuvres, Amelia clinked her glass to gather attention. “Ladies,” she began with a mischievous grin, “tonight, we celebrate our girl Y/N, who somehow managed to meet her soulmate without the usual dating disasters. Let’s make this a night she’ll never forget!”

The group erupted into cheers, raising their glasses high.

“Speech, speech!” someone called out, nudging Y/N.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance. You’re not getting me to cry before the big day!”

Amelia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s my job during the toast later.”

The night kicked off with an impromptu karaoke session. Y/N and Sarah took the stage for a hilariously off-key rendition of their favorite throwback hit, complete with dramatic dance moves.

“Whose idea was this?” Y/N panted, doubling over with laughter as the group roared.

“Yours,” Sarah shot back, grinning. “And you’re welcome!”

Later, as the evening mellowed into a series of heartfelt toasts, Amelia took center stage. “Y/N, you’ve always been the kind of friend who lights up a room just by walking in. Watching you and Chris together is like witnessing a fairy tale come to life. You deserve every bit of happiness coming your way. Here’s to you, my beautiful friend.”

Y/N dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Amelia. And thank all of you for being here tonight. You’ve made this whole journey so special.”

Amelia leaned over, whispering with a teasing smile, “So, are you ready to trade in freedom for married bliss? Any second thoughts?”

“Not even for a second,” Y/N replied with a grin. “He’s my person. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The night wrapped up with the women dancing barefoot on the sand, cocktails in hand, under the glow of the stars. At one point, Sarah raised her glass again. “To Y/N, the most radiant bride-to-be. Chris better know how lucky he is!”

“Oh, he knows,” Y/N replied, laughing, her cheeks glowing from the drinks and joy of the night.

Meanwhile, Chris’s bachelor party had a different vibe,a relaxed yet spirited gathering at a swanky rooftop bar overlooking the city skyline. Mason, took on the unofficial role of emcee, ensuring the night was filled with camaraderie, laughter, and just a touch of chaos.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Mason began, raising his beer, “a toast to Chris,the man who found love without having to swipe left or right a hundred times. Here’s hoping he doesn’t screw it up now!”

Laughter rippled through the group as Chris rolled his eyes, smirking. “Wow, Mason, your faith in me is truly overwhelming.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Mason replied with mock seriousness. “I just know your track record with grand gestures.”

The banter gave way to more heartfelt moments as Mason added, “In all seriousness, Y/N’s an incredible woman, and you’re lucky to have her. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness and no more karaoke attempts.”

Chris chuckled, raising his glass. “I’ll take that. And for the record, no karaoke at the wedding.”

The night unfolded with rounds of pool, dart games, and nostalgic stories about Chris’s less-than-graceful younger days.

“Do you guys remember the time Chris tried to impress a girl by quoting poetry and ended up reciting the Pledge of Allegiance instead?” one friend teased, causing the group to erupt in laughter.

Chris groaned, shaking his head. “It was dark! I panicked!”

As the laughter settled, Chris’s younger brother pulled him aside. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet but sincere.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more ready for anything. Y/N’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s my future.”

Later, as the group stood against the backdrop of twinkling city lights, Mason clapped Chris on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky guy, mate. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” Chris replied with a smile. “And thanks for being here tonight. It means everything.”

As both parties wound down, Y/N and Chris found a quiet moment to exchange messages.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” they texted each other simultaneously.

The celebrations left them brimming with love and excitement, their hearts full as they looked forward to their future together. Surrounded by friends and laughter, they knew the best was yet to come.

Six:

The wedding day dawned with a sense of magic in the air. Y/N and Chris arrived at the venue separately, each in a flurry of excitement and nerves. The grand estate, with its sprawling gardens and elegant architecture, was the perfect backdrop for their love story’s most significant chapter.

Chris’s dressing room buzzed with energy as his groomsmen,his Stray Kids bandmates,filled the space with their usual blend of camaraderie, teasing, and chaos. Dressed in sleek suits, they were each focused on something different: Hyunjin fiddled with his hair in the mirror, Han was pretending to practice a wedding march, and Felix was intently tying Chris’s bowtie.

“Hold still, mate,” Felix said, a bit exasperated. “I can’t pin this lapel flower on if you keep fidgeting.”

Chris sighed but stood still, glancing nervously at the clock. “I’m not fidgeting; I’m preparing. This is a big day.”

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Big day? That’s the understatement of the year. Never thought I’d see the day our old man settled down.”

“Seriously,” Changbin chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You’re always buried in your music projects, Chris. We figured you’d just marry your laptop.”

“Hey!” Chris protested, laughing. “I can multitask, okay? And for the record, I prioritize Y/N over my laptop.”

“Wow,” Han said dramatically, clutching his chest. “True love really does exist.”

Hyunjin turned from the mirror, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “Let’s be real. None of us expected Chris to even make it past the pods stage. Remember how awkward he was during the first few days?”

“Awkward?” Chris shot back, feigning offense. “I was charming.”

“Yeah,” Lee Know quipped, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Charmingly awkward. But hey, it worked, so I guess we’ll give you that.”

Felix finished pinning the flower and stepped back to admire his work. “There. Perfect. You actually look decent for once.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lix,” Chris said dryly, adjusting his jacket.

Jeongin, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you look nervous, hyung. What’s up with that?”

Chris hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not nerves, exactly. It’s just... Y/N’s everything to me. I want today to be perfect for her.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the teasing giving way to genuine camaraderie.

Changbin clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this, Chris. She’s lucky to have you, and honestly, you’re lucky to have her. You’re both going to kill it out there.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin added with a sly grin. “Even if she’s technically marrying an overworking workaholic.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, rolling his eyes but smiling. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be hyping me up, not roasting me?”

Hyunjin smirked. “We roast because we care.”

“True,” Han said, throwing an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “But seriously, hyung, we’re proud of you. And you’d better believe we’re all going to cry when you say your vows.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lee Know said, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

Chris shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked around at his bandmates. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”

“Alright, enough with the sappy stuff,” Felix declared, grabbing a small box from the table. “Time to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. Who’s got the checklist for the ceremony?”

“Not me,” Han said quickly, stepping back. “Last time I had a checklist, we ended up in the wrong city.”

“That’s a story for another day,” Chris muttered, earning a round of laughter from the group.

As the banter continued, the nerves that had been bubbling inside Chris began to fade. Surrounded by his brothers, he felt ready to take the next step, straight down the aisle to the love of his life.

The bridal suite was a haven of calm amidst the bustling activity outside. Y/N sat in front of a full-length mirror, watching as the hairstylist expertly pinned her hair into an elegant updo. The makeup artist worked her magic, enhancing Y/N’s natural beauty with soft, glowing tones. The gentle hum of a love ballad played in the background, adding to the serene atmosphere.

Hannah lounged on the plush chaise nearby, scrolling through her phone. “Y/N, I swear, this venue is out of a fairy tale. The gardens, the lights, the view,Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “I hope so. I’m starting to feel the nerves kicking in. What if I trip? Or cry so much during the vows that I can’t even speak?”

Hannah put her phone down and leaned forward, her tone soothing. “First of all, if you trip, we’ll all pretend it’s a part of the choreography. And if you cry, it’ll only make the vows more beautiful. You’ve got this, Y/N. You and Chris are meant for this.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door opened, and Chris’s mother and Y/N’s mother walked in, their faces glowing with pride and emotion.

“Sweetheart,” Y/N’s mother said, her voice soft as she approached, “you look absolutely breathtaking.” She bent down, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting married today.”

Chris’s mother took Y/N’s hand gently, her eyes misty. “Y/N, from the moment Chris told us about you, we could see how much he loved you. You’ve brought out a happiness in him that we hadn’t seen in years. Thank you for loving him so completely.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you both for being here, for everything. And for raising such an incredible man. He’s... everything to me.”

The mothers shared a knowing smile, their hands resting on Y/N’s shoulders as if to steady her.

Hannah broke the tender silence with a playful grin. “Alright, ladies, no more making the bride cry before the ceremony! We need her makeup intact.”

The makeup artist laughed. “Yes, please. I worked hard on this masterpiece.”

The stylist stepped back, admiring her work. “You’re ready, Y/N. Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N stood, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. She turned to the mirror and took a deep breath, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

The ceremony began with the hosts of Love is Blind standing in front of the gathered crowd, their smiles warm and welcoming. The venue buzzed with excitement as the music faded and the hosts took their places.

Chris stood at the altar, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to steady his racing heart. His groomsmen stood beside him, offering quiet support. Han leaned over and whispered, “Breathe, hyung. You don’t want to pass out before she even gets here.”

Chris shot him a mock glare but chuckled under his breath. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Welcome, everyone,” the first host began, her voice resonating with emotion, “to what we can only describe as the culmination of a journey that started with blind faith and an open heart.”

Her co-host nodded, adding, “We’ve all been witness to a remarkable story, one that began in the pods,a place where appearances didn’t matter, and voices carried the weight of emotions. Chris and Y/N were strangers when they first sat down, separated by a wall, and yet, through vulnerability and trust, they built something extraordinary.”

The crowd murmured in appreciation, many glancing at the altar where Chris stood, his eyes locked on the aisle in anticipation.

“Chris and Y/N’s connection was immediate,” the first host continued. “They spent hours in the pods, sharing their hopes, dreams, and even their fears. And while they couldn’t see each other, they were seeing something far more important,each other’s hearts.”

Her co-host smiled. “We watched as their relationship blossomed during the retreat, where they finally saw each other for the first time. And let me tell you, when Chris saw Y/N, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.”

The crowd chuckled, and even Chris smiled, momentarily breaking his nervous focus.

“They’ve spent the past weeks building on that foundation,” the first host added. “Navigating the challenges of blending two lives, getting to know each other’s families, and figuring out what it means to truly say, ‘I choose you.’”

“And today,” the co-host said, his voice brimming with excitement, “they’re here to make the ultimate choice,to stand before all of you, their friends and family, and promise to spend their lives together.”

The first host turned toward Chris, addressing the audience but clearly speaking to him as well. “This journey hasn’t been easy,it never is. Love is messy, imperfect, and requires work. But Chris and Y/N have shown us that when two people commit to seeing each other beyond the surface, love can truly conquer all.”

“And now,” her co-host said, gesturing to the aisle as the music swelled, “it’s time to witness the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Ladies and gentlemen, here comes the bride.”

The sound of the music shifted, and every head turned as Y/N appeared at the end of the aisle, arm in arm with her father. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by applause and cheers. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in,radiant, confident, and every bit the woman he had fallen in love with.

Y/N’s father leaned in as they walked. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. This is your moment. Let’s get you to your future.”

When they reached the altar, her father placed her hand in Chris’s, his voice steady but emotional. “Take care of her, Chris. She’s our world.”

“I promise,” Chris said sincerely, his voice firm with conviction.

The officiant began the ceremony, guiding the couple through the traditional moments with grace and a touch of humor. When it was time for the vows, Y/N took a deep breath and began.

“First of all, I would like to thank your parents for giving birth to such a sweet and kind-hearted son. Christopher, from the moment I heard your voice, I felt a connection I couldn’t explain. You’ve shown me patience, kindness, and love in ways I never thought possible. I promise to support your dreams, cherish our laughter, and stand by you, no matter what life throws our way. Today, I choose you, and I’ll keep choosing you every day.”

Chris’s eyes glistened as he held her hands tightly, his voice soft but steady as he began his vows.

“Y/N, you are my best friend, my partner, my everything. From the moment I met you, even without seeing your face, I knew my life would never be the same. You make me a better man, and I promise to love you fiercely, to listen, to laugh, and to always have your back. You’re my greatest adventure, and I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

The officiant smiled warmly, her voice clear and celebratory. “Y/N and Christopher, do you take each other as husband and wife, to love, honor, and cherish, for all the days of your lives?”

“I do,” they said in unison, their voices filled with love.

“You may kiss your bride,” the officiant declared.

Chris leaned in, capturing Y/N in a kiss that sealed their promises. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, the air alive with celebration.

As the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, hand in hand, the guests erupted into cheers and applause. Petals floated through the air, a cascade of color and joy that mirrored the happiness on Y/N and Chris’s faces. Chris glanced at Y/N, his smile radiant, and whispered, “We did it.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling. “We really did.”

The reception space was a masterpiece of elegance and charm. Tables adorned with lush floral arrangements and twinkling candles filled the room, and the air was filled with the soft hum of music and excited chatter. As Y/N and Chris entered, the DJ announced them with enthusiasm, “Please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Y/N and Chris!”

The crowd erupted into cheers once again as the couple walked in, waving to their loved ones. Chris leaned close to Y/N, his voice low. “You ready for the spotlight?”

“With you? Always,” Y/N replied, her cheeks glowing with happiness.

The couple took their seats at the beautifully decorated sweetheart table, and the celebration began. Plates clinked, glasses were filled, and laughter echoed throughout the room.

Chris’s bandmates,his groomsmen,were the first to take the mic for their toast. Felix, acting as spokesperson, stood up, raising his glass with a grin.

“Well,” he began, glancing at Chris, “I think I speak for all of us when I say we never thought we’d see this day. Chris, the guy who spends more time in the studio than sleeping, is now a married man. Honestly, we were all starting to think he’d marry a mixing board.”

The room burst into laughter, and Chris shook his head, grinning. “Thanks, Lix. Appreciate the support.”

Felix continued, his tone softening. “In all seriousness, we’ve watched you grow, not just as a leader and musician but as a person. Y/N, you’ve brought out a side of him that we’ve always known was there,a side that’s kind, patient, and full of love. We’re so happy you found each other. To Chris and Y/N,may your life together be as harmonious as our music... and less chaotic!”

The bandmates raised their glasses, and the room joined in, the toast met with cheers and applause.

Next, Y/N’s father took the mic. He stood tall, his voice warm as he addressed the crowd.

“When Y/N was a little girl, she used to dream big,” he began. “She’d tell me stories about castles, princes, and grand adventures. And now, looking at her and Chris, I realize she’s found her own kind of fairy tale,one rooted in love, respect, and partnership.”

He paused, his voice catching slightly. “I remember one time when Y/N was about seven. She told me she was going to marry someone who made her laugh every day. Chris, I can see by the way she looks at you that you’ve done just that. Thank you for loving her as she deserves to be loved.”

The room was silent, save for the sniffles of a few guests. Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling up at her father.

“To my daughter and her husband,” her father concluded, raising his glass. “May your journey together be filled with laughter, love, and the kind of happiness that makes life truly magical.”

The guests raised their glasses, and Y/N hugged her father tightly as the crowd erupted into applause once more.

The lights dimmed, and a soft spotlight illuminated the dance floor. Chris extended his hand to Y/N. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Bahng?”

“You may, Mr. Bahng” she replied with a giggle, taking his hand.

The music began,a slow, romantic melody that seemed to capture their entire journey in its notes. They swayed together, eyes locked, as the world around them faded away.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Chris murmured.

“Only about twenty times,” Y/N teased, her smile wide.

“Well, it’s worth repeating,” he said, his voice tender.

The crowd watched, enraptured, as the couple shared their first dance. Toward the end, Chris twirled Y/N, eliciting cheers and applause from their guests.

After the first dance, the party kicked into full gear. The DJ played a mix of classics and modern hits, and the dance floor quickly filled with guests of all ages. Chris’s bandmates led a lively routine that had everyone laughing and clapping, while Y/N’s friends organized a dance-off that became a highlight of the night.

At one point, Chris pulled Y/N aside, away from the crowd, to share a quiet moment. “You having fun?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“The best,” she said, leaning into him. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“Believe it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Because this is just the beginning.”

The couple’s wedding cake was a masterpiece,five tiers of decadent flavors decorated with intricate floral designs. As they cut the cake, Chris playfully smudged a bit of frosting on Y/N’s nose, earning laughter from the crowd.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Y/N warned, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she dabbed frosting on his cheek in retaliation.

The night ended with a grand farewell. Guests lined up with sparklers, creating a glowing pathway for the newlyweds. As Y/N and Chris walked through, hand in hand, their faces lit with joy, the crowd cheered them on.

“Ready to start forever?” Chris asked as they reached the waiting car.

“More than ready,” Y/N replied, her smile soft and full of love.

As the car drove away, the guests waved, their cheers fading into the night. The celebration had been everything they dreamed of and more, marking the start of a beautiful forever.

[neptuneiris]

Cruel Summer (02/10)

Paradise Beach

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: after a bad day at work, you head to the beach of your dreams, where an unexpected encounter occurs with a person who is too well known in the city and very rich.

words: 7.7k

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omg i can't believe how much you guys liked the first part! i really thought the story wouldn't get so much support (especially since i haven't finished CYPTBIL👀) but you guys again surprised me🤗 i'm very inspired with this story so i'm very happy for all the support, so enjoy this new chapter and look forward to the others!🙌🏻

thank you for reading!

warnings: none in this chapter.

You hate to see the beach dirty.

You've always had a problem with people who leave all their trash on the beach without any remorse and in full view of everyone. Many people will be embarrassed to confront them and create a fuss, but you... you defend the beach.

The first community program you see that brings people together to clean up the beach to better help the ecosystem, you're the first to sign up.

And that's the bad thing about living in Black Waves.

The beaches are not the best kept. There is dirt everywhere, the smell is horrible and really very few people make an effort to keep the beaches on this side clean.

The complete opposite on the beaches of Crown's.

This is mainly why you want to make a difference, to have clean and beautiful beaches despite the 'status' that the rich label you in the worst way.

You've seen their beaches and they are very well kept, that's true. It was clear to you when you went to that party last night and saw the white sand.

Obviously the rich people pay people for maintenance, whether they are poor people or whatever, but your people can't afford that, so they either clean it themselves or they just don't do it.

Pretty much the same goes for restaurants and venues of any kind.

Certainly the restaurant you work for is on a beachfront terrace in a luxurious and exclusive part of Crown's, the same goes for most of the restaurants in this area.

But in Black Waves the restaurants are less sophisticated, the food is fast, some are wood-framed, and there are no more than four people working there.

The places to buy clothes or basic necessities are the same, even a grocery store is inside the same house of the owners, while the rich have a huge shopping mall with brand name clothing stores, accessories, libraries, coffee shops and more refined restaurants.

They also have on their side of town large supermarkets where every fruit, vegetable or meat is triple the price of what they sell it on your side of town.

The prices are also different, clearly.

In Black Waves the dishes sold in the restaurants are affordable, while here a seafood dish costs fifty dollars.

And today especially your boss is in a bad mood, like every day, but today more so.

"Hey."

Alysanne whispers to you from the other side of the bar as you finish cleaning one of the tables and watch her almost instantly, where she takes care that your boss doesn't see you both talking.

"Daniel has texted me, he says Cregan is taking us to another one of his parties tonight," she lets you know with the clear excitement all over her contained face, "They say it's going to be great and maybe Cregan can take us up on his parents' yacht."

You let out a sigh and like her, you check to make sure Mr. Frey doesn't catch you talking in mid-shift.

"Tonight?"

"Yes," she says without removing her excitement.

"We're working double shifts today, Anne," you tell her without encouragement.

"Oh come on. We can't miss the opportunity to spend the party on a fucking yacht," she whispers excitedly to you.

"My feet are already hurting and it's not even four in the afternoon," you point out to her.

She gives you a bad look.

"Y/N," she tells you reproachfully.

"Depends on how the day goes."

"Are you serious? We must—

"You two!"

Mr. Frey's voice immediately catches your attention and Alysanne's, where you notice him already watching you both with a scowl on his face and clearly furious.

"Did I pay you to chat or to work!?"

The two of you exchange a glance and immediately turn away from each other, each returning to their respective tasks. But of course, it not only draws the attention of the two of you, but also that of some customers, and the two of you endure the humiliation of being scolded in public.

"You'd better move and I'd better not see you two chatting again or I'll pay you exactly what you deserve or send you back to your side of town."

You almost want to laugh in his face, but like any educated woman and again out of necessity, you keep quiet, as does Alysanne, but the looks you both exchange say it all.

You would like to tell him that because of the mistreatment and this kind of humiliation in public, the two of you and the other workers should be paid more, especially because you have to deal with a boss like him, but neither you nor anyone else says anything and continue working.

And precisely because you were talking to Alysanne for only a brief moment, Mr. Frey takes advantage and overloads you both with too much work for the remainder of the shift.

And that's why you definitely decide not to go to any party.

Your feet hurt, you are urged to take a bath, eat and lie in your bed, however, you are surprised to see how Alysanne has way too much energy for the hell you both had to go through and as she talk to the guys by text, the more excited she gets about going to Cregan's party.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Alysanne asks you as she finishes getting ready, looking at you through the full-length mirror.

"Honestly I'd rather go to the beach to relax instead of being surrounded with music, the smell of beer, weed and teenagers getting drunk."

She gives you an amused look.

"And why don't you do that?"

"I don't have a ride and it's too late to walk."

"Cregan is coming to pick me up in his car along with the others, I'm sure he can give you a ride if you ask him."

You give her a curious and unsure look.

"Do you think he'll accept?"

"We're going to the same side of town, he'll be passing through," she nods with a nonchalant gesture.

At least you don't have to get too dressed up and you won't get tired, so you trust Alysanne and start getting ready too. Not too much like her but to look presentable.

As time goes by Cregan finally arrives with the boys making a huge fuss, excited about the party tonight. Alysanne tells them to shut up and they are lucky that your uncle and aunt haven't complained about them yet.

You give Cregan directions after asking him to please give you a ride and pretty soon everyone is inside of Crown's.

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" Sam asks you confused.

You shake your head.

"Why not?"

"I'm too tired for a party."

Chase gives you a knowing look.

"I can't believe in all this time you haven't been caught."

"It's not like I'm doing anything wrong either," you shrug.

"But the rich hate us and I bet you they'll make a huge fuss if they catch you."

"Yeah, who knows, maybe a trespass sue," Daniel agrees.

"Even knowing you don't have the money to pay for it," Chase tells you.

"Trespassing?" you repeat between amused and incredulous, "Going to sit on the edge of the beach is trespassing? Do you even know what trespassing is?"

"In any case, the rich won't like it if you get caught," Sam says making a nonchalant gesture.

You decide not to take it any further and finally arrive at your destination point, where you get out and walk over to the side of the pilot's window to see Cregan.

"Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," he smiles at you, "But the guys are right. If the owners find out about you, you can get in big trouble."

"I've been doing this for almost a year," you let him know, "I'm very sneaky."

He shakes his head with an amused smile.

"Just be careful. We'll come get you when you tell us."

"Okay," you nod, "Thanks, Cregan."

"Take care," Alysanne says to you from the passenger seat.

"Sure."

"And if the rich see you, get in the ocean and swim to the party, we'll help you there," Daniel tells you too.

You give him a look and and a not entirely convinced smile.

"Yeah, sure, very helpful."

You finally start to walk away from them as they continue to yell at you to take care of yourself, to call them in case of anything and so on, until Cregan starts up and his car begins to disappear into the distance.

And then you take action.

You look around, quickly assessing the area, making sure there are no people nearby to see you, but surprisingly this whole luxurious area of Crown's is quiet.

The only movement you notice is several cars passing by, but other than that, there are no monkeys on the shore.

There is a wall in front of you that marks the line between this private neighborhood and the houses in the same neighborhood that are even more private, since they have a huge front yard and a huge part of the beach exclusively for them.

The wall is not high, fortunately, you think it should be, but this is compensated by security guards who patrol this area and the beach from time to time.

So stealthily and in a calculated manner, once you make sure that there are no people nearby, you hide among the bushes and trees that are planted in the corner of the sidewalk to put your foot on a specific crack that you know of the wall and push yourself upward taking the edge of the wall with both hands to be able to observe the other side.

You quickly scan the entire area, making sure there are no guards patrolling nearby nor any of the people who live in the houses before jumping.

The meters of distance are considerable between the huge houses or rather mansions. There is pavement between the divisions and those divisions are exactly the way to the beach.

You put on the cap of the sweatshirt you are wearing to cover your hair and your face, since you know that all the houses must have security cameras outside, so this way you protect yourself in case of anything.

And once you make sure that there is no one outside or nearby, you gain impulse again with more strength and as fast as your feet allow you but still being careful, you place your hands on the rough edge of the wall and start to climb.

You adjust your grip more firmly on the edge and in one agile motion, you propel yourself upwards, where you feel the effort as you pull your own weight and more as you try to be fast.

Luckily you've done this many times before and when you reach the top, wasting no time and making sure no one is watching you, you quickly slide down the other side and you fall on your feet with a dry sound.

You don't take the time to rest and looking around, with adrenaline running through your veins and your heart beating too fast, you quickly advance towards the beach.

And once you are far enough away from where you managed to cross and indeed you confirm that no one saw you and everything is fine, again, you can relax.

You remove the cap from your head and let your hair free again, slowly feeling how the breeze and the wind with the salty air envelop you completely as you approach the seashore.

Easily anyone who lives here if they see you could tell that you live here too, besides the night also helps you because without so much light they can't recognize you right away.

And it is as if you are also a rich person, daughter of rich parents, being inside a private section of the beach in Crown's most exclusive area.

And as you go along, this is precisely why you take the risk of coming to this place when it is forbidden to you; the place and the view.

The sand here is perfect, clean as if no one had ever walked on it, the air is salty with no smell of anything unpleasant in specific, there are no people that could be dangerous around you and the surroundings are absolutely beautiful and clean.

Also this section has a cliff a bit secluded from all the houses, where its huge rocky wall looks absolutely beautiful and ethereal when illuminated by the night light.

You have come here many, many times and you always head to the same place, that specific pier.

The pier stretches out in front of you like a polished wooden path, leading into the deep waters of the night ocean.

Discreetly placed lights along the pier illuminate it with a soft golden glow, creating a contrast to the darkness surrounding the horizon.

The reflection of the small lamps trembles on the surface of the water, giving the place a magical and mysterious air.

The structure is impeccable, made of dark, sturdy wood, maintained with a care that only the rich can afford. There is not a single splinter out of place, not even an ill-fitting clove.

Every detail is taken care of, right down to the polished wooden benches at the end of the pier, ideal for sitting and admiring the sea in silence.

As you approach, the wooden planks creak softly under your feet, but the sound mixes with the gentle murmur of the waves, making it almost imperceptible.

And when you reach the end, you can see a large yacht moored at the side of the dock, with it's deluxe cover and it's name painted in gold and silver lettering.

You have no idea which rich family it might belong to, but you know this is just one of many they must have. It wasn't here the last time you came here and fortunately it doesn't obstruct the view.

You take a seat on the wooden bench and letting out a big breath, you watch as the full moon reflects off the ocean, it's silvery sparkles dancing on the water in hypnotic movements.

This is why you love coming here, even in this way, because the fresh, salty night air fills your lungs with every inhalation.

And just for an instant, you feel freer than ever in this space that is not supposed to belong to you.

Besides you not only enjoy seeing the moon, but also the stars, shining brightly and adorning the entire night sky. And you can rest easy, because there is no danger on this side of town.

You've been enduring a lot at work lately, taking a lot of strain on your shoulders from double shifts and stressing over the slightest thing, but coming here and being here gives you that much needed quiet time.

And only this place can offer you that; peace and tranquility.

You don't know exactly how much time passes but you find yourself in the same position, not getting bored and enjoying the view, wishing time would freeze so you could continue to enjoy this without worries.

You think that Alysanne and the guys must be having fun too, but for tonight this is all the fun you need.

Suddenly your phone vibrates next to you and the screen lights up as a new notification comes in. You casually pick it up and see a new message, and it's from Alysanne.

It's a selfie of her with the guys, all happy, laughing, smiling, beer bottles in hand and with the sea and yachts in the background completing the scene.

You let out a small laugh as you see Sam's euphoric face, Daniel and Chase's funny faces, and Cregan and Alysanne's smiling faces.

"Excuse me?"

Your whole body reacts and jumps instantly from shock and you look quickly and sharply behind you with all the panic on your face, definitely not expecting what you see.

Aemond Targaryen.

Shit.

It's the first thing that comes to your mind as you quickly jump to your feet, your heart beating too fast and your hands starting to shake.

That's when you know that the moment has finally come where you're caught and you're in big trouble.

Aemond watches you with a serious and attentive face, analyzing you completely. And you feel completely small when his eyes look at you with confusion and distrust, but challenging.

He clearly has no idea what are you doing here and maintains a defensive posture.

And you definitely feel like a thief who's just been caught in the act.

"What are you doing here?"

Oh God.

You think in terror.

How come you didn't hear him coming? The boards creak with the weight when someone walks and you couldn't hear anything?

You think that you should have been more attentive, that you shouldn't have let your guard down, because it's not possible that you really were so distracted and in your own world that you didn't hear him coming. 

But with him already here, watching you in a bad way, looking cold and suspicious, that you don't have time to scold yourself or think about it.

"I-I..." you stammer, in a shaky voice, not having the slightest idea what to say, very nervous and scared.

All you can feel is a lump in your throat, an irregular throbbing in your chest and the overwhelming weight of his gaze on you.

He doesn't look away and his serious face doesn't change, clearly waiting for an answer.

As you watch him examine you, you watch as he runs his gaze up and down you, trying to decipher who you are. And it doesn't take him long to come to an obvious conclusion, because he instantly knows that you are not like him.  

By your clothes and your old sandals, everything about you gives away that you don't belong here. Besides, he doesn't recognize you from among the other Crown's families to be able to say that you belong to one of them.

He knows you're not from around here.

"I asked you a question," he demands you in a bad way and with a harsher tone, walking towards you, "What are you doing here?"

You feel a shiver run down your back as you swallow hard, but the words just won't come out.

You're paralyzed, terrified, stuck, because you have no idea what to say and you're still processing that this is really happening. 

You know you don't have any good excuses and he's impatient, waiting for an answer that really won't be convincing to be the truth.

"I will call security for invasion of private property," he warns you firmly, clearly beginning to lose patience.

The danger in his words makes the fear hit you even harder and you finally react in panic.       

"No, no, please," you finally manage to say, worried and raising one of your hands to him in supplication, "I-I… I'm not doing anything wrong, I swear," you raise both hands in surrender, trembling.

He inspects you more closely with a piercing gaze, trying to find something, anything, to tell him what you are really doing here or what you are trying to do, watching between you and his family's yacht anchored to the dock.

His posture remains tense, ready to act if he finds anything out of place. 

He thinks that maybe you are doing something with the yacht, but he sees it in perfect condition, with nothing strange and nothing out of the ordinary, as the rope that ties it to the dock is without problems.

But he still continues to watch you seriously, defensively and suspiciously.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, lowering your gaze, embarrassed and terrified, "This has never happened before," you say, reproaching yourself for the mess you've gotten yourself into.

But he hears you perfectly, and his frown deepens.

"Before?" he queries you.      

You close your eyes tightly, cursing yourself internally for having said that, to again look at him pleadingly and in desperation wanting to prove to him that you really aren't doing anything wrong.

"I swear I—

"Hello!?"

The unexpected voice makes you jump again from surprise and you watch with your eyes wide open behind Aemond as one of the security guards enters the dock, his flashlight illuminating the way.

Your heart beats with such force that it seems to thunder in your ears, as panic engulfs you completely. 

And without thinking too much, you move quickly, hiding behind a huge wooden box, taking advantage of the pole supporting the roof at the end of the pier and some scattered chairs. 

You crouch down, trying to make yourself as small as possible, but desperation gives you away with every move.

This definitely ends up completely confusing Aemond, not expecting that reaction and movement from you at all.      

And you watch him from your hiding place with all the pleading and forgiveness in your eyes, silently begging him not to say anything, not to give you away.

But he turns his gaze to the guard who ends up coming closer.

"Are you all right son?"

Your heart stops momentarily and you watch him in terrified silence, simply waiting for the worst. 

But even to have his whole look serious and not showing much reaction, you watch as hesitation appears for a moment and he falters in his words, as if he doesn't know exactly what to say, until he does.

"Yes," he finally says, "I'm all right."

The guard, seemingly satisfied with the answer, nods, but doesn't leave.     

"The Baratheon's reported a break-in in their backyard a few days ago," he says and you listen carefully, still waiting for the moment with fear and concern, "Nothing serious, apparently just clothes and some decorations. I'm just patrolling to make sure everything is in order."

Your breathing quickens as you listen to every word and Aemond continues to watch the guard, when suddenly he shoots you a quick glance, his eyes reflecting a mixture of seriousness and indecision. 

"Yes, so I hear," he says.

"Are you alone, son? I thought I saw someone else here."

Fuck.

Your stomach sinks and you close your eyes tightly, then watch in terror for the moment when Aemond will finally speak and give you away.

But you see the hesitation in his gaze again, you also watch intently as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, failing to say anything.    

When suddenly you see him let out a long breath and slyly give you a look with his serious face, then lick his lips and press them together in resignation.

"Yes, I'm alone."

As soon as Aemond utters those words, a wave of relief sweeps through your body. But almost instantly you stare at him in complete shock, unable to believe it. 

He really just covered you in front of the guard. He didn't really give you away even when he had every reason to do so.

Your hands are still shaking, but you slowly feel the adrenaline and anguish start to subside. 

"Well, we'll be around if you need anything. Good night, son." 

Aemond nods in his direction.

"Yes, thank you. Good night."  

You stand still for a few more moments, listening to his footsteps fade into the distance until finally there is no more noise. Just the sound of the water against the dock and the night wind on the waves.

You take a deep breath and slowly, you sit up, emerging from your hiding place with your hands still shaking. 

Your eyes meet those of Aemond, who is still standing, watching you with that penetrating gaze that seems to be able to read all your deepest thoughts. 

You don't know exactly what to say to him, you're still surprised and don't understand why he saved you, but the words come out on their own, grateful and fearful.

"Thank you," you murmur apologetically but with all the sincerity in your gaze, "Thank you for not saying anything."

He doesn't say anything to you, which confuses you even more, he just keeps standing there watching you, with his usual hard-to-read expression.     

“I-I..." you stammer, biting your lips and lowering your gaze for a moment, still feeling nervous, "I really wasn't doing anything wrong. I wasn't stealing or harming or anything like that, truly," you tell him honestly.

Again, he says nothing. He doesn't move either. He just stands there, with both hands tucked inside his front pockets of his shorts and still watching you with utmost attention that makes you feel incredibly nervous, even more so due to the circumstances.

You are also surprised that he is not kicking you out and threatening not to come back here. 

You honestly don't understand his behavior and the fact that he saved you from the guard, but for whatever reason, you thank him or you would have been in big trouble.

So cautiously, you take a step towards the entrance and exit of the pier.        

"And I'm sorry. You won't see me around here again. I really don't want to cause trouble," you add, watching him warily and wanting to make clear the promise in your words, "I'll leave now," you say quietly.

And having nothing more to say, you turn around, ready to run away if necessary, but you barely take two steps when surprisingly his voice stops you.

"What were you doing here?" he asks for the fifth time all night, his tone just as accusing but now with a curious tone. 

You stand still, not knowing exactly how to respond. 

But you know you have two choices: lie or tell the truth. And for some reason, you feel you can't lie to him; Aemond Targaryen.

Aside from belonging to the wealthiest, most prestigious and powerful family in Sunset's and the entire country, with his father being Viserys Targaryen himself and being one of the heirs to his entire fortune, he seems to be someone who seems to have the innate ability to detect falsehood.

That's why you don't understand why he saved you, a poor girl who doesn't belong to his world and probably never will, but still, you decide to be honest.       

Anyway, you're already stuck here and as crazy as it sounds, you owe Aemond Targaryen one.

"I was just... looking for some peace and quiet," you confess, turning your body to once again look at him, "I had a bad day and coming here..." you look around with a wistful look, "It helps me."

Aemond tilts his head, frowning slightly and biting the inside of his cheek, inspecting you. 

"And you can't do that on the beach on your side of town?" he asks you with a tone of disbelief.

You sigh, feeling a twinge of frustration as you think about the answer. It's a reasonable question, but the answer is not so simple. 

"Not really," you reply, lowering your gaze for a moment and biting your lips in nervousness, "Surely you know it's not the same at Black Waves."

He shakes his head slightly.

"I've never been there."

You almost look at him with an obvious look, almost, but you end up nodding, since of course he's never been to your side of town when he lives here.   

"The smell of the beach there is not so nice. They are not as clean as these, there is dirt and being there alone in the middle of the night is dangerous," you explain.

And everything you say is true, which is why you decide to come here.

And he looks at you, clearly digesting your words, saying nothing for a few moments, as is becoming usual between the two of you.

You think that maybe for him, someone who has lived surrounded by luxury all his life, it is somewhat difficult to imagine such a different reality. But it is also no secret how the people of Black Waves live.

So you don't understand his silence or even his behavior, but what you do see in him, surprisingly... is that he doesn't judge you.

You would have expected the face of disgust instantly like any spoiled child of rich parents and also that he would tell you to leave now with that posture and superficial look.

But nothing.       

Aemond Targaryen doesn't really reflect anything with his eyes. Unless he's judging you and giving you those looks of disgust in his mind.

But, strangely, he doesn't make you feel any less.

"And coming here... it's like my paradise, for the peace and quiet," you conclude in a low murmur.

Again... he doesn't say anything.

And that begins to frustrate you.

He just watches you, as if he's evaluating every word, every gesture and every detail in you. 

And you silently think to yourself that he probably doesn't say anything because he really wants you to leave, to leave him alone and never come back here.

So you try to leave again, because you've caused enough trouble and you can't risk staying.   

However, just as you prepare to say goodbye and apologize, again, he interrupts you.

"Since when do you come here?" he asks with a tone that reveals a mild interest you weren't expecting.

Inevitably your nerves run through you again and you swallow hard, having no idea whether this interrogation is good or bad, but you still decide to be honest to avoid as much trouble as you can.

"Last year," you confess apologetically.

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"And no one had caught you until now?"

"It's just that I don't come here much, I promise," you say instantly, sincere, "Like I told you I only come when I really need to... when I want peace and quiet. And I don't do anything but sit around and watch the ocean, that's all."

He nods slowly, again processing your words. 

And you don't know it but to Aemond... there seems to be something about you, something about the way you talk or maybe that you're a Black Waves girl, that keeps him interested.

His blue eyes, cold but curious, fix on yours, as if he wants to see beyond the words, as if he's looking for some kind of hidden truth.    

The silence that follows feels interminable and finally, he with his relaxed but dominant posture, takes his hands out of his pockets and turns around, resting his arms on one of the railings of the pier. 

He stares off into the horizon with that serious look that tells you nothing and you just stand there, wondering if you should still leave or what you should do, since you don't understand anything.

"You can stay," he says suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You frown and stare at him completely confused, having no idea if you heard right or not.

"What?"

"You can stay," he repeats, not watching you.

You blink, watching him in shock, now being the one processing his words, not really understanding anything but feeling completely surprised by his offer.      

You didn't expect this. Not at all.

And at that moment comes the distrust in you, as it can't be too good to be real.

"Are you sure? I mean..." you watch him uncertainly, "Maybe you want to be alone," you shrug.

You watch as he sits up and starts pulling something out of his pockets, which ends up being a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

And without looking at you, he shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he tells you carelessly, taking a cigarette and starting to light it.

You watch him curiously, not understanding why he's being this way with you... so strangely kind. And that without knowing where it comes from, you begin to like him.

"And you're really not going to give me away? This isn't... I don't know," you shrug, "Like some kind of trap?"    

You watch as he takes a drag and blows out the smoke, putting the lighter and the pack back in his pocket.

"No," he says serious and almost annoyed, so you decide not to question him anymore, as strange as this is, "If you want to stay that's fine, if not you can leave too. Just do what you want, if I wanted to give you away, I would have done it already."

You remain silent, processing his words. You frown and watch him as he takes another drag and then the smoke rising to dissipate in the cool night air.

There is something about his posture, the casual way he holds his cigarette, that disconcerts you and catches your attention.

He doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let someone like you just hang around, much less in a place that is clearly his, or at least his family's.

So you feel unsure how to interpret all of this.

So you continue to stand, still waiting for some sign that you should leave, but he gives you none. Instead, he just looks off into the horizon, where the water meets the dark sky, lit only by the moon and stars.

And the truth is, you don't know what to do.

The prospect of staying there, with him, someone you barely really know and who could give you away at any moment, still makes you nervous.

However, you are also intrigued by this strange friendliness he is showing.

So you decide to stay, so you again take a seat on the edge of the wood with carefree movements, your feet dipping into the shimmering water beyond.

You give him a brief glance, unsure if he'll sit down too or if he'll just leave. But to your surprise, he stands beside you, silently smoking and not watching you.

It's not warm or comforting company, but somehow, the stillness you both share is more soothing than uncomfortable.

And so the minutes pass and the sound of the water, soft and rhythmic, begins to soothe you again. The cool night air makes the anxiety in your chest slowly dissipate, as does the tension in your shoulders.

And with each passing of time, you realize that nothing bad will really happen by being here with him. And you also realize that Aemond Targaryen is maybe not arrogant and shallow like the others.

He hasn't even been mean to you and hasn't judged you, so that's why you decide to start a conversation.

"Why are you here?" you decide to ask, without looking him and simply moving the waters gently with your feet, focusing on that.

The question floats in the air between you, and for a moment, you think he won't answer you, since maybe he told you that you can stay but it doesn't mean you should talk to him.

But then you hear him move, his weight making a slight creak in the wood.

"Same as you," he finally replies, though his tone is less curt this time, "Looking for peace and quiet."

You're instantly taken aback by his honesty and also by his response, definitely not expecting that, so you frown and look at him confused.

"Really?"

He watches you and his gaze instantly paralyzes you, watching as he watches you just as confused but this time defensively at your reaction.

"Why is that so incredible to believe?"

You bite your lips and avert your gaze, thinking very hard about your next words, as you shrug and watch him again.

"Well... I'm just thinking why a person who has everything and certainly lacks nothing would come here... looking for peace and quiet," you explain with genuine curiosity.

He lets out a snort, with a bitter look on his face as he brings the cigarette back to his lips.

"Neither you nor anyone else knows everything about me and my family," he says with an unexpected harshness in his tone.

You remain silent, surprised by the frankness of his response and avert your gaze to the horizon.

You feel a slight discomfort that you didn't expect and it's not because of what he said, but how he said it, so serious and distant.

But maybe he's right.

All families at Crown's are characterized by more than just money, power and status, and that's appearance.

The rich probably think they know everything among themselves, but your people see a little more reality and you know that behind that perfect facade there are secrets, tensions and burdens.

And the Targaryen's are no exception. Even Cregan has hinted at it many times, with his wry, half-joking comments about the lives of wealthy families.

The moment between the two and the conversation seems on the verge of becoming awkward again.

And just when you think the talk is over, Aemond takes another drag and, surprising you, looks sideways at you with a cool but questioning expression.

"And what happened to you?" he asks you suddenly, changing the subject.

"Hm?" you observe him attentively and confused.

"Why did you have a bad day?" he repeats just as calmly, but this time, with a casual, carefree tone.

"Oh," you murmur, turning your eyes back to the horizon.

You didn't expect him to be interested in something so personal. But since he asked, you decide to be honest.

"Well, apparently my boss hates me and made me work double shifts today," you explain, letting out a sigh. "It's stressful enough to put up with his bad treatment and workload, but I also had to deal with a lot of rude customers."

His gaze remains fixed on you, as if processing what you just said. Then he goes back to staring at the horizon with a disinterested look and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Sounds like shit," he finally says, his tone dry but without a hint of empathy.

"Yeah, it is," you reply, letting out a bitter little laugh, "But it is what it is."

He nods slightly and suddenly, the distance you felt between the two of you seems to diminish a bit.

Aemond isn't as unapproachable as you thought, and though you still don't quite understand why he's acting this way, you begin to see that maybe, just maybe, there's more to him than meets the eye.

You stare out at the water in silence, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the pier pilings filling the air.

And you are surprised by how normal this situation is.

You mean, who would have thought? You, a poor girl from Black Waves and him, the heir to one of the most powerful families in the region, sharing a night on the dock as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

You don't understand anything but... you like him.

"I've never seen you before," he murmurs after a while, his eyes focused on the horizon, "Nor do I know your name."

You stare at him incredulously and let out a small chuckle under your breath.

"I think we both know why," you say knowingly, "It's not like our paths cross very often. And my name is Y/N, Y/N Blackwood," you introduce yourself in a soft tone.

He falls silent, seemingly memorizing your name and within a few seconds, however, he doesn't seem convinced of the other.

"I don't know. I know everyone in town, even if not directly."

You frown slightly.

"That sounds... exhausting."

"It's part of the family, knowing everyone. Knowing who's around you, even if you don't deal with them," he explains, "But I had never seen you."

"Well... I've lived at Sunset's for a year now with my aunt, uncle and my cousin," you explain, relaxing a little more as you see the conversation flowing smoothly, "And before the summer started, I started working at Mr. Frey's restaurant to save up for college in a few more months."

He turns his whole body toward you, still standing and leaning against the pole holding up the roof at the end of the pier, glancing at you from time to time but keeping more of his focus on the horizon.

"Your aunt and uncle?" he asks, "Why don't you live with your parents?"

That question takes you by surprise, and for a moment you don't know what to say. It's obviously a personal question and you weren't expecting it at all.

Then you look at him, where his eyes are serious and inquisitive towards you, although you don't perceive any bad intentions, just a curiosity.

"I guess I don't know if I should tell you that," you say with a small smile and amused tone, trying to downplay it and not make the moment awkward, "You know... trusting one of your kind."

He lets out a slight chuckle, making you smile a little wider.

"My kind?"

You shrug.

"Yeah, you know... a rich one."

"And what makes you think you can't trust me? I didn't give you away a while ago, did I?"

"And why did you?" you ask, unable to contain your curiosity seizing on the comment, "Why didn't you give me away?"

He lets out a long breath and takes another drag before answering, his voice low but steady.

"I don't know, maybe because you were honest."

"But you're not like that, no one in your class is empathetic and forgiving."

"Do you really think you know everything about me and my family?" he questions you again.

You look at him obviously and incredulously.

"Please, everyone in this place knows everything about you and your family. Even the poor people. You're like the royalty of the city, after all."

You see the slight annoyance on his face, making it clear that he's in total disagreement with you, and you make up your mind to prove your point.

"I mean..." you sigh, "You are known as your father's son who has a perfect life just like your siblings, heirs to a wealthy and powerful family. The Targaryen's are known for that, work, money, power and status... or am I wrong?"

He doesn't respond right away, just watches you with an intensity that makes you feel a little vulnerable.

And just when you think he'll finally let his true self out and he's exactly like the other rich kids, he surprisingly lets out a sigh and looks down at the water, with an almost resigned look on his face.

"Yeah, but it's not all as simple and wonderful as it seems. It's not the whole truth either."

Those words leave you thinking. And they also leave you watching... him.

At the previous party, you couldn't see much of him from afar, let alone being on the second floor of a huge yacht. But he is... captivating.

You trace the shape of his nose and the structures of his cheeks with your gaze, watching as if it were a slow-motion movie as he lifts his cigarette to his lips and raises his gaze to the sky to expel the smoke, marking the bone in his neck.

His silver hair shimmers slightly in the moonlight and makes him look like some sort of ancient Greek God, where you silently admire the handsome features of his face.

You can't see his eyes in detail because of the light, but you know they are blue, characteristic of the Targaryen along with the platinum hair.

And then you wonder, what else is behind that facade his family has so meticulously constructed for him?

Who is Aemond Targaryen truly?

The night continues as the two of you stand there, sharing the space, the air, the silence. There is no need for more words for now, it's just enjoying the little shelter in this corner with him.

And after a while, you decide that maybe it's time to leave.

"Well... I guess I should be going," you mutter, starting to get up, then looking around the perimeter one last time, etching the image in your memory, "I'm going to miss this place."

He turns with slow, nonchalant movements toward you, dropping what little is left of the cigarette to crush it with the sole of his tennis shoe.

"What do you mean?" he asks, with that calmness that always seems to surround him.

You look at him in confusion, then shrug, letting out a small, resigned laugh.

"Obviously I can't come back here now that you've caught me," you tell him with a sad little smile, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear from the wind, turning around, "Oh and..." you look back at him, "Thanks for not give me away, truly."

You give him a look and a small grateful smile, as he keeps his expression hard to read, as usual, but totally focused on you.

Neither of you say anything else and assuming this is the final goodbye, you start walking towards the dock exit. But then you hear his voice behind you.

"Wait."

And that's what you do.

Confused, you turn to watch him again, watching as he takes a step forward.

"You can come back if you want," he says to you suddenly, in a tone of voice that is soft, but also mixes indifference and something else that you don't quite manage to identify, "Just... make sure no one else catches you."

That definitely takes you by surprise, since you weren't expecting it. And you watch him silently for a moment, trying to read his expression, but he remains as enigmatic as ever.

However, there is an unexpected sincerity in his words that makes you smile, this time with more warmth.

"Really?" you ask, unable to hide the disbelief and excitement in your voice.

He nods, folding his arms, saying nothing.

"Thank you," you reply, and this time you say it more firmly and with happiness in your eyes.

You lower your gaze and resist the urge to smile big, feeling a strange sensation in your stomach, to again watch him.

"Bye, Aemond."

You take a step back and turn around, when again he stops you as he speaks.

"You're going home alone?" he asks, this time with a little more interest in his voice.

You laugh softly, surprised that he cares, not really understanding anything but liking it.

"You know? We poor people have a good thing after all... survival style."

He doesn't say anything to you, just watches you with his piercing colored eyes as he licks his lips and then simply gives you a small nod.

You don't say anything else either and finally turn to leave, beginning to leave the tranquility of the dock and him behind, under the dim lights of the night.

And as you walk away, you feel the sea breeze on your face and wonder how a night that began with tension and fear ended with something as unexpected as a truce with Aemond Targaryen.

series taglist:

@zenka69 @strangersunghoon @deliaseastar @thefireblaze @kythefangirl25 @p45510n4f4shi0n @saturnssrings @bellaisasleep @primroseluna @tinykryptonitewerewolf @barnes70stark @tssf-imagines

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Novice 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, , age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your first job brings a lot more work than you could anticipate.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, Lloyd Hansen

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at

Your first job. That's what this could be. Admittedly it's late but better that than never, as they say. You don't think your father would agree but he'd be happy to hear you got something.

That's if you get it...

It's still a big question mark. As you find your way to the third floor and stop before the sign marked L&L, you pause. You peer through the glass door to the row of pretty women sitting in stiff acrylic chairs. The answer to that question seems stamped in red as you search for the courage to enter.

No turning back now. You are a bad liar and you have to at least try. You can't handle your dad throwing another conniption. Even after all these years, his yelling and slamming makes you feel like a child.

Twenty-five. You should really be a lot further than you are. That self-reproach accompanies you through the door. You offer a nervous smile to the waiting women, your fellow candidates, as you claim an empty seat. None of then look up from their phones.

You have your cell firmly tucked into your purse. You don't want to give a bad impression and be caught in a dazed stare at absurd memes. You clutch the folder containing your resume and cover letter and bounce your legs as you wait.

It's going to be so bad. The other women are so pretty. Perfectly highlighted hair and tailored skirts and dresses. All those things your father said you could have if you got yourself a damn job. In his mind, you just don't try, but in your experience, you just can't win for trying.

You look down at the plain white folder and sniff. You're the only person wearing trousers. You like the wide-legged wool that cinch at the waist to give you a bit more shape, though the thrifted blouses doesn't quite fit you right.Still, compared to your competition, you're gunning for last place.

Your eyes wander along the walls, a blinding shade of white. The doors are all thick glass trimmed in silver. It's all very pristine and prestige. A post-modern corporate utopia.

A door opens and a women taps out in her heels, strutting like a model down a runway as she goes. The next is called; not you. A six-foot-blond with perfect beach waves stands and greet the black-haired man with an outstretched hand. Your lips move silently and you curl your fingers. You should remember to do that. At least pretend you believe in yourself.

The woman in the next seat sighs and you catch her glance at your jittering knees. You still yourself, tapping your toe instead as the fidgeting itches under your skin. You stop from chewing your nails and peek at hers. A perfect french manicure. Your short and filed nails are so basic.

Another candidate emerges. The next rises and the script continues. You wait with your head down. Your interview is for 12:15 and it's past that. You wonder if they overbooked.

It's ninety minutes before the other chairs are empty. A few who arrived after you were called ahead of you. You start to squirm. Is this the wrong place? Did you misread the email?

The lithe black-haired man does not call another name as he sends off the last candidate invited inside. Your heart drops. What happened? He sends you a look before he spins and strides back through the door.

You sit, paralysed. Should you just go? He didn't look confused at your presence. But why didn't you get called? It doesn't make any sense.

You wait five minutes then stand. You should leave before you cry. The door opens as you get to your feet. You peer over at the man who pokes his head out. It's not the same man. This one has brown hair and a matching trimmed mustache. Where the black-haired man had sleek locks combed back behind his neck, this one sports shaved sides. He steps half out and snaps his fingers.

"Come on. Let's get this over with," he commands.

You blink and nod. You agree with the sentiment. Get it over with and go home and fall apart. As you near, you wipe your hand on your trousers then offer it to him with your name.

He turns away without shaking it. You trip over the threshold behind him as you enter at his back. He stands aside as you pass him and he shuts the door. He clears his throat and points to the empty chair on one side of the long conference table. The black-haired man sits on the other side and drags his fingertip over a tablet. He doesn't look up.

The other man sits on the end of the table, bending one knee as he keeps a foot on the floor. He watches you as you sit. He sucks his teeth.

"Laufeyson," he snips. "You don't swiping right?"

"Mm," the black-haired man hums and sets down the tablet, sending the other a sharp look. "Hansen."

You're invisible as they glare at each other. You set the folder on the table and pick at the edges. The noise of it draws their attention.

"You have no experience," Laufeyson intones. You see your resume on his tablet already.

"Well, sir, no, but I can learn--"

"This isn't a school," Laufeyson interjects.

You flinch, "I understand, sir. But you'll see, I've taken some courses--"

"Free courses. Uncredentialed," he insists.

Your mouth opens slightly and you look between him and the other man, Hansen. The latter only sits and watches. You try not to frown. You must have a rather tortured expression.

"I..." you gulp. You couldn't afford real school and your dad refused to pay. Like a snake eating its tail; you don't have the education so you can't get a job, you can't get the education because you don't have a job to pay for it. "That's true." You slip your fingers under the folder. "I realise I've wasted your time. I'm sorry--"

"Nah, come on, Laufeyson, look at it this way. Blank canvas," the other man speaks at last. "No bad habits to break."

Laufeyson sighs, "the others had experience."

"And? That means they'll think their way is the right way. You know you hate being wrong," Hansen argues. "Not that you ever are, buddy." He turns to you and smirks. "Besides, desperation makes for hard work."

You wince. He's right. You'll do whatever you need to to keep the job, if they pity you enough to give it.

Laufeyson runs his fingers through his hair and raises his chin. He reaches to black the screen of the tablet. "Fine, hire her. But any questions, you will answer." He stands and swipes up the tablet, "I've spent enough time on this parade."

He struts around the table and leaves the door open in his stead. His soles carry a steady tempo down the hall. Your furrow your brow and look at Hansen.

"Does that mean..."

"You got a job, baby cakes," he pushes off the desk.

"Awesome, I mean... thank you," you get up. "I really appreciate it."

"Ha, don't thank me yet. I'm a hard ass and so's the serpent," he chuckles. "Let's get you started."

"Right now?" You cheep.

"Yes, now," his grin falls. "Come on, move it, cheeks."

You flutter your lashes. Cheeks? You touch your face and tilt your head. He laughs again and waves you out the door.

You go into the hall and stop, looking one way then the other. He grabs your shoulders and you squeak in surprise. He marches you down to the space by the door. An empty white desk awaits you. You hadn't noticed it amid your panic.

"Go on, lamb chop," he lets go of your shoulder and taps your ass, "get to it."

You stumble away from him, your bottom tingling at the unexpected swat. That's not appropriate. You won't say so. You'll just try to forget it.

You go around the desk and put the folder and your purse down. You look at him.

"Don't you dare ask me what to do," he points at you. "You said you'll learn, so figure it out." He leans on one heel, "oh, I put my neck out for you, don't fucking blow it."

You flinch at his language. He's not very professional, is he? You might not have an extensive resume, but you know better than to curse in the workplace. You don't even do so at home. Your father would lose his mind.

He leaves you with a whistle and you look around. You sit in the white leather chair and examine the desk. A large flat monitor, a mouse that's almost as narrow, keyboard too; a pen cup with the white pens. It's all white, white, white. You feel like a stain.

You wait and listen for any noise. Just the click of another door. You grab your purse and dig out your phone. The internet is a wealth of knowledge, right? You type; 'how to set up a new work computer'.

The desktop has no password. You start by making one. Then you go through the list on the first suggested webpage. You don't know the business email. That will be something to ask. Later, when you have the chance. You download all the relevant apps. Your phone buzzes. A message.

'Login folder attached.' That's it. You can assume one of them got your number off your resume but you can't guess which. You open it and find a list of accounts by program. You don't know which ones you'll need.

It takes longer than you would expect to get it all done. Some applications block you out as you aren't permitted access outside the admin device. You take the hint that those aren't your domain. When at least you feel like there's a semblance of direction, you bring up the website for L&L Agency. You reviewed it enough in preparation for the interview but now you'll really need to have it down pat.

An email chimes in. You open it. You go back to the inbox. Oh. There's a lot. You see your name labelled on most of them. Right, that probably means you're supposed to deal with those.

The first one is a mystery... you don't know how to answer the question about rates. You don't have any sort of reference for prices and the website says 'contact for rates'. You feel like if you had pretty beach waves and glossy lips, you'd be able to ask questions. No, you're just blaming other people for your issues again.

Your phone rumbles again, reverberating through the whole desk. You look at the ID. It's your dad. You pick up.

"Hi, um, hi, dad," you eke out.

"Where are you?" He barks.

"At work," you answer.

"Work?" He sneers.

"Yeah, I told you, I had that interview. It went well. I got it."

"Mm," he growls. You wait. He doesn't congratulate you. "You flipping burgers?"

You shrink down and swivel the chair to face the wall, "I'm... a secretary..."

"Oh, you remember how to read. That's great," he scoffs.

"Dad, I..."

"When are you going to be home?"

"Um, I..." you look at the clock. It's four already. "I'm not sure."

He huffs, "I trust you will be before dinner time."

You murmur, "yes, dad."

He didn't actually care you weren't home. He only wanted you to make him supper. You swallow. The line clicks. Oh. Guess that's all.

You turn and put down the phone. You jolt the chair on its axle as your eyes meet another pair; green and gleaming. Laufeyson stands with arms crossed, his posture suggests he's unimpressed.

"I need these alphabetized," he nods. There's a filing box on your desk.

"Yes, sir," you reach for the box.

"No personal calls," he slithers.

He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he disappears back down the hall. You don't take it to heart. You shouldn't be answering calls on work time. Besides, as cold as these men are, your father prepared you for the storm.

[shiorihyugawrites]

Owned - Eren x Reader Modern AU

You were hired to sing at the most exclusive lounge in Paradis City—classy, high-end, and quietly owned by none other than the infamous Eren Jaeger. The moment he sees you on stage, he’s hooked.

You try to resist. He’s your boss. He’s dangerous. He’s taken.

But Eren doesn’t take no for an answer.

He showers you in gifts, whispers promises against your skin, and drags you into a world of dark secrets and criminal power. Even as guilt and jealousy twist inside you, the heat between you burns out of control.

He has a girlfriend. He doesn’t care.

And when he finally claims you? He makes sure you know one thing—you belong to him.

A/N: 18+ Only Minors Do Not Interact

Part Three: Unravel

Three months had passed since Paris, and the secret love affair with Eren burned hotter than ever, a fire you couldn’t extinguish even if you wanted to. 

You still sang at Jaeger’s Lounge, your voice weaving through the smoky air, captivating the crowd night after night. Eren still called you his songbird, the nickname a chain that bound you to him. You didn’t need the job anymore—not with Eren covering your rent, your bills, and paying you triple your salary, a gesture he insisted on despite your protests. “You’re worth it,” he’d said, his voice low and resolute, his hand cupping your face as if to seal the promise. But the money, the gifts, the luxury trips—they were both a lifeline and a cage, tethering you to a man who was both your salvation and your ruin.

The gifts kept coming, each more extravagant than the last: a Cartier necklace that gleamed against your skin, a pair of Louboutin heels that clicked like a metronome on hardwood floors, a custom-made Givenchy dress that hugged your curves like a lover’s touch. 

Eren had also whisked you away on more trips that felt like dreams—to the Maldives, where you’d made love on a private beach under a canopy of stars; to Milan, where he’d fucked you against the balcony of a penthouse suite, the city’s lights sprawling beneath you; to Tokyo, where he’d whispered filthy promises in your ear as you soaked in a private onsen. Each trip was a bubble, a world where Mikasa didn’t exist, where you could pretend you were his and he was yours.

Sex with Eren was a drug, each encounter more addictive than the last. He could be rough, pinning you against a wall, his cock driving into you with a ferocity that left you trembling, your orgasms ripped from you in waves that made you see stars. Other times, he was slow, deliberate, his strokes deep and measured, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You’re my everything, baby.” Every touch consumed you, every thrust claimed you, and you let him, knowing it was dangerous, knowing it was wrong.

But wrongness was the undercurrent of your life now. Eren still hadn’t broken up with Mikasa, despite his promises in Paris. Every time you brought it up, he had an answer, a smooth deflection that soothed your doubts just enough to keep you hooked. “It’s a delicate process,” he’d say, his hand stroking your hair as you lay in bed, the sheets tangled around you. “Our finances are tied up—businesses, investments. I can’t just leave her out of the blue. I’m easing her out. Trust me.” His words were a balm, but the wound beneath festered, a gnawing doubt that whispered he might never leave her.

The lounge was another reminder of your place in his life. Eren would sit in his private booth with his friends watching you perform, their meetings unfolding under the guise of your music. You’d catch Levi’s judgmental side-eye, his sharp gaze cutting through you like a blade. You’d never forgotten overhearing him call you Eren’s whore in Paris. He never said anything to your face, but his silence was louder, his disapproval a weight you carried every time Eren pulled you onto his lap after your set, his arm a possessive band around your waist. To his friends, you were a trophy, a pretty thing to be admired, not a person with a heart that was breaking under the strain of secrecy.

Eren had dismissed Levi’s words with a laugh, calling him a “miserable motherfucker” who didn’t understand. “He’s just loyal to Mikasa,” Eren had said, his lips brushing your forehead. “Don’t let it get to you.” But it did. Because Levi’s words were the cold, hard truth. You were Eren’s mistress, his whore, no matter how he dressed it up with diamonds and declarations. And it stung, a bruise that throbbed with every gift, every touch, every whispered promise.

…

The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of your best friends’ apartment, casting a warm glow over the cozy living room. You sat cross-legged on her plush sectional, a mimosa in hand, the remnants of a girls’ brunch spread across the coffee table—empty plates streaked with hollandaise, a half-eaten fruit platter, a bottle of prosecco sweating in an ice bucket.

Ellie and Morgan, your ride-or-die friends since college, were sprawled beside you, their laughter filling the space as they recounted a disastrous blind date Ellie had endured the week before.

But you were distant, your thoughts tangled in Eren and the vague text he’d sent that morning: Busy today with something important. I’ll call you later. No details, no explanation, just enough to make your intuition scream Mikasa. The jealousy was a bitter pill, lodging in your throat as you tried to focus on the moment, on your friends, on the lightness of the day. You knew he was with her, or at least doing something tied to her, and the thought made your stomach churn.

Ellie noticed first, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. “Okay, spill,” she said, setting her mimosa down with a clink. “You’ve been staring at that glass like it’s gonna tell your fortune. What’s up?”

Morgan tilted her head, her hair catching the light, her expression soft but concerned. “Yeah, you’re quieter than usual. Is it Eren?”

You sighed, running a finger along the rim of your glass, the condensation cool against your skin. “It’s always Eren,” you admitted, your voice low, almost defeated. “He’s being secretive again. Said he’s busy with something ‘important’ today, but he wouldn’t tell me what. I know it’s about Mikasa.”

Ellie groaned, flopping back against the couch. “God, that man is such a walking red flag. Why can’t he just be straight with you?”

Morgan reached for your hand, her touch gentle. “Have you asked him about it? Like, directly?”

You nodded, your lips pressing into a thin line. “Every time I do, he says it’s complicated, that their finances are tangled up, that he’s ‘easing her out.’ But it’s been months, and nothing’s changed. He’s still with her, still commenting hearts on her Instagram photos, still kissing her in pictures.” Your voice cracked, and you looked down, blinking back the sting of tears. “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Morgan said firmly, squeezing your hand. “He’s the one making this messy.”

Ellie sat up, her expression fierce. “Okay, but let’s be real—he’s stringing you along. All these trips, the gifts, the sex—it’s amazing, sure, but you deserve more than being his side chick. You’re, like, in love with him, and that’s dangerous.”

You flinched, the truth of her words hitting like a punch. “I’m not—” you started, but the lie died in your throat. You sighed, slumping back against the couch. “Okay, fine. I’m falling for him. Hard. And it’s terrifying because I know he’s not mine to claim.”

Morgan’s eyes softened, but there was a flicker of worry there. “Have you told him how you feel? Like, really laid it all out?”

You shook your head, your fingers twisting the hem of your sweater. “Not exactly. I’ve asked about Mikasa, about us, but I’m scared to push too hard. What if he chooses her? What if I’m just… a phase?”

Ellie snorted, grabbing her phone from the table. “A phase? Girl, he’s paying all your bills and flying you to the Maldives. That’s not a phase—that’s an obsession. But it’s not enough. You need to know where this is going.” She paused, her thumb hovering over her screen. “Wanna creep on Mikasa’s Instagram? Maybe it’ll give us some clues.”

You hesitated, your heart racing. You’d stalked Mikasa’s profile before, alone in the dark of your apartment, each photo a knife to your gut. But doing it with Ellie and Morgan felt different, like a shared act of defiance. “Okay,” you said, your voice small. “But I’m gonna need another mimosa for this.”

Morgan laughed, pouring you a fresh glass as Ellie opened Instagram, her fingers flying across the screen. Mikasa’s profile loaded, and your breath caught at the sight of her latest post—a photo from two weeks ago, at a friend’s wedding. She was stunning in a navy gown, her black bob sleek and polished, her arm linked with Eren’s. He wore a matching navy suit, his hair tied back, a rare smile softening his features. They were kissing, her hand on his cheek, the caption simple: “Forever my favorite person.” Eren’s comment—a single heart emoji—burned in your chest.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you scrolled through the comments, the likes, the flood of “You guys are so cute!” and “The best couple!” from their friends. You knew so much about Mikasa from Eren’s stories—her strength, her loyalty, the way she’d been his rock since childhood. She knew nothing about you, save for the few times she’d seen you perform at the lounge, probably thinking you were just a talented singer, not the woman fucking her man.

Ellie scrolled further, pausing on a photo from last year—a candid of Eren and Mikasa in Bali, her head on his shoulder as they watched a sunset. “They look so… happy,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Like, in love happy.”

Morgan frowned, setting her glass down. “Photos don’t tell the whole story. People post what they want the world to see. Eren’s with you right now, not her.”

“Is he, though?” you asked, your eyes stinging. “He’s still with her. He’s at the lounge with her sometimes, kissing her in front of me while I’m singing. And then he comes backstage and fucks me like it’s nothing. Like I’m his dirty little secret.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened, her fingers gripping her phone. “That’s fucked up. You’re not a secret—you’re a person with feelings. He can’t keep playing both sides.”

You took a long sip of your mimosa, the bubbles sharp on your tongue. “I keep hoping he’s planning to end it with her, like he promised. But today… he’s being so vague, and my gut’s telling me it’s about her. If he was breaking up with her, why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Morgan tilted her head, her voice gentle. “Maybe he’s trying to protect you?”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Or maybe he’s full of shit. Look, I’m all for you living your best life with the fancy trips and the orgasms, but you deserve someone who’s all in. Not this half-assed, ‘I’ll handle it’ nonsense.”

You stared at Mikasa’s profile, another photo catching your eye—a throwback from college, Eren and Mikasa at a party, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. They’d been together for years, built businesses together, traveled the world. The history they shared was a weight you couldn’t compete with, a tapestry of memories you’d never be part of. “She’s so pretty,” you murmured, your voice thick with envy. “And they’ve got all this… history. What if he never leaves her?”

Morgan squeezed your shoulder, her touch grounding. “You’re pretty, too. And you’re not just some fling—you’re changing him. He’s never done this with anyone else, right? That means something.”

“Does it?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Or am I just the idiot who fell for a man who’s playing me?”

Ellie set her phone down, her expression softening. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human. And love makes us do dumb shit sometimes. But you need to talk to him, like, for real. Lay it all out—your feelings, your fears, everything. If he’s serious about you, he’ll step up. If not… you’ll know where you stand.”

You nodded, but the thought of confronting Eren, of baring your heart and risking rejection, made your stomach churn. You loved him—God, you loved him—and the realization was a knife, sharp and unforgiving. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and mimosas, your friends doing their best to pull you out of your funk. Ellie put on a playlist, and you danced around the living room, the alcohol loosening your limbs, the music drowning out your thoughts. Morgan braided your hair, her fingers deft and soothing, while Ellie recounted a hilarious story about a coworker’s failed attempt at flirting. For a few hours, you felt light, unburdened, the weight of Eren and Mikasa pushed to the back of your mind.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the apartment in a golden glow, your phone buzzed with a text from Eren: Done with my thing. Meet me at the lounge tonight after your set? No details, no explanation, just the same vague promise of connection that kept you tethered to him.

You stared at the message, your heart a tangled mess of hope and dread. “He wants me to meet him at the lounge tonight,” you said, your voice quiet as you showed the text to Ellie and Morgan.

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “After being all secretive? Hmm. Maybe he’s got news.”

Morgan’s eyes were cautious but kind. “Or maybe he just wants to see you. Either way, you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”

You nodded, slipping your phone into your purse, the decision settling over you like a storm cloud. Tonight, you’d face him. Tonight, you’d demand answers, no matter how much it hurt.

…

The lounge was alive when you arrived, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and perfume, the stage bathed in a soft golden glow. You wore a deep emerald dress, the fabric clinging to your curves, the neckline plunging just enough to catch Eren’s eye. Your performance was electric, your voice weaving through the crowd, each note laced with the raw emotion you’d been carrying all day. You could feel Eren’s gaze from his private booth, his friends around him, their murmurs blending with the music. 

When your set ended, the applause was thunderous, but you barely heard it, your focus on Eren as you made your way to his booth. He stood as you approached, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his tattoos peeking out, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite read. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice low and proud as he pulled you onto his lap, his arm a possessive band around your waist.

You forced a smile, your heart racing as you settled against him, the warmth of his body both comforting and suffocating. Armin offered a polite nod, Jean tossed out a teasing compliment, Connie raised his glass, and Floch’s gaze lingered too long, as always. Levi said nothing, his sharp eyes cutting through you, and you felt the tension hanging in the air, unspoken but deafening.

Eren’s hand slid to your thigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns, but you couldn’t relax, not with the weight of the day pressing down on you. “You okay?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his voice soft enough that only you could hear.

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his. “What were you doing today?” you asked, your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your gut. “You were so vague, and I… I need to know, Eren.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features, but he didn’t look away. “Business,” he said, his tone clipped. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You bristled, your frustration bubbling over. “Don’t do that,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Don’t shut me out. I know it was about Mikasa. Just… tell me the truth.”

The booth went quiet, the others sensing the shift in tension, their eyes flicking between you and Eren. Levi’s gaze was particularly sharp, a silent I told you so that made your stomach churn. Eren sighed, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Not here,” he muttered, standing and pulling you with him. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”

He led you backstage, to the familiar confines of your dressing room, the door clicking shut behind you. The space was small, cluttered with costume racks and mirrors, the air heavy with the scent of your perfume and the ghosts of past encounters. Eren leaned against the vanity, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “What’s this about?”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you faced him, the words you’d been holding back spilling out. “I’m in love with you, Eren,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And it’s killing me that you’re still with Mikasa. You promised in Paris that you’d handle it, that we’d be together for real. But it’s been months, and nothing’s changed. I can’t keep being your secret, your… your sidepiece. I deserve more.”

His eyes widened, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or fear—crossing his face. For a moment, he was silent, and the weight of that silence crushed you. Then he stepped closer, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re not a sidepiece,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything to me. I’m trying, I swear. It’s just… it’s fucking complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you pressed, tears stinging your eyes. “You said it’s about finances, about not hurting her. But I saw her Instagram, Eren. You’re still with her, still commenting on her posts, still kissing her in pictures. How am I supposed to believe you’re choosing me?”

His jaw clenched, his hand dropping to his side. “You went through her Instagram?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost accusatory.

“Yes, I did,” you admitted. “And it hurt, Eren. Seeing you with her, seeing how happy you look. You’ve got years with her, businesses, a life. What do I have? A few trips and some jewelry?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the strands falling loose around his face. “You have me,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “I know I’ve fucked this up, but I’m not playing you. I’m in love with you, too, and that’s why this is so hard. I’m trying to do right by both of you, but it’s a fucking mess.”

You froze, your heart stuttering at his words. “You… you love me?” you whispered, the confession catching you off guard.

He stepped closer, his hands framing your face, his eyes burning with intensity. “Yeah, I love you,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, not even Mikasa. But I can’t just walk away from her without a plan. I’m working on it, I promise. Just… give me a little more time.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the sincerity in his eyes, but the doubt was a heavy weight, pulling you under. “How much time?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Because I’m drowning, Eren. I can’t keep doing this.”

He kissed you then, hard and desperate, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that stole your breath. “I’ll fix it,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. “I’ll make it right. Just don’t give up on me.”

You melted into him, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his touch, his words. You knew you should walk away, knew you deserved better, but love was a chain, and Eren held the key. As he kissed you, his hands roaming your body, you let yourself believe, if only for tonight, that he’d keep his promise.

….

An hour later, the air in your apartment was heavy with the scent of jasmine candles, their flickering light casting soft shadows across the walls. The city of Paradis hummed outside, a distant symphony of car horns and nightlife, but inside, it was just you and Eren, the world reduced to the space between your bodies. 

His confession in the dressing room—I love you—had set your heart ablaze, a giddy euphoria that made your skin tingle and your thoughts scatter like stars. You were on cloud nine, the weight of his words lifting you above the doubts, the guilt, the shadow of Mikasa. For tonight, at least, you let yourself believe him, let yourself drown in the promise of his love.

Eren’s hand was warm in yours as you led him through the apartment, your bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. The emerald dress you’d worn for your performance clung to your curves, the fabric rustling with each step, but you barely noticed, your focus entirely on the man behind you. His presence was a force, his tall frame filling the space, his tattoos peeking out from the open collar of his black shirt, his emerald eyes burning with an intensity that made your pulse race. He’d been quiet since leaving the lounge, his jaw tight, but his touch was gentle, his fingers lacing with yours as if afraid you’d slip away.

You stopped in the living room, turning to face him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. “You meant it, right?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, searching his eyes for any trace of doubt. “What you said… about loving me?”

Eren’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his features. He stepped closer, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Every fucking word,” he said, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion.

Your breath caught, a smile tugging at your lips as warmth flooded your chest. You leaned into his touch, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. “I love you, too,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a confession, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve been so scared to say it, but… I do.”

His eyes darkened, a mix of lust and adoration, and he kissed you, slow and deep, his lips claiming yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. The kiss was different from the frantic, possessive ones you’d shared before—it was deliberate, a promise sealed in the press of his mouth, the sweep of his tongue. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the strands soft and loose from the night’s chaos.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Been thinking about this all night—getting you alone, showing you how much I need you.”

Your heart stuttered, arousal sparking low in your belly as his words washed over you. “Then show me,” you whispered, your voice sultry, daring him to make good on his promise.

He growled, low and primal, and lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the city’s glow filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a soft halo over the bed. He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your hips as he stepped back, his eyes raking over you like you were a work of art.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with reverence. “This dress… fuck, it’s been driving me crazy all night.” His fingers traced the plunging neckline, grazing the swell of your breasts, sending a shiver through you. “But I need to see you, all of you.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as he reached behind you, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress. He pulled it down slowly, the sound of the metal teeth parting loud in the quiet room. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties. His eyes darkened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took you in, his hands hovering over your skin like he was afraid to touch something sacred.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you felt bold under his gaze, powerful. You reached for his shirt, tugging it open, the buttons popping free as you exposed the tattoos curling across his chest and arms. He shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor, and you ran your hands over his skin, tracing the ink, feeling the heat of him beneath your fingers. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, your voice playful despite the heat building inside you.

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, and pulled you onto the bed, laying you down against the soft sheets. His hands were everywhere, worshipping your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. He kissed your collarbone, your throat, the curve of your shoulder, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Gonna take my time with you tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Wanna make you feel every fucking thing I feel for you.”

You moaned softly, your hands fisting the sheets as he unhooked your bra, tossing it aside. His mouth found your breasts, kissing and sucking, his tongue swirling over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. “Eren,” you gasped, your back arching, your body craving more.

He looked up at you, his eyes glinting with lust and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. “Love hearing you say my name like that,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Gonna make you scream it before I’m done.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, his hands hooking into the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down slowly, his eyes locked on yours, the lace sliding over your thighs and off your ankles. You were bare before him, vulnerable and exposed, but the way he looked at you—like you were his everything—made you feel invincible.

He spread your legs, his hands firm but gentle, and settled between them, his breath warm against your inner thighs. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh, teasingly close to where you needed him most. “All this for me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “All for you.”

He groaned, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed his mouth to your core, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit. You moaned loudly, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands as he devoured you. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently, his tongue flicking in a rhythm that made your toes curl. “Taste so fucking good,” he growled, his voice muffled against you, his moans sending vibrations straight to your core.

“Eren, oh God,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was giving you. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushed your legs back, folding you into a mating press. The position left you open, exposed, and he took full advantage, his tongue plunging into you, then returning to your clit, his movements relentless.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening with your arousal. “So fucking gorgeous, all spread out for me.” He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you cried out, your walls clenching around him. His moans vibrated against your clit, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge.

“Eren, please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, your body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure. “I’m so close—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue flicking your clit with ruthless precision. “Wanna feel you let go, wanna taste it.”

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, a flood of pleasure that burst through you, your body shaking as you screamed his name. You squirted, the release soaking his face, and he drank it up, his tongue lapping at you greedily, his eyes dark with lust. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling, your body buzzing with aftershocks, when he pulled back, his face glistening, his eyes wild with need. “You look so fucking good like this,” he said, his voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shaking for me, all fucked out. Makes my cock hurt just looking at you.”

You reached for him, your hands shaky but desperate, pulling him closer. “I need you, Eren,” you whispered, your voice raw. “Need you inside me.”

He groaned, standing to strip off the rest of his clothes, his movements quick and urgent. His shirt was already gone, and he shoved his pants and boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking, the tip glistening with precum. He was thick, intimidating, and the sight of him made your core clench, a mix of anticipation and the familiar ache of his size.

He climbed back onto the bed, pushing your legs back again, his hands firm on your thighs as he rubbed his cock against your slit. “Fuck,” he moaned, his voice thick with need, the head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding through your folds. “Feel that? All for you, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hips rocking against him, craving the stretch, the fullness. “Please, Eren, don’t tease me.”

He chuckled, low and dark, but there was no cruelty in it, only adoration. “Not teasing,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Just savoring you.” He pushed in slowly, the stretch painful but exquisite, your walls gripping him like a vice. You both moaned, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out, his cock filling you completely.

“God,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “You’re so tight, so fucking perfect. Nothing feels like this—nothing comes close.”

You whimpered, the fullness overwhelming, the pain melting into pleasure as your body adjusted to him. “Eren,” you breathed, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. “Move, please.”

He started thrusting, slow and deep, each stroke deliberate, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made you see stars. This wasn’t the frantic, rough fucking you’d had before—this was pure love-making, his movements worshipful, his eyes never leaving yours. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Like you were made for me.”

You moaned, your hands sliding to his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moved. “I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out, raw and unguarded. “I love you so much.”

His eyes softened, a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss, slow and deep, his tongue tangling with yours. “Love you, too,” he murmured against your lips, his thrusts never faltering, each one hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your toes curl. “You’re mine, always.”

The intimacy of it, the way he looked at you, the way he moved—it was overwhelming, your heart and body entwined in a dance you never wanted to end. You could feel another orgasm building, your walls clenching around him, the pleasure coiling tight in your core. “Eren,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “I’m gonna come again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his voice rough with encouragement, his thrusts speeding up just slightly, still deep, still precise. “Come for me, my good fucking girl. Love you so much—let me feel it.”

His words, his love, pushed you over the edge, your second orgasm washing over you in a warm, shuddering wave. You cried out, your walls clamping around him, your body trembling as pleasure consumed you. Eren groaned, his thrusts faltering, and he came moments later, his cock pulsing deep inside you, his warmth flooding your core.

“Fuck,” he panted, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That was so fucking good.”

You stayed like that, tangled and breathless, his weight a comforting anchor as you both came down from the high. The sex had been different—passionate, raw, a connection that went beyond the physical. It was the best you’d ever had, a moment where you felt truly his, where Mikasa’s shadow didn’t exist.

He rolled onto his side, pulling you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. “You okay?” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, his voice soft with concern.

You nodded, your cheek pressed against his skin, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. “More than okay,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “That was… incredible.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Yeah, it was,” he said, his hand stroking your back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns. “Never felt anything like that before. You’re something else.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light. “You meant it, right?” you asked again, your voice small, the vulnerability creeping back. “About loving me? About… fixing things?”

His expression grew serious, his hand stilling on your back. “I meant every word,” he said, his voice firm. “I know I’ve fucked up, keeping you waiting, but I’m gonna make it right. I love you, and I’m not letting you go.”

You nodded, wanting to believe him, needing to believe him. The doubts were still there, lurking in the corners of your mind, but for now, you pushed them aside, letting yourself bask in the glow of his love, in the memory of his body worshipping yours.

“Stay with me tonight,” you said, your voice soft, almost pleading. “Don’t go.”

He kissed you, slow and tender, his lips a promise against yours. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his warmth enveloping you. 

As you drifted to sleep in his arms, the city’s hum fading into the background, you let yourself hope that this time, he’d keep his word. That this time, love would be enough.

…

The next morning, light filtered through the blinds of your apartment, casting soft stripes across the hardwood floor. You stirred in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the memory of last night’s passion lingering like a warm ember in your chest. Eren’s confession—I love you—echoed in your mind, a melody that made your heart flutter despite the doubts that still gnawed at the edges of your happiness. 

You opened your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you saw him through the bedroom doorway, standing in the kitchen. Eren was shirtless, his tattoos a stark contrast against his tanned skin, his pants slung low on his hips. The morning sun glinted off the ink curling across his back, and the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. He was cooking, his movements easy and confident, a spatula in one hand as he flipped pancakes on the griddle. The sight was so domestic, so normal, that it made your heart ache with a longing for a life where this could be your everyday.

You slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded into the kitchen. “Morning,” you said, your voice soft, still husky from sleep.

Eren turned, his green eyes lighting up as he saw you. “Morning, beautiful,” he said, his voice warm and rough, a smile curling his lips. “Hope you’re hungry. I’m not a chef, but I can handle pancakes and bacon.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter, your heart swelling at the sight of him here, in your space, making breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You stayed,” you said, the words slipping out, a mix of surprise and gratitude.

He set the spatula down, stepping closer, his hand cupping your face. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Meant it.”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, savoring the warmth of his palm, the sincerity in his voice. But then his phone buzzed on the counter, a sharp vibration that shattered the moment. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening, and flipped it face-down without checking the screen. The gesture was quick, almost reflexive, but it sent a familiar red flag waving in your mind.

Your smile faltered, your intuition prickling. “Who’s that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, but the edge was there, sharp and unavoidable.

Eren’s eyes met yours, and he shook his head, his expression softening. “Not Mikasa,” he said quickly, as if reading your thoughts. “Just work shit. Logistics for tonight. The lounge is closed for a private meeting—big investors, important deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You nodded, wanting to believe him, but the unease lingered, a quiet hum in the back of your mind. “The lounge is closed?” you asked, surprised. In all the time you’d worked there, you’d never known it to shut down completely, not even for major events.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to the griddle, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. “Need privacy for this one. No performances tonight, so you should take the night off. Go out with the girls. You were talking about that new restaurant across town. Sounds like a good spot for a girls’ night.”

You remembered mentioning the restaurant to him, a trendy place with rooftop dining and a killer cocktail menu, but it was on the far side of Paradis, a good distance from the lounge. The suggestion felt thoughtful, sweet even, but a small part of you wondered if he was trying to keep you away from whatever was happening tonight. You pushed the thought down, forcing a smile. “Yeah, that could be fun,” you said, your voice brighter than you felt. “I’ll text them.”

His phone buzzed again, and then again, a rapid succession of notifications that made his shoulders tense. He ignored it, plating the pancakes and bacon, but when it started ringing, he cursed under his breath. “Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the phone and glancing at the screen. “I gotta take this.”

He pulled his shirt from the back of a chair, slipping it on as he grabbed his shoes. “I’ll be back tonight, okay?” he said, his voice rushed as he leaned down to kiss you, his lips firm and warm against yours. “Probably late, but I’ll be here.”

You caught his wrist, your eyes searching his. “You promise?” you asked, hating the vulnerability in your voice, the need for reassurance.

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your stomach twist. “Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now, his hand brushing your hair back. “I promise.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you alone with the breakfast he’d made and the nagging suspicion that something wasn’t right. You pulled out your phone, texting Morgan and Ellie in your group chat: You guys free tonight? Wanna hit that new restaurant across town? Their replies came quickly, enthusiastic Yessss! and I’m in!, and you arranged to get ready at your place before heading out. But as you set the phone down, your intuition whispered that Eren’s secrecy, his rush to leave, was more than just work.

…

That evening, you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of your little black dress. It was sexy yet classy, long-sleeved but backless, the fabric hugging your curves like a second skin. Your hair was swept into a high bun, a single tendril curling against your cheek, and your makeup was understated but elegant—smokey eyes, a nude lip, a touch of highlighter that caught the light. Your heels were strappy and high, elongating your legs, and you felt powerful, confident, even if your heart was a tangled mess of hope and doubt.

Morgan and Ellie were in your living room, their laughter filling the space as they sipped wine and finished getting ready. Morgan was in a red slip dress, her curls bouncing as she danced to the music playing from your speaker, while Ellie wore a sleek white jumpsuit, her blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. They’d arrived an hour ago, turning your apartment into a whirlwind of makeup, music, and girl talk, and you’d filled them in on last night—Eren’s confession, the mind-blowing sex, the way he’d made you feel like the center of his universe.

But you’d also told them about this morning, about the notifications, the flipped phone, the vague excuses. Morgan had been supportive, as always, her eyes soft as she insisted Eren was probably just stressed about work. “He loves you,” she’d said, squeezing your hand. “He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.” But Ellie was skeptical, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head. “He’s lying,” she’d said bluntly. “You don’t get that shifty over ‘logistics.’ He’s hiding something, and you know it.”

You wanted to argue, to cling to the hope that Eren was telling the truth, but the doubt was a heavy weight, pulling you under. Now, as you grabbed your clutch, Ellie spoke up from the couch. “Hey, can I borrow that Chanel purse you got last month? The one Eren gave you? It’d go perfect with this outfit.”

You froze, your heart sinking as you realized the purse wasn’t here. “Shit,” you muttered, scanning the room. “I think I left it at the lounge. It’s probably in my dressing room.”

Ellie waved a hand, unbothered. “No biggie. I’ll find something else.”

But an idea sparked, a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “Wait,” you said, your voice firm. “We can stop by the lounge on the way. It’s on the route to the restaurant anyway. I’ll run in through the back, grab the purse, and be out in two minutes.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, setting her wine glass down. “You sure? It’s a bit out of the way.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, your heart racing. “And… it’ll let me check if Eren’s really having that meeting he talked about.” If he was lying—if something else was going on, you needed to know.

Ellie’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Smart,” she said, standing and grabbing her phone. “If he’s having a meeting, no harm done. You grab the purse, we go. But if he’s not…” She trailed off, her expression darkening. “Well, you’ll have your answer.”

Morgan sighed, but she nodded, her loyalty to you outweighing her reservations. “Okay, but let’s make it quick. I’m starving.”

…

The Uber ride was tense, the city lights blurring past as you sat in the backseat, your hands twisting in your lap. Morgan tried to keep the mood light, chatting about the restaurant’s menu, but your mind was elsewhere, your intuition screaming that something was wrong. Ellie was quiet, her eyes fixed on her phone, but she reached over to squeeze your hand, a silent show of support. The closer you got to the lounge, the tighter the knot in your stomach grew.

When the Uber pulled up to the back entrance, you noticed fewer cars than usual, but still a decent number—enough to suggest a private event. The lounge’s neon sign was dark, the front shuttered, which aligned with Eren’s claim of a closed meeting. You exhaled, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Pull around back,” you told the driver, your voice steady despite the nerves. “I’ll be quick.”

As you stepped out, the cool night air hit your bare back, sending a shiver down your spine. To your surprise, Morgan and Ellie climbed out after you, their heels clicking against the pavement. “What are you doing?” you asked, frowning.

“It’s dark,” Morgan said, her tone firm. “We’re not letting you go in alone.”

“Plus, it’ll be quick,” Ellie added, her eyes sharp with determination. “We’ve got your back.”

You nodded, grateful for their presence, and used your key to unlock the back door. The hallway was quiet, the usual hum of the lounge replaced by an eerie stillness. Your heels echoed as you led the way to your dressing room, your heart pounding with every step. Inside, you spotted the Chanel purse on a chair, its gold chain glinting under the dim light. You grabbed it, handing it to Ellie with a small smile. “Here you go.”

She took it, slinging it over her shoulder, but her expression was cautious. “Seems quiet,” she said, her voice low. “Maybe he’s really having that meeting.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. “Yeah, maybe—”

But then a voice cut through the silence, amplified by a microphone, booming from the main room. “Let’s give it up for the future Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger!”

The words hit like a sledgehammer, your world tilting as your breath caught in your throat. No. No way. Your heart dropped, a sickening lurch that made your vision swim. Morgan’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth, while Ellie’s jaw clenched, her face a mask of fury. They’d heard it too.

“What the fuck?” Ellie hissed, her voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t think, didn’t pause—your feet were moving, carrying you toward the main room, your heels clicking frantically against the floor. Morgan and Ellie followed, their presence a steady anchor as your mind spiraled. You burst through the doorway, and the sight before you was a knife to the heart.

Eren and Mikasa stood on a small stage, locked in a passionate kiss, their smiles radiant as a crowd of friends and family cheered. Mikasa’s black bob gleamed under the spotlight, her dress hugging her frame, and on her left hand, a massive diamond engagement ring sparkled, catching the light like a cruel taunt. Eren’s arm was around her, his suit tailored to perfection, his hair tied back, his face alight with a joy you’d never seen him show with you.

The room spun, your knees buckling as nausea surged. You swayed, but Morgan and Ellie caught you, their hands steadying you as tears burned your eyes. “Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your makeup smudging as the tears spilled over. “He… he proposed to her.”

Ellie’s face was thunderous, her green eyes blazing as she glared at Eren. “Is he fucking serious right now?” she shouted, her voice cutting through the cheers, drawing every eye in the room.

The crowd turned, murmurs rippling through the guests as they noticed you. Eren’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours, and the panic that flashed across his face was unmistakable. His jaw dropped, his skin paling as he realized you were here, witnessing the truth he’d hidden. Mikasa pulled back, her brow furrowing in confusion as she followed his gaze, her eyes landing on you, then Ellie, then Morgan.

“What’s going on?” Mikasa asked, her voice sharp, her hand still resting on Eren’s arm. “Eren, why is she here? I thought you gave the staff the night off for our—” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she took in your tear-streaked face, your trembling form. “Why does she look like that?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat tight with grief, with betrayal. The weight of it crushed you, the realization that yesterday, the reason why he was nusy was because he was proposing to Mikasa. Then he came to you, fucked you, told you he loved you, promised to leave her. It was all a lie, a cruel, calculated lie.

Ellie stepped forward, her voice shaking with rage. “You’re a fucking piece of shit,” she spat, her words echoing in the stunned silence. “You told her you loved her last night, fucked her, and now you’re here, engaged to her?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, the guests whispering, their eyes darting between you, Eren, and Mikasa. You heard Connie mutter, “Oh shit,” to Jean, who was taking shot. Armin’s face was grim, his blue eyes filled with disappointment, while Floch smirked, as if he’d expected this chaos. Levi shook his head, his expression one of weary disgust, his earlier words—whore—ringing in your ears now.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, her hand dropping from Eren’s arm as she turned to him, her voice trembling. “Eren, what is she talking about? Is this true?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on you, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths—panic, guilt, anger. The silence was damning, and you found your voice, raw and broken. “How could you?” you whispered, the words tearing from your throat.

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, the pieces falling into place for everyone, including Mikasa. Her eyes watered, her lips parting as she stared at Eren, betrayal etching lines into her beautiful face. “Eren,” she said, her voice cracking. “Say something. Tell me she’s lying.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore, the pain erupting like a volcano. “He’s not gonna say shit because it’s true!” you shouted, your voice shaking with fury, with heartbreak. “He’s been fucking me for months! Since my first day at the lounge, he fucked me in my dressing room. Every night, he’s been with me, taking me on trips—to Paris, the Maldives, Milan, Japan—buying me gifts, paying my bills, telling me he’d leave you. Last night, he told me he loved me, had sex with me, and now he’s here, engaged to you!”

The room exploded into chaos, gasps and whispers filling the air as Mikasa’s tears spilled over, her hands trembling. She turned to Eren, her voice rising, sharp and devastated. “Is it true?” she screamed, shoving him, her ring glinting as she pointed at you. “Have you been sleeping with her? Lying to me all this time?”

Eren’s face was a mask of torment, his hands raised as if to calm her, but his silence was an answer in itself. “Mikasa, I—” he started, his voice hoarse, but she cut him off, her voice a raw wound.

“Don’t you dare lie to me now!” she shouted, her tears streaming down her face. “You proposed to me yesterday, Eren. You said you wanted forever. And then you went to her? You told her you loved her?”

You were sobbing now, your makeup a mess, your heart shattering with every word. Morgan’s arm was around you, her voice soft as she whispered, “We need to go,” but you couldn’t move, couldn’t tear your eyes from Eren, from the man who’d broken you.

Ellie wasn’t done, her voice cutting through the chaos. “You’re a fucking coward, Eren,” she spat, stepping closer, her finger jabbing at him. “You played them both, and for what? To keep your cake and eat it too? You’re disgusting.”

Eren finally spoke, his voice low, strained, his eyes flicking between you and Mikasa. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, the words sounding hollow, inadequate. “I… I fucked up. I love you both, in different ways, and I thought I could—”

“You love us both?” Mikasa interrupted, her voice incredulous, her hands shaking. “You don’t get to say that, Eren. You don’t get to stand here, engaged to me, and say you love her too. You’re a liar.”

You laughed, a bitter, broken sound that made everyone flinch. “A liar,” you echoed, wiping your tears, your voice trembling but strong. “You told me I was your world, Eren. Promised me a future. And all along, you were planning this?” You gestured to the stage, to the ring on Mikasa’s finger, your voice rising. “You proposed to her and then came to me like it was nothing?”

The crowd was silent now, the weight of your words settling over them like a storm cloud. Eren’s friends looked away, their faces a mix of shame and discomfort, while Mikasa’s family whispered among themselves, their eyes filled with pity and anger. 

Eren’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Mikasa turned to him, ripping the ring off her finger and throwing it at him. It bounced off his chest, clattering to the floor, and the sound was deafening in the stunned silence. “We’re done,” she said, her voice cold, final. “Don’t ever come near me again.”

She stormed off the stage, her family following, their voices a low hum of support as they left the lounge. The crowd began to disperse, their whispers a cacophony of judgment, leaving you, Eren, and his friends in the wreckage of his lies.

You turned to go, Morgan and Ellie flanking you, their hands steadying you as you swayed, your heart a shattered mess. But Eren’s voice stopped you, raw and desperate. “Wait,” he said, stepping toward you, his hand outstretched. “Please, let me explain—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, whirling to face him, your tears falling freely now. “You don’t get to explain. You lied to me, to her, to everyone. You’re not the man I thought you were.”

His face crumpled, a flicker of the boyish vulnerability you’d seen last night, but it wasn’t enough. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I fucked up, but I love you. I didn’t know how to—”

“Stop,” you said, your voice firm, your heart hardening against him. “You don’t love me. You love yourself, Eren. You love owning me, you love the thrill, the control. But you don’t love me, or you wouldn’t have done this.”

You turned, walking away, Morgan and Ellie at your side, their presence a lifeline as you left the lounge, the cheers of the engagement party replaced by the hollow echo of your footsteps. Eren didn’t follow, and as you stepped into the cool night air, the Uber waiting to take you away, you let the tears fall, knowing you’d never be his songbird again.

~

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Tags: faerie-soirxx

[inkluvs]

babes idk what i’m going through but it’s not a slay and your little finnick blurb thingys bring me so much joyyy 😭😭😭 i don’t even know what im requesting but just more finnick thoughts

stop it ily tysm <3 here r some hcs / thoughts andd if something doesn’t make sense for the universe just assume its modern! skfjsjf

>> finnick runs warm and during the summer he sleeps without a shirt on so he’s basically like ur own heater <3 a plus is that if ur cold especially during the colder months he’d hold u flush against human at some point during the night he’d end up half on top of u <3

>> he also defo needs white noise or something to fall asleep because he’s so used to having the waves crashing onto the shore in the background? maybe just a fan or something just for the noise <3 but i think when the fan doesn’t work or just when both of u r too tired to turn it on, u breathing has the same affect as white noise for him <3

>> this is oddly out of place but like. a vision of watching the sunrise with him is coming to me right now <3 maybe he woke up from a nightmare or maybe he just intended to go out fishing n he ended up sitting on the steps of ur porch overlooking the beach a little too long. so u join him. half asleep and searching for his body heat with a blanket splayed over your shoulders and you lay on him, watching the sky burst with red and orange and shift until only the sun is reflecting off of the waves <3

>> i will never ever ever get over finnick and his knit sweater imagine him and his closet full of knit sweaters that only really make an appearance during the colder months but he just looks so soft in them u can’t help but want to squeeze him <3

>> i don’t think finnick is a coffee guy in the sense that he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel? he’s definitely more of a tea person n he’d make u a mug whenever he wants one n he’d put a little honey in yours to make it sweet <3 he’d defo make u coffee if u wanted some though

>> he’d get u a little sweet treat or present every time he stops by the market <3 a bag of candy or some banana bread or a danish or some earrings really whatever reminds him of u in the moment <3 i think it’d get to a point where even the storekeepers would know it’s for u like “this is for that partner of yours yeah? i have this pastry that i saved for them”

ok that’s it thank u for this babe i hope this is ok <3 ps i’m writing this right before i go to bed so none of it is proof read sorry LMAO <3

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 3 - Salt Remembers The Sea Summary: You and Arthur share an intimate moment as you connect on a deeper level, he allows you to explore him with curiosity and reverence. Arthur, slowly beginning to open up, reveals fragments of his painful past, shedding light on the trauma he's endured. wc: 6.5k tw: detailed monster anatomy, exploring body parts, slight nsfw, 18+ Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This is the chapter where things really start to get a little strange. You thought it was weird before? Just you wait. Its about to get very....wet. This is your warning :)

My sleep was about as good as it could get, considering my bed was nothing more than cold, unforgiving tile. My body ached, stiff from the awkward position I had curled into, but I had grown used to nights like this—odd hours, odder sleeping arrangements. Late-night emergency rescues often left me dozing off in Charles' office chair or curled up on the lumpy couch in the breakroom, a crumpled jacket serving as a makeshift pillow. None of it was comfortable, but exhaustion had a way of making anything tolerable.

Still, sleep hadn't been kind to me. My dreams were fragmented, restless. I was back on that beach, watching Arthur bleed out in the sand, his dark hair matted with salt and blood, his body broken beneath the weight of the cruelty inflicted upon him. Then, suddenly, the scene shifted—I was in the water, a sharp, searing pain lancing through my side. Panic constricted my chest as I tried to swim, but something unseen wrapped around my limbs, pulling me down, dragging me backward toward something vast and inescapable. I was running—no, swimming—but the ocean had turned against me, trapping me in its endless depths. A crushing sense of isolation settled in my chest, raw and suffocating. I wasn't just afraid. I was alone.

I jolted awake, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps. A dull ache settled in my spine as I stretched, my limbs protesting the movement. The fog of sleep still clung to my mind, blurring the edges of reality, but the cool morning air against my sweat damp skin grounded me. Sunlight streamed through the open skylights above, casting golden beams onto the tiled floor and into the gentle water of the pool. Reflecting off its surface like molten crystals. The soft cry of gulls outside mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves against the rocky shore. The steady hum of pumps and filtration systems filled the space, a familiar and constant background noise of the facility.

And then, through the haze of morning light, I saw him.

A pair of deep blue irises, locked onto mine. Watching. Waiting.

Arthur.

The weight of the night before came rushing back to me in an instant, the exhaustion, the surgery, the quiet unspoken bond that had settled between us. My heart tightened at the sight of him, submerged in the water, his body still but aware. He hadn't taken his eyes off me. And in that moment, I was reminded exactly why I was here.

Sitting up, I twisted my spine, relishing the satisfying pop of my joints as a deep groan escaped my throat. My muscles were stiff, my body sluggish from a night spent on cold tile, but none of that mattered now. As I shifted forward onto my stomach, tucking an arm beneath my chin, my gaze locked onto the creature watching me just as intently.

Arthur's presence was quiet but heavy, the weight of his stare pressing against my skin like the ocean depths. Only his eyes remained above the waterline, gleaming pools of deep blue, unreadable and vast. The rest of him lay submerged in the shallow pool, his massive form hidden beneath the rippling surface. I had the distinct feeling he was mirroring me—lying on his stomach as I was, observing with the same patient curiosity I felt toward him.

For a while, neither of us moved, allowing the early morning stillness to stretch between us. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and antiseptic, the distant cry of seagulls filtering through the facility's high windows. The quiet hum of filtration pumps was the only reminder that we were not somewhere out at sea, but here—together, in this strange, shared limbo between two worlds.

Tentatively, I reached out, letting my fingertips trail through the water, tracing aimless patterns across the surface. The warmth surprised me, smooth and welcoming against my skin. It felt like the ocean at sunrise, still and peaceful before the day stirred it to life.

"Good morning, Arthur," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

I wasn't expecting an answer, but the words felt natural, as though speaking to him was no different than speaking to any other patient under my care. And yet, this was different. He was different. I extended my palm toward him, driven by some unspoken need—to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my own, to reassure myself that he was real. That this was real.

To my surprise, he moved closer.

I kept my hand still, letting him decide. My lips twitched into a small smile, reminded of how we taught children at the touch tanks—hold your hands still, let the creatures come to you, let them explore you on their terms. Arthur was doing the same.

His gills flared as he inched forward, hesitation battling curiosity. I watched the way his body tensed, his movements cautious yet deliberate. He reminded me of a skittish sea pup, torn between instinct and intrigue.

His face came within an inch of my palm before he suddenly grimaced. His pupils contracted, his gaze darting between me and my outstretched hand. A subtle shift, a flicker of alarm or confusion.

Then it clicked.

Ah. The sweatshirt.

I had forgotten I was still wearing Charles' hoodie, the heavy fabric still clinging to me from the night before. To Arthur, I must have smelled foreign—like another male, unfamiliar and wrong. Dangerous even. Nothing like the woman who had held him the night before. I mentally noted that he was incredibly scent driven, like a shark or an octopus.

Without hesitation, I peeled it off, letting the cool morning air prickle against my sweat-damp skin. Clad only in my sports bra, I settled back onto my stomach, dipping my arm into the water once more.

"That's better, huh?" I mused softly.

Arthur's eyes flickered down the length of my arm, tracing over my bare skin before settling back on my face. I smiled. I could feel him studying me, the same way I had studied him last night. And I let him. I wanted him to.

I wondered, Did his species have a way of communicating outside of words? Did they swim in pods, share gestures, brush against each other like this? Or was he always alone?

Before I could dwell on the thought, Arthur reached for my wrist.

I tensed, not out of fear, but out of sheer surprise. His webbed fingers moved with delicate precision, his claws barely grazing my skin as he began unraveling the damp, bloodied gauze wrapped around my wrist.

I swallowed a wince as the fabric peeled away, the dried blood pulling at the torn skin beneath.

"Guess I should have Charles take a look at that today," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "Probably needs stitches."

Arthur didn't react to my words—only to the wound itself. His pupils contracted slightly, his nostrils flaring. Smelling my blood. Committing my scent to memory.

Somewhere deep in my chest, I knew I should have been afraid. Blood was a trigger for predators, a primal lure that awakened the basest instincts of the hunt. I had seen it countless times in the wild—how a single drop in the water could send sharks into a frenzy, how wounded seals would attract the silent approach of something lurking just beneath the surface. Even the most docile creatures could turn savage at the scent of it, driven by an ancient, unspoken law of survival.

But Arthur didn't move like a predator.

There was no sudden tension in his body, no sharp intake of breath like he was fighting the urge to lunge. No flicker of hunger in those deep blue eyes. His grip remained careful, deliberate—his webbed fingers barely grazing my wrist as if he were handling something delicate. As if he didn't want to break me.

It was a contradiction, this creature with the power to rip me apart, yet holding me like I was something worth protecting. He was watching me, not like prey, but like something fragile. Something he didn't want to break.

And yet, as I watched him open his mouth, as I gazed upon the pearly white rows of razor-sharp teeth that were almost human, I couldn't pull away.

There was no fear, no instinct screaming at me to recoil. Only a strange, electric stillness settling over my body, a deep-rooted certainty in my chest that he would not hurt me.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what he did next.

A long, dark blue tongue unfurled from his mouth, ribbed along the sides and top, an evolutionary marvel designed to grip and manipulate prey—but as it slipped past his lips, I realized it was something far more intricate. The ridges along the surface flexed with a sensual fluidity, the textured muscle curling and undulating as if tasting the very air between us. It was long, sinuous, almost serpentine in the way it moved, tapering to a fine point that flicked out experimentally before retracting.

There was nothing predatory in the way it reached for me, yet I couldn't ignore the way it twitched and pulsed, slick with warmth, glistening under the morning lights as it hovered tantalizingly close to my skin. It was slow, deliberate, exploratory—intimate in a way I didn't yet understand.

And then, he licked me.

Warm. Slick. Wet. The hard muscle dragged over my wrist, gliding over my open wound with an almost reverent touch. I sucked in a breath, heart hammering against my ribs as I watched, entranced. His breath fanned hot over my skin, and after that first taste, his lips parted further, his mouth closing around my wrist.

I should have been terrified.

Instead, I shivered.

Viscous saliva pooled over my cuts, coating them in a thick sheen, and his tongue worked methodically, spreading it deeper into my skin. The sensation was... indescribable. A pulse of heat shot through me, curling at the base of my spine. My body reacted—not with fear, but with something darker, something instinctual.

The act was so tender, so gentle, it completely betrayed his monstrous form. Arthur was the one in pain, the one suffering, and yet he was the one tending to me. Cleaning me. Marking me.

A soft noise slipped past my lips, and an ache settled low in my stomach. When he finally pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected us, catching the light like a thread of liquid silver. And then—gods help me—he kissed it. A chaste press of his lips to my wrist, as if sealing his work, as if telling me you're mine to heal.

I exhaled, trembling. His pupils were blown wide, the black nearly swallowing the blue, his expression unreadable. But I could feel it—the weight of his gaze, the intensity in the way his fingers twitched toward me. The moment stretched, charged, thick with something I didn't dare name.

It wasn't until I caught the faint, flickering glow beneath his skin that I finally pulled my gaze away. His veins were lighting up again, faint but unmistakable, bioluminescence dancing beneath his flesh like phosphorescence in the deep.

I barely had time to wonder what it meant before I looked down at my wrist—

And choked on my breath.

The wounds were gone.

There was no trace of blood, no broken skin, no sign that I had ever been wounded at all. In its place, four iridescent scars shimmered beneath the dim lighting, their color shifting like polished opal, contrasting against the natural hue of my skin. They looked just like his own—etched proof of pain, survival, and something far stranger.

Had he... had he healed me with his saliva?

I stared, my breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. My fingers trembled as I brushed them over the fresh scars, the skin smooth and cool to the touch, as if it had been untouched by injury. The realization sent a shiver down my spine, my stomach twisting with something I couldn't comprehend.

"A-Arthur wha—"

"I'm real sorry for hurtin' ya."

The deep, gravelly timbre of his voice sent a jolt of shock through my body, rooting me in place. My gaze snapped up to him, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I hadn't heard him say more than three words in the past twelve hours, and now he was apologizing to me?

"H-holy fuck, you can talk?!" My voice came out breathless, stunned.

Arthur only nodded, his gills flaring slightly. His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he held my gaze—steady, cautious, yet unguarded—made my chest tighten. Had I been too forward? Had I ruined my only chance to hear him speak again?

I exhaled slowly, trying to gather myself, to settle the erratic thrum of my heart. "Sorry, that was rude of me," I admitted, lowering my voice. "I just—I didn't think you could speak more than a few words. How do you know English so well?"

I waited, desperate to hear his voice again, to break the fragile silence hanging between us.

"Been 'round people long enough." He spoke slower this time, deliberate, like he wasn't used to stringing so many words together at once. "Picked up on it eventually."

Holy shit, he has an accent.

That drawl—low, thick, undeniably Southern—rolled through me like a gentle tide, and I felt its weight settle deep in my bones. It was rough around the edges, worn down with time, and yet, there was something almost soothing about the way the words left his lips. But the mention of people sent a ripple of unease through me.

Had he been around them by choice? Or had they kept him?

I had so many questions, but I forced myself to rein them in. Pushing too hard could make him shut down, and I wasn't willing to risk that.

"I see," I said gently. "Must have been really hard for you to talk last night, with all the pain you were in."

Arthur gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. His slitted pupils flicked down toward my wrist, the scars still catching the dim light, before shifting back to my face.

I took him in, really looked at him. He seemed healthier now, stronger. His color had returned, the luminous sheen of his skin no longer dull and lifeless. For the first time, I realized just how much I wanted him to heal.

"You're looking much better," I admitted, offering a small smile. "The color's come back to your skin... maybe soon we can let you go home."

The words felt like a betrayal the second they left my lips. I didn't want him to leave. And I knew how selfish that was.

Arthur's expression shifted, his jaw tightening just slightly. "Don't have a home."

His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words crushed the air from my lungs.

I swallowed hard. "What about a family? Could they be looking for you?"

His pupils narrowed slightly—whether from fear, memory, or something else, I wasn't sure. But then, with a slow shake of his head, he answered me in silence.

That hurt more than I was prepared for.

I bit my lip, fighting against the ache settling in my chest. I had a feeling pressing him further would only make things worse, I didn't want him to shut down or feel overwhelmed. So instead, I softened my tone. "Would it be alright if I checked on your wound?"

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Now that he was awake, fully aware, maybe the fragile trust I had built last night would vanish. Maybe he wouldn't let me get close to him like that again. And yet, the ghost of his touch lingered—his tongue, warm and slick, lapping at my skin, the slow press of his lips leaving a phantom heat that refused to fade. Even now, my wrist tingled where he had kissed it, the memory of it searing deeper than it should have.

But then, those soft lips parted, his voice rolling over me like a slow-moving tide.

"Sure."

It was a lazy, drawn-out syllable—more like shoar—and something about the way he hollowed his mouth around the word made heat creep up my spine.

I smiled, trying to shake the feeling, and stood up, stretching until my muscles loosened with a satisfying sigh. "I'll go change into my wetsuit."

Arthur watched me, those deep blue eyes tracking my every movement. There was something unreadable in his gaze—something that made my pulse quicken just a little too fast. I turned on my heel before I could overthink it, heading toward the locker room, my mind still reeling from the way his voice curled around a single word.

⋅─⊱༺ 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༻⊰─⋅

Arthur sat on the lip of the pool, his tail partially submerged, the sun catching on the water's surface and throwing shimmering reflections onto the walls. The early morning light illuminated his body in a way the dim fluorescents of the facility never could. His scales, now clean and glistening, shimmered with a brilliance that nearly stole my breath. Blues and purples interwoven like the Milky Way on a clear midsummer night, scattered across the vast ocean of his skin. He was beautiful. Otherworldly. Ethereal.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. The facility would be opening soon. Hosea would arrive to check in, expecting an explanation for the frantic call from last night. And when that happened, everything would change. No more quiet moments, no more stillness between just the two of us. The world would come crashing in, demanding answers, demanding that Arthur be studied, tested, examined.

Selfishly, I already mourned the loss of our solitude.

I shook the thought away. That wasn't my concern right now. My focus was on him, on making sure he was healing properly. Whatever came next—I'd deal with it then.

From my position beside him, I traced my gaze down the long expanse of his body. I couldn't help but admire the way his tail gleamed as if the constellations themselves had been pressed into his flesh. As if sensing my fascination, he suddenly flicked his tail, sending a playful spray of water in my direction. Droplets pitter-pattered against my skin, cool against the morning warmth.

I gasped, swiping a hand over my face, then looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Oh, real mature—"

But then my breath caught.

Was that...a grin tugging at his lips? Or just a trick of the light?

The idea of Arthur—cautious, guarded, pained Arthur—smiling at me made something flip in my stomach.

"You're quite a sight, Arthur," I said before I could stop myself, voice softer than I intended. "You put all the pearls in the ocean to shame."

For a fleeting moment, the iridescent glow beneath his skin flickered again. I was sure that it meant something. But before I could ask, he scoffed, brushing off the compliment like it was second nature.

"Oh, darlin', you ain't seen too many pearls then. I'm 'bout as pretty as the underside of a sunfish."

I lifted a brow, my lips twitching into a smirk. He winked. Not a trick of the light. A full-on, deliberate wink.

Was he...flirting with me?

A flutter of nerves ran through me, heat curling in my stomach. The tone of endearment, the teasing lilt in his voice—it sent warmth creeping up my spine, made my chest feel lighter. I had no idea what this was between us, but I knew I liked it.

I grinned, tilting my head, tracing idle patterns in the water with my fingers. "Oh, so now you're an expert on beauty, huh?" I teased, letting my gaze drift over him in exaggerated scrutiny. "Because I hate to break it to you, honey, but I've seen plenty of sunfish—and none of them have eyes that glow like starlight."

His gills fluttered, his bioluminescent veins pulsing faintly again, and I knew now it was a response to something. A reaction.

Shaking his head, he huffed. "They also don't got teeth like mine," he drawled, flashing me a sharp grin, "or a tongue that can make a grown man cry."

Heat flared up my neck at that remark, and I barely smothered a choked laugh. "Oh yeah?" I shot back, arching a brow. "And exactly how many grown men have you made cry, Arthur?"

His pupils widened slightly, something playful, something darkly amused lurking in those deep blue depths. "Wouldn't you like to know, pretty girl," he murmured, voice dipping into something rich and slow, something that sent a shiver rolling down my spine.

I sucked in a breath.

Pretty girl?

The most beautiful creature I'd ever seen was sitting right next to me, calling me pretty? The one with glowing veins, eyes like the ocean at midnight, and a tail that shimmered like the galaxies above thought I was beautiful?

My stomach flipped.

I swallowed hard, feeling warmth creep up my neck, and cleared my throat. "W-well, I'll be sure to keep my wits about me then," I managed, aiming for breezy, casual—but failing miserably as my voice wavered slightly.

Arthur just watched me, gaze steady, unreadable. My heart was hammering in my chest.

Gods help me, I was enjoying this way too much.

Looking down his torso, I reminded myself to focus on the task at hand—his wound. But as my gaze traveled over his long body, I found my thoughts drifting. I wondered what it would feel like to press my ear to his chest again, to listen to the steady rhythm of his tandem heartbeat's, that soft purring sound vibrating through his skin. I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed, the subtle dusting of sandy hair leading down from his chest, tracing the curve of his abs.

There was something undeniably captivating about him. He had that rugged, raw appeal—the kind of man you'd find at the bar at the end of a long, hard day, sitting quietly with a drink in hand. His whiskey-smooth voice still echoed in my mind, and I found myself drawn to him in a way that felt all at once comforting and dangerous. There was a quiet strength in his presence, an unspoken promise of safety.

Shaking my head, I forced my attention back to the wound I had been avoiding. His mating slit, once gruesome, had begun to heal faster than I expected. It almost looked... normal again, as normal as I thought his reproductive organ could look. The swelling had gone down significantly, and the irritation had vanished, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin where it had been torn.

I couldn't help but marvel at it. "This is incredible, Arthur," I whispered, a note of awe in my voice. "It's almost entirely healed."

Without thinking, my fingers hovered just above the area, drawn by a mix of curiosity and the desire to help, to feel for myself how much progress had been made. Would the stitches need to come out already? But as my hand hovered, I stopped myself. What am I even doing? It felt too personal, too intimate, to touch him like this so casually.

Before I could pull my hand away, Arthur's hand closed gently around my wrist, guiding it down his body, towards his slit. His voice was soft, almost reassuring. "You can touch me," he said, his tone quiet but firm.

I barely managed to get the words out. My throat tightened with his movements. "O-okay..." My voice caught as his hand led mine to the smoothness of his skin, the heat of him still radiating through the water. It felt like silk, like liquid warmth.

Arthur leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "I like it when you touch me," he murmured, voice low, filled with something I couldn't quite place but was undeniably erotic.

Oh, I'm so fucked.

A rush of heat flared through me. The careful distance I'd tried to maintain was crumbling beneath his gaze and his touch, replaced by a raw, intense need to be closer, to understand him more. And it frightened me. But I couldn't pull away.

Letting go of my wrist, he leaned back, and I felt my curiosity surge, pulling me under like a fierce undercurrent. I hesitated, drawn to the curiosity that had been gnawing at me since the moment I first saw him. My fingers traced the raised edge, gliding over the surface with a touch that was both deliberate and tentative, smooth and featherlight. The flesh here was softer than expected—more pliable—and strangely different. It was nothing like the taut muscle or the hard scales I had touched before. This was an entirely different texture, unfamiliar yet intriguing. Despite his hips being above the waterlevel, the area was wet, slick beneath my touch. And warm like melted honey.

I became acutely aware of how close we were, of the delicate balance between curiosity and respect. I dragged my middle and ring fingers down the center, carefully adding pressure, testing the entrance. The stitches were deeper inside, where the harpoon tip had once lodged between muscle and skin, leaving its mark in ways I could still barely comprehend.

Suddenly, Charles' words echoed in my mind, clear as if he'd spoken them just moments ago: The slit opening is where you'd expect female reproductive organs. I thought of my own, of the delicate way my body mirrored the things I had just learned about his own. The comparison felt surreal, yet there it was—more striking the longer I stared, more connections forming with every second. The shape was longer, more...animalistic in its own right. And then it struck me. The outermost part, thick and full, resembled the labia majora. And as my fingers slowly parted the skin, I realized that what lay beneath—hidden and delicate, like the petals of a water lily—was akin to the labia minora.

How incredible.

This hunk of a beast, this creature who resembled so much of a man in his upper half, shared the same organ as I did. The thought twisted through my mind, unexpected yet indisputable. I couldn't argue with the science right infront of me. Before I could stop myself, my thumb found its way to the top, gently moving over the soft skin, searching for that familiar, pearl-shaped bundle of nerves—one that could make a grown woman cry out in sheer euphoria.

Arthur's breathing hitched, growing rapid, and that thick, wet sticky substance coated my fingers. But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. My thumb pressed deeper into his slit, pushing past the softness until I felt it—there, hidden beneath the surface. And oh, Arthur felt it too. I bit my lip as a shudder rippled through him, his body trembling in response, releasing a delicious, low moan that made my throat tighten. My knees wavered as his tail subtly twitched with the rhythm of his pleasure.

The sound of his moan snapped me from my trance, and I glanced up.

His eyes were closed, his face soft and serene, as though lost in the bliss of the moment. His veins glowed with an otherworldly light, a natural show of warmth that could rival Christmas lights in their brilliance. He was breathtaking in his vulnerability, in this raw display of emotion and trust.

And as the reality of the situation sank in, I suddenly realized—I was the one arousing him.

I didn't want to stop, but at the same time, I didn't know how to keep going. How far were we supposed to take this? Did he—did he want to finish? Could his species even do that? Christ, what the hell was I doing? I was fingering a man I barely knew—a species I hadn't even known existed until last night!

"What do they mean?" I blurted out, halting my movements. I could hear the faintest whine escape his lips, the sound so soft, so intimate, it almost felt like it was meant just for me. I quickly pulled my thumb away from his clit. "T-the lights, I mean."

Arthur's pupils were wide with arousal, and something deeper, more primal. He glanced down at his body as if he hadn't fully realized what was happening. "Ah, sorry if that's weird. Can't control 'em."

He thinks that's what's weird about this?

"N-no, it's not that," I stammered, trying to steady my breath. "It's just—is it a stimulus response? I've seen you do it a few times since last night." I explained, my words rushed but genuine.

He scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture that only made him seem more vulnerable, more real. "Yeah. Like I said, I can't help it. They're always goin' off this time of year."

"This time of year?" I echoed, not quite processing it yet.

"Mmhm," he rumbled, the sound coming from deep within his chest, vibrating through the air around us. "Mating season."

I couldn't move. I felt stiff, like a statue, unable to shift or look away from the reality unfolding before me. This wasn't real. None of this could be real.

Mating season?! Gods above, I was dabbling in forces I scarcely understood.

Not knowing how to respond, I quickly pulled my hand away from his slit. My nerves were painfully obvious, but I couldn't help it. I'd only had one partner in my life—what the hell made me think I knew how to pleasure a siren? And during his mating season, no less. What the fuck was I thinking?

Staring down at my fingers, I noticed they were slick with the same sticky substance that had come from his mouth earlier. "Is this how you healed so quickly?" I asked, hesitant. "The mucus from your...uhm..." I couldn't finish the sentence, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. "It's the same stuff you used to heal my wrist, right?"

Arthur nodded, unfazed, as if my question was nothing new to him. Then, with the grace of someone who'd done it countless times before, he pushed himself off the lip of the pool and slid smoothly into the water, his head now level with my torso. The water lapped gently at the edges of his face, he looked totally nonchalant, as though he were casually offering up his body as a mystery I could unravel at my leisure.

His openness was undeniable, his body offering itself for exploration in ways I could barely process.

I started to connect the dots. He had some kind of magical property in his mucus—something that allowed him to heal rapidly, not just himself, but others as well. And yet, despite that power, his body was covered in scars, each one gleaming with an iridescent sheen, much like the mark on my wrist. His ability to reproduce on his own was extraordinary, but clearly, someone had tried to take that ability from him. During a time when his body was vulnerable, overwhelmed by hormonal changes. Was this same person trying to harness his power for their own gain? The same one who struck a harpoon through his body?

My breathing quickened, and my heart hammered in my chest. Arthur noticed the shift immediately. His large hands wrapped around my waist, grounding me in the moment. Oh god, it felt so good when he touched me, as though his very hands could steady the chaos within me.

"Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare ya," he murmured soothingly, his voice a deep balm that somehow settled the storm in my chest. I almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all—this creature, this beast, with claws and teeth that could tear through human flesh like it was wet paper, yet here he was, coddling me.

I ran my hands up the length of his forearm, the delicate fins beneath my fingers sending a strange thrill through me. His skin was so smooth, almost silky, yet there was an undeniable strength in the way he held himself. "You didn't scare me," I said, my voice soft. "I was just trying to make sense of it all..." I inhaled deeply, steadying myself for the next question. "Arthur, why would someone do this to you?"

I felt him shift, the tension in his body telling me he was about to pull away. But before he could, I sank down to my knees in the pool, the water rising to my chin, pulling us back to eye level. Looking into those deep blue eyes, I felt as if I were drowning in them—yet strangely, I didn't want to come up for air. I reached up, cupping his face gently in my hands, my fingers brushing through his beard, marveling at its softness.

"I can't help you if I don't know the truth," I whispered, my voice thick with the weight of my words. "You can trust me." Slowly, I traced my thumb over his lips, the gesture feeling both intimate and natural, as if we had always been this close. "These hands will never hurt you." I repeated the words from last night, when he had been bleeding out on the sand, his body trembling and begging for my touch, my reassurance.

Arthur moved closer to my face, and for a brief, breathless moment, I thought he might kiss me. Do sirens even do that? But before I could find out, he spoke, his voice low and heavy with something I couldn't quite place. "Got caught up with some disagreeable men, that's all."

"That's all?" I echoed, my voice trembling. "Honey, there was a harpoon lodged inside you. They tried to take away—"

He cut me off, his words sharp and bitter. "I know what they did. It's what your people do best." The venom in his voice wasn't directed at me, but it still stung. I bristled at the thought of being lumped in with them, with those people.

A deep, weary sigh escaped him, as though he were surrendering to the weight of his own history. "My father was human, and my mother was a siren. He took me from her when I was still learnin' to use my gills. Lyle sold me to a man who promised him a fortune—and promised me a family." The word 'family' slipped from his mouth like something vile, something toxic.

"For as long as I can remember, I was poked, prodded, and exploited. He was some kind of businessman, workin' with new-age scientists who wanted to harness my ability to accelerate cell regeneration. He told me it was love. Said I was helpin' folk, that it's what families do. And I believed every word. I gave him everything."

His eyes darkened, and the sadness that swirled within them carried a weight of betrayal so profound it nearly stole my breath. The intensity of his gaze shook me to my core. My pulse quickened as the realization hit me—he had used that same healing ability on me so freely, when his entire life had been spent with it exploited. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers trembling as I threaded them through his hair, pulling him closer. I traced them gently down from the base of his skull to the curled tips of his shoulders, offering him the only comfort I knew how. I urged him, silently, to continue.

"As I started to get older, the lead scientist suggested that I produce an offspring, so they could continue their research once I was gone. Told me I was passin' on my legacy. So..." He paused, his voice faltering, and when he spoke again, it came out in a whisper, laced with raw emotion. "So I gave 'em a son."

Oh no.

Gods, please. Please don't let this end the way I think it's going to.

Arthur shuddered, his entire body tensing as though he were bracing himself against an onslaught of painful memories. I saw the tears well up in his eyes, and before he even spoke, I knew what he was about to say.

"Isaac didn't have his old man's ability to heal people, so—" He let out a humorless chuckle, the sound ragged and broken. His tears spilled freely now, tracing down his cheeks in silent testimony. "So, they took him from me..."

My heart shattered, the weight of his words crashing down like a wave. He didn't need to finish the sentence to confirm my suspicion. They had killed his son, stripped him of his only remaining piece of hope, because he served no purpose in their eyes. They saw Arthur as nothing more than a tool, something to be exploited, not someone with a heart, with feelings, with dreams, with goals of his own.

"Oh, Arthur..." My voice cracked as I reached up, using my thumb to brush away the tears that spilled from his eyes, cradling his handsome face in my hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The words felt hollow, inadequate. Christ, how could I console someone who had faced such unimaginable loss? What could I say that would ever ease this kind of pain?

He leaned into my touch, his cheek brushing against my palm, the intimacy of the gesture both tender and heart-wrenching. His veins flared with their familiar, ethereal glow again. But this time, despite their beauty, there was something different about them—a sadness, a heaviness that lingered in the air around him. He hadn't been joking when he said his body was sensitive during this time of year.

"You're safe here. I won't ever let those men hurt you again," I promised, my voice steady despite the uncertainty that churned inside me. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew how hollow they felt. I had no idea how I would protect him. Hell, I could barely comprehend the danger we were facing.

Arthur shook his head slowly, his expression hardening. "I ain't safe here, darlin', I ain't safe anywhere." His voice was low, heavy with resignation. "That harpoon was just a desperate effort to control me, but it won't be their last. They'll come for me. They ain't gonna let their prized pony go so easily."

I wanted to argue��a harpoon through the mating organs wasn't exactly a quick or easy way to let go. But the words stuck in my throat, too raw to speak.

"Who, Arthur?" I asked, my voice tight with both fear and curiosity. "Who is the man that thinks he has some kind of ownership over you?"

His ocean-blue eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. The weight of his words hit like a slap, and the fury in his gaze sent a chill down my spine.

He spat the name thick with venom and years of bitter history.

"Dutch van der Linde." 

AN: This chapter had me all over the fucking place. I was blushing, i was giggling, i was horny, then i was crying. However, despite the rollercoaster i really enjoyed how this came out and i'm honestly shocked i pulled it together because now i feel like i have some kind of real plot to work around! Yippee! But i must ask, chat, how do we feel about arthur being intersex and the reader exploring that female anatomy. Tbh, i wanted to do that first because i found it the most 'taboo' and wanted to explore it further. Literally. If you're uncomfortable with this, i do apologize. But there will be more fingerfucking of arthur's cunt. So be aware :)

I love you freaks <3

[inkofthebrain]

Beach Day

Modern!Mizu x F!Reader

Art Creds: @lillydrawsmizu thank you for bringing this to life <3

Warnings: none

AN: the only volleyball experience I have is playing on the beach drunk out of my mind in high school so this is going to be interesting. Not proofread lawl.

——————

You were layed out across a towel, arm above your head, soaking in the sunny summer day and enjoying the sounds of the water. Taigen spotted a private little beach while on a run a few weeks back and after begging everybody to check it out, a beach day was finally in order. The communal volleyball court that originally caught his attention was in ok condition, a few loose threads here and there and wooden posts that were the ideal perching spot for seagulls when there wasn't a commotion around the net.

"Y/n!" Akemi called from the net, which sat a few feet away from the group's setup of towels, coolers, and umbrellas. You turned your head to the left to face your friend, seeing Ringo walking off the court and heading towards the water. "Come join us! Ringo wants to swim so we are short one." The three left on the court were all turned to you, Akemi and Taigen on the right and Mizu on the left.

You shook your head and let out a laugh, "No! You guys know I can't play."

"C'mon, it's game point it'll be quick. I'm not giving up until Mizu admits I'm better than her" He placed his sunglasses on his head and crossed his arms.

"Yeah right," Mizu scoffs, "c'mon y/n I'll teach you, it's easy," she says with a smile, motioning you to walk over to her. You couldn't refuse her offer, she was having so much fun and you'd hate to be the reason they'd have to end the game (resulting in Taigen demanding a rematch for days every time he sees Mizu).

"Fineeeee," You got up with a groan, adjusting your bathing suit as you walked over. Mizu turned back to face the net and put her hands up to catch the ball Taigen threw her way. She dropped it onto the ground, putting her foot on it to stop it from rolling away.

"I apologize in advance, I have no idea what I'm doing" You tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling at the raven-haired girl in front of you. Taigen and Akemi were distracted in conversation on the other side of the net.

"Don't apologize, you are gonna do great," She waves her hand in front of her, dismissing your apology, "Now, you are going to want to hold your hands like this." Her slender fingers grabbed your hands, placing them in the correct position. You looked at her soft features while she made minor adjustments to your form, a slight blush creeping across your face as her hands lingered on yours.

"Perfect, remember to hit with your forearms when you pass, it gives you the most control." She taped your arm, pointing to where she was referencing, and you hummed in acknowledgment. She gave you a quick overview of the rules and after passing the ball back and forth to each other a few times it was time to start the game.

"You ready to go down?" Taigen taunts, earning a light slap on his arm from Akemi who shot him a glare.

"In your dreams" Mizu retorts with a smirk. She started walking to the end of the court to serve, pausing next to you placing her hand on your shoulder, leaning close to your ear.

"Aim for Akemi, she is scared of getting hit in the face. It's an easy point." Her voice sends chills down your spine as she away, looking at you with a smile, the proximity holding a tension you couldn't quite place.

"Okay," You said in a whisper, admiring her eyes. She gave your shoulder a squeeze, her hand sliding down and leaving the warmth of your body as she got ready to serve. Your eyes followed her toned figure, a slight breeze causing her ponytail to sway slightly.

Mizu shoots you a wink before hitting the ball, sending it flying across the net. Taigen runs after it, passing it to Akemi who almost misses and barely gets it over the net. You dive towards the ball, hitting it with as much force and precision that you can muster.

“Atta’ girl y/n!” Mizu shouts, causing a smile to spread across your face as you back up from the net. Taigen sets the ball, Akemi jumping up to smack towards Mizu.

“Here!” Mizu says with a grunt, passing the ball. You then send it flying at Akemi, who throws her arms in front of her face with a yelp causing the ball to shoot right over her head and onto the soft sand. Taigen groans and walks off the court to get a drink of water, Akemi shortly behind him spewing apologies.

“I did it!” You explain, running to Mizu with your hand out for a high five. The tall woman catches your hand pulling you into a tight hug.

“Yeah you did! That was amazing, you need to play with us more.” You guys pull apart and she smiles at you, hands still on your sides and yours around her neck.

“Who won?” Ringo says as he walks up to you guys, covered in water and panting.

“We did!” You exclaim, turning to face the man, arms sliding off Mizu.

“It was all thanks to this pretty girl right here” Mizu says, pulling you into her side by your waist. You smile down at the ground attempting to hide the flush on your face.

“What can I say I learnt from the best” You say shooting Mizu a smile.

“Cmon let’s go, Taigen said loser buys lunch” Mizu pulls away but reaches to grab your hand, leading you to the others

“I DID NOT!” Taigen retorts. You and Mizu both let out a snicker, laughing at the sore loser.

——————

AHHHHHH. I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT. I HAVENT WRITTEN FANFIC IN AGES IM SORRY IF IM RUSTY.

@fanficreader33 THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. MWAH!

[utterlyotterlyx]

Hiii <3 Could you do number 4 from the prompt list with Eris? It's my first time asking for a prompt or anything so i hope this isn't rude. 😅

Aw my loveeeee it isn't rude! Request your little heart out <3

I've already done 4 but I'll do it again for you with a different spin on it.

Can't Keep My Hands To Myself

Modern!Eris x Reader

Summary - It's no secret that Eris has always wanted you, and now he has the perfect excuse to get up close and personal.

Warnings - slight pining, some fluff, swearing, hand fetish

The sun bounced off of the hood of Cassian's car, and if you looked closer you could have sworn you could see wisps of steam rising from the matte black finish.

Folding your arms over your chest, you huffed, already knowing what was coming as soon as you'd point out a certain problem.

It had been Elain's idea to go to the coast that day, mainly so that you could all go to the theme park that ran along the beach, all being yourself, Elain and Lucien, Nesta and Cassian, and Eris. The latter of which was leaning against the hood of Cassian's vehicle with a sly grin written on his lips, sunglasses low on his nose, and hands bundled into his pockets.

Eris Vanserra was the bane of your existence, the cocky son of some noble lord in England who had moved to your state for college and had set an unfortunate eye on you. The heir could have anyone he wanted, but he was too busy chasing you to notice.

Eris had crashed one too many of your dates, and when you had made it clear that he needed to stop being an alphahole, he would slyly quip that none of the men you allowed into your life deserved you. He would always show his face at Elain and Lucien's apartment when you were there, which made you certain that one of them, probably Lucien, was sending him updates whenever you would show up. Eris stuck to your side when the entire circle decided to go out, whether that be bowling or dinner, or even clubbing, Eris was always reluctant to leave your side.

Possessive bastard.

You had lost count of how many times exactly you had denied his advances. It wasn't that you weren't attracted to him, you'd be foolish not to be, but you didn't really fancy ensuing a relationship with a future lord, you quite liked your life the way it was.

You majored in architecture, you had always appreciated the beauty of buildings and landscapes, you had travelled Europe and spent weeks in Paris where you sketched and redesigned buildings until your heart was full and bursting with inspiration. There was nothing you couldn't create.

Life as a lady didn't appeal to you, but life as an architect travelling the world and creating masterpieces very much did.

So, you made it your mission to deter the heir in whatever way you could, from cold shoulders to harsh quips, but it only seemed to spur him on more.

Eris stood before you, red hair perfectly styled into pushed back waves, looking far too good in his black jeans and open collared black shirt, a thin chain hung around his neck which matched the bracelet on his wrist, rings littered his fingers and you found your gaze drifting to his hands, hands you had thought about often when you were alone. You imagined them running through your hair and pulling at it, you imagined them around your throat, you imagined his fingers drifting along your thighs and gripping the skin there.

It was so sinful how much you thought of Eris' hands.

The door opened behind you and you rolled your eyes at the Archeron sisters who walked ahead of both Cassian and Lucien, who both looked exhausted from their bickering already.

Unfurling your arms from your chest, you pulled down the edge of your tennis skirt and tucked in a loose section of the deep green polo you adorned, "About time," you told them, "I'm baking out here."

"I know a place that could cool you down," Eris drawled from behind you, and you turned your head slightly to see him at your shoulder, looking down on you with his usual longingly seductive eye, "You, me, the Swiss alps on skis."

"Sounds positively awful," you smiled sickly sweet at him before moving your attention elsewhere, "I also hate to state the obvious but there are only five seats in Cass' car, and there's six of us," you motioned between the circle you had all formed and shrugged.

"What if you-"

You held your hand up in front of Eris' face, shushing him into silence, "If you're really about to suggest that I sit on your lap, I will kill you."

Cassian threw his head back and laughed, a howling one that filled you with pride as he walked to the driver side of his car, "Hate to break it to you Princess, but you don't have a choice."

"Why me?! Surely it makes more sense for Elain and Lucien to cuddle up?"

Elain ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, flinging the passenger door open, "It's my birthday so no, plus Lucien injured his knee at baseball practice so he needs to be able to stretch it out. Sorry, Y/N," Elain wiggled her eyebrows at you and dipped into the car, no doubt securing her spot in the middle seat.

Scowling, you turned to Eris who had never looked happier, fluttering your eyes in annoyance, you pointed at him, "Don't get any ideas, Vanserra."

Eris threw his hands up in mock surrender but the smirk didn't leave his lips as he spoke, "Wouldn't dream of it, y/l/n."

It took you a few moments to become settled in his lap, and you cursed yourself for allowing yourself to be friends with bright and shiny Elain, if you hadn't then you wouldn't be sat on some heirs lap, nestled on his thighs like some kind of trophy.

As soon as you were comfortable, you propped your feet on Elain's lap which she was happy to hold since you drew the short straw, and you leaned back onto the doorframe, half on the body of the interior and half on Eris.

His scent was earthy, wafts of pine and freshly blown out matches, you knew he smelled good, but you didn't realise how much.

Eris draped one of his arms over your legs and the other around your waist, and you couldn't exactly bark at him to fuck off when they were the only two places that his hands could go. His fingers delicately danged off of your thighs, his fingertips lightly brushing against your skin with every bump in the road, the coolness of his bracelet clashing against the warmth of your skin.

If only his fingers could go a little higher, and just grab the flesh of your thigh...

No, y/n.

Elain had convinced the car to play a game, a game that you and Eris had quickly denied, you were both quite happy with the silence. That is until you felt him frown and lean over slightly to peer at something, his fingers drifted along the hem of your skirt and he lifted it slightly to take a peek.

Your gaze found him, his russet eyes darkened with intrigue, "I didn't know you had a tattoo," he hummed, allowing his eyes to trace along the swirls of black ink that created an arrangement of delicately drawn roses and geometric shapes that encased your entire hip.

Cassian's car hit a bump and you jolted on Eris' lap, his arms instinctively wrapped around you to keep you in place as your head hit the roof of the car, "Sorry, y/n. These roads are awful," Cassian apologised, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping Nesta's jeaned thigh, rubbing soft circles into the fabric whilst she idly read her book in the front passenger seat.

If that were you, your soul would no doubt be going feral.

Then you felt it, you felt his had travel from your waist to your unbound hair, he ran his fingertips along your scalp and rested his palm on the top of your head, "Are you okay?"

It took you a moment to reply, trying to control the shivers that spread in your soul like wildfire at his touch in the place you had dreamt of, "Yeah, 'm good," your tone was relaxed as he worked his fingertips into the crown of your head, kissing away any pain from the jolting force that had pushed against it.

"Do you like that?" Eris purred, and luckily no one was paying attention to either of you, Nesta was reading, Cassian was driving, and Elain and Lucien were looking out of the window of the travelling car talking about whatever animals they saw in the clouds.

"It might feel nice," you admitted bashfully, knowing you couldn't lie to the sly fox whose eyes always found you no matter how far apart you were in a room.

Eris let out a low hum, tilting his head to the side as his fingers slid from your scalp and rested on the back of your neck, "You're a touch starved little thing, aren't you?"

"No," it came out a little harder than what you had intended it to, but he wasn't wrong, especially when he was the reason that you were so touch starved and basking in his affection.

Eris chuckled, seeing straight through you as always, as his hand ghosted down your spine whilst his other found your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze, smirking as you wiggled on his lap, "Careful sweetheart, you have no idea how close I am to losing it," his voice was a rough whisper in your ear, he knew exactly what effect he had on you.

"I can't help it."

"I know, you have no idea the effect you have on me," his finger grazed down the earring that dangled against the curve of your jaw.

"Oh?"

Eris hummed, "One date, y/n. It's all I ask."

"Eris..."

His digits slipped between your thighs and he traced circles into the skin he found there, "Just one. Let me show you the life we can live together. Please?"

You weren't sure if it was his deep tone or his hands on your body that made your mind foggy, but he had convinced your head and heart to agree. Moving your head to meet his eye, you narrowed your own and pursed your lips, "Fine. One date. Make it worth my time, Vanserra."

Eris' whisky amber eyes glistened in the sunlight, "I think you forget how well I know you sweetheart. You're not a coffee date girl, or a movie date girl, you're not a hiker either. You're a dreamer, I see you all of the time looking at the stars, I see the heavens in your art, I see the sky in your eyes. I think I know the perfect way to make sure you never entertain anyone other than me."

The confidence he radiated made your thighs clench together, an act that didn't go unnoticed by him as his eyes darkened again with desire, he licked his lips, throwing his head back as you squirmed on his thighs again and did his best to suppress the moan bubbling in his throat.

"One chance, Vanserra. Make the most of it."

Eris straightened his posture and winked at you, letting his hands roam freely over your back and thighs, "One chance is all I need."

Authors Note

Just a short little drabble - I did a 13 hour shift today and your girl is TIRED.

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Beachy Bungalow

The perfect home for your sims to chill out and catch some waves. 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms on a 25x30 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/EzLhruBqFa8

Download here:

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Exchange:

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Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

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Martassimsbook - Chicklet Modern Lenai Patio Chair

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ArtVitalex - Ullery Living Seat Triple

Kerrigan House Designs - Augustine Hall Table

Martassimsbook - Sims 4 Parenthood Xtreme Shower Tub

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

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Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set (Candle, Large Mirror)

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Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

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Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set (Utensils, Dishsoap)

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gelina - Vintage Lawn Chair Webbed

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NynaeveDesign - Breeze Plants (Geometric Planter + Senecio)

NynaeveDesign - Erin Plants (Flowerpot V1, Areca Palm, Croton)

Wandering Sims - Watercolor Botanical Pattern 7

Wandering Sims - Asian Pattern 39

[vodika-vibes]

Since you did mention you haven't watched The Mandolorian, could you instead write for a modern reader who knows Ludosport and also somehow ends up in the Star Wars galaxy. The one who finds her is Boba Fett, and the reader dosen’t show him her lightsaber skills until he is in danger, and she's using a lightsaber to battle against enemies that she managed to find/steal. When he asks her how she could battle like that, her vague answer was that she had good teachers.

Make Believe

Summary: Life on Tatooine sucks. It’s hot. And cold. And the sand gets everywhere. And the sand of Tatooine is rough and sharp, not like the soft sandy beaches of where you grew up. And you hate it. Luckily, none of it’s real.

Pairing: Pre Boba Fett x F!Reader - Early Original Series Boba

Word Count: 2173

Warnings: Reader is straight up not having a good time right now, mentions of drugging but nothing detailed

A/N: So I'm not sure if this was what you were wanting, but I had an idea and I decided to run with it. I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Oi! Boss wants you to pop into the back and take inventory,” Your co-worker, an older male twi’lek, calls to you as you step into the open building that has become your place of employment.

“Didn’t you do inventory last week?” You ask as you tug your poncho off and shove it into you locker.

“Yeah, well,” He shrugs, almost lazily, “Boss lost a bet to Jabba, and now we need to do another inventory.”

You make a face, but then offer a shrug of your own, “Alright. Toss me my tablet.”

He pauses and shoots you a pitying look, “Datapads, love. They’re called datapads.”

“Yeah. Right. I knew that.”

His pitying look remains even as he grabs a datapad, and then a bound pack of laminated paper and hands both to you. “Your datapad, and your cheat book.” He hesitates for a moment, “So, uh, how was your appointment yesterday?”

“Fine.”

“Did the doc say anything about, well—you know.” He gestures towards your head, and your lips turn down into an unhappy frown.

“He, officially, diagnosed me with Sun Sickness.”

“Yeah. Yeah, well we knew that was going to happen, didn’t we?” He’s trying to be encouraging, but that look still hasn’t faded from his eyes, “And you’re doing so much better than you were when we found you. I mean, you can almost recognize every letter in Aurebesh now.”

“Yeah, but I still can’t understand Huttese or Bocce.”

“Those will come. Just be patient.” He lightly pats your hand, “Now, you’d better get to work. Don’t forget your hat and your work poncho. Last thing we need is to make your Sun Sickness worse.”

“You sound like a dad.”

“I am a dad. Now scoot before the boss catches you.”

You offer him a wave of acknowledgment, and then pull your work poncho and hat from your locker, and head into the back of the scrapyard while pulling them on. As soon as you open the door leading behind the shop, you’re smacked in the face by the sweltering heat of Tatooine.

It’s so hot, in fact, that you feel yourself starting to sweat just from the short walk from the main shop to the back warehouse. You set your water bottle under a sun shade, and sit on an overturned bucket as you power on the tablet—datapad—in your hands.

As you wait for the device to power on, you allow your focus to wander.

You’re still not sure how you ended up in this situation. Well, not this situation specifically. You remember very well how you ended up working at this scrapyard, but in general.

You don’t remember how you ended up on Tatooine.

Or how you ended up wandering the Wastes outside of the city you now work and live in.

You remember what you had been doing before, though.

You are, or were, a college student at the University of Miami in Florida. A Marine Biology student. A student of LudoSport. You remember your best friend inviting you to a party to help you decompress from midterms.

The party itself is mostly a blur. You mostly remember thumping music, the stuffy heat of too many bodies pressed into a too small area, the scent of cheap alcohol, and the sound of too many people pretending to have a good time.

Your working theory is that you were drugged at the party and that this, Tatooine and all of the people, are the result of a coma dream. The miserable heat that you suffer through has to be a side-effect of a fever or an infection or something.

Because it’s not real.

It can’t be real.

You need it to be a hallucination. Because if it’s real then that means you’re never going to see your parents again. Or your siblings. Or your friends.

And that’s just...it’s just not allowed.

Still, it’s a very vivid hallucination. You get corrected on things that you didn’t even known about. Things that never showed up in the movies or the books or games.

Most of the people in Mos Epsa, the town you call home, have been very accommodating to you. In fact, aside from one or two people who aren’t from Tatooine, everyone has been.

They look at you with pitying eyes.

Whispers follow you through the market when you try to do your daily shopping. And people are all too happy to help you with translations or with your shopping.

It’s because of the Sun Sickness.

It’s a real illness, though it’s not caused by bacteria or a virus. It’s caused by over exposure to the sun. There’s no cure or treatment for the symptoms. And the biggest symptoms are a loss of memory, which you have, and aphasia. Basically, words get flipped around in your head and it makes it hard to communicate at times.

Luckily, Basic is pretty much the same as English. For all that the written language is so much different. And no one gives you too hard of a time if you call some things by the wrong name.

You glance at the tablet and sigh softly when you see it’s actively running an update. You’ll be waiting a while, apparently. So you stretch your legs out, and allow your attention to wander again.

For all that none of this is real, you did make a few rules for yourself as soon as you realized you were on Tatooine.

Rule 1: Change nothing. An easy thing to do, really, since you have no idea where, in the timeline, you are. Well, aside from during the time of the Empire. Jabba is a Hutt, after all. And they, apparently live a long ass time.

Rule 2: Don’t interact with anyone who might hurt you. For example, don’t join any of the cartels, don’t draw the attention of any bounty hunters, and don’t talk about Jedi.

Rule 3: Ignorance is bliss. Getting involved in the Rebel Alliance is bad. Getting involved with the Empire is bliss. When people gossip about galactic news in the market, you play dumb.

Rule 4: Do nothing to draw attention to yourself. So far as the rest of Tatooine, and the Galaxy, need to know. You’re just some poor woman with Sun Sickness. It needs to stay that way.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts when the tablet chimes in your hands, and you heave out a sigh of relief as it flickers to life.

You know that you’re lucky. You get paid well enough that you have your own little studio apartment not far from here. And you can afford food and clothes and you’re not a slave.

It’s not so bad, for a coma dream.

Or, well, it could be worse.

It’s later, that same day, when your carefully laid rules crumble around you.

After a long, long day of working in the stifling heat, you finish your work and head to the market to pick up dinner for yourself.

It’s a normal thing to do. You don’t have a fridge or a freezer in your studio, so you have to buy perishable food every day. At first, you struggled with the idea of shopping daily, it just wasn’t a thing you did.

But you’ve adjusted. You think.

But when you turn a corner, you freeze.

Members of the Pyke Syndicate are surrounding someone. You can’t quite see who they’re threatening, but if you had to guess it’s probably a shopkeeper.

The Pykes seem to be doing there best to worm their way into Hutt territory, and if that happens, you’re going to get dragged into a gang war whether you like it or not.

Nervously, you look around, and then you pick up a metal rod. It’s roughly the same length as your old saber that you used in Florida, though it’s a bit heavier since it’s steel.

You have to be quick, and careful.

You’re not actually a Jedi, you can’t dodge blaster bolts.

But they haven’t notice you. So you silently move so you’re standing behind one of the Pykes and you strike.

You crack one over the back of the head, and then use a sweeping motion to knock out the two standing right next to the first one you attacked, and then there’s four blaster shots.

Though, not aimed at you you realize as you straighten and manage to get a look at who the Pykes had been threatening.

Tall and broad, wearing armor painted with flecking green paint.

Boba Fett.

Your weapon falls from your numb fingers, and you feel the blood draining from your face as your fight or flight instincts activate.

Bad. This is bad.

Boba Fett is one of the people on your Do Not Interact list. In fact, he’s near the top. Just under Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo to be specific.

You want to flee. To run away to your apartment and never show your face again. But your feet feel rooted to the ground.

And he’s approaching you.

He stops several inches away from you, and then he crouches and picks up the metal rod you used. He turns it this way and that, examining it through his helmet.

“Not bad.” His voice is modulated through the helmet, but he doesn’t sound angry, you don’t think. “A proper weapon would have been more useful.”

“Ah...yes. I know.” You really, really want this conversation to end. Like, now.

He reaches up and pulls his helmet off with one hand, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s...young. Well, younger than you expected.

He has dark curls that are sticking up in weird directions, likely from a mix of sweat and his helmet. And his eyes are focused on your weapon of choice. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“I had teachers, I think. But there’s also only so many ways someone can swing a stick—” Your chest feels tight, and your voice sounds very far away to your own ears.

His gaze flickers to your face, “Are you okay?” A frown appears on his face as he scans you, and then he pulls his blaster out and shoots the three Pykes you knocked out, “They’ll never know you were involved. So far as the Pyke Syndicate will know, I killed them all. You don’t have to look so horrified.”

He’s...worried?

About you.

No. No nononon—

He can’t be. He’s not real.

He’s a fictional character. He’s supposed to be two-dimensional.

“—an you hear me?” A large hand lands on your shoulder, and you cast your panicked gaze up to his face, his brow creases a little more, “Kriff, I thought I recognized you. You’re the sun sickness woman, aren’t you? Are you having an episode?”

Your breathing quickens, and you can see spots at the side of your vision. Is this what a panic attack feels like? You don’t like it.

“-ey! Hey! Stay with me!” You watch, feeling like you’re miles away, as he yanks his helmet back on and a comm crackles to life. You hear him start to report a medical emergency, but you don’t hear him finish, as you black out from hyperventilating.

Boba Fett stares at the young woman resting peacefully on the thin mattress at the local emergency clinic. His helmet is sitting on a table next to him as a pair of older Twi’lek fret around her.

Smoothing her blanket, brushing her hair back, pressing a cool cloth against her head.

“She’s your kid?” Boba asks.

“We were the ones who found her wandering the wastes,” The man says as he takes the young woman’s hand and squeezes it, “Thank you for bringing her here.”

“Of course. She’s sick.”

“She hasn’t had an episode like that in months,” The older woman whispered, “What caused it, do you know?”

“The Pykes, if I had to guess.” Boba replies.

“That would do it. Stress and anxiety are both triggers for these kinds of episodes.” The woman brushes her cheek, “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m here now.”

“I want to stay until she wakes up.” Boba says bluntly. Not asking so much as informing her guardians that he wasn’t leaving.

He’s never minded being feared before. But that was more than just fear.

He doesn’t like it.

“I’m sure you have a lot to do—” The old man says hesitantly.

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Sure, he’s supposed to head to Bespin to catch that Solo guy for Jabba, but he’ll pass that job onto Cad Bane. This, right here, feels more important for some reason.

“Well, if that’s what you want—” The old woman murmurs.

Boba glances at them, “I want to make sure the Pykes don’t come after her.” He clarifies, “That’s all.”

“Well, in that case, stay as long as you want.”

Boba nods, and glances at the slumbering woman for a moment, and then settles back in his seat, prepared to stand guard for as long as it takes.

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@thatforlornfeeling

@moose-ubi

@adamime

@acatalystrising

@well-wa

@dreamie411

[paladinsbrainrot]

modern party music headcanons (my ‼️OPINION‼️)

will: (resident music snob, not as bad as jonathan and will indulge in mainstream when it appeals to him but is absolutely curating his spotify wrapped. loves new-wave and 60s brit rock. probably had a twenty one pilots phase in middle school tho) the cure, talking heads, joy division, david bowie, the beach boys, the smiths, radiohead, new order, crowded house, elliott smith, the beatles, the clash, the strokes, jeff buckley, depeche mode, alex g, pixies, the killers, morrissey, modern english, the kinks

mike: (doesn't really care about music as much as will but he can be pretty particular. big on widwest emo, but has no shame about liking boyband music) weezer, paramore, the 1975, sloan, american football, the smashing pumpkins, blur, radiohead, death cab for cutie, gorillaz, a heartwell ending, big time rush, pinegrove, wallows, slowdive, syd matters, pavement, alex g, modern baseball, jimmy eat world, the killers, red hot chilli peppers, journey, lush, the neighbourhood

el: (extreme pop girlie!!! she is probably scouting everywhere for concerts to go to and has survived the great ticketmaster war several times. I think she is very big on 2000s romcom music as well) the sundays, sabrina carpenter, cocteau twins, the cranberries, ethel cain, chappell roan, lady gaga, lorde, phoebe bridgers, adrienne lenker, madonna, olivia rodrigo, taylor swift, stretch princess, bananarama, blondie, the cardigans, sixpence none the richer, clairo, beabadoobee, cyndi lauper, mediavolvo, big thief, the smiths, fleetwood mac, the go-go's, faye webster

max: (a little more on the grunge and alternative side. loves some deep shit that she can feel in her bones. always has her earphones in you will NEVER catch her without them) pj harvey, fiona apple, hole, tori amos, the smashing pumpkins, alice in chains, blondie, mazzy star, incubus, the cranberries, nirvana, slowdive, the goo goo dolls, deftones, paramore, kate bush, the breeders, radiohead, blur, boa, pixies, beabadoobee, metric, no doubt, liz phair, lush, alanis morissette, tame impala, the neighbourhood, heart, cocteau twins, bjork, avril lavigne, patti smith

lucas: (mr yearner over here. i think his music taste is much more random and based on vibes if anything. I think he's an honorary pop girlie but also loves 80s music and 90s hip-hop) jeff buckley, adrienne lenker, the velvet underground, phoebe bridgers, clairo, mitski, harry styles, taylor swift, blood orange, mac demarco, the smiths, dean blunt, wham!, maroon 5, spandau ballet, hall & oates, phil collins, michael jackson, billy idol, U2, sonic youth, CAKE, brent faiyaz, kid cudi, young mc, a tribe called quest, justin timberlake, stereo mc's, vanilla ice, beastie boys, n.e.r.d., nelly, ice cube, outkast

dustin: (weird synthpop enjoyer!!! I like to think he's the type of person who knows all these old underground bands from the 80s and loves showing support for small local bands) oingo boingo, pink floyd, weezer, a-ha, duran duran, talking heads, david bowie, the human league, dead or alive, weird al, men at work, naked eyes, the buggles, the psychedelic furs, the b-52's, spookey ruben, jim morrison, cut copy, bee gees, the guess who, bay city rollers, thompson twins, thomas dolby, blondie, kool & the gang, fiction factory

[carolmunson]

out on the moonlit floor. (older!modern!eddie)

part six of who knows how many orange colored sky set list

you and eddie walk down to the piers at brooklyn bridge after you both meet up for dinner a couple nights after your embarrassing drunk sleep over. you both spur on conversations about each other over icecream -- and when you get home, you both share more than you expected. inspiration from this series comes to you in part by: @loveshotzz 'all i really want is you' series. wanting to fuck that old man. and readers like you.

tw: discussions of minor character death, drinking some alcohol, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), some vague talk about BDSM, couples first time, reader cries after sex

songspiration: kiss me | six pence none the richer

Now that the humidity broke it was almost a little chilly over by Brooklyn Bridge Park tonight. The water from the Hudson slapping against the posts of the first pier, each little wave winking when it caught the light of the moon. Manhattan sparkled across the river, glittering in both of your eyes while you walked toward the fireboat station turned ice cream parlor. Kids run around with sticky hands and mouths, shrieking and giggling with each other while parents look onward. Other couples walk hand in hand down towards the other piers -- some still under construction.

The air is warm but in a comforting way -- a reminder that fall is on the precipice, peeking itself out in hints so that you want something pumpkin flavored in early August. Eddie's hand is warm and clammy in yours, the silver bands on his fingers warmed by your touch.

"I never come down here," he says, looking around, "Why don't I ever come down here?"

You shrug, "I dunno -- are you a big water guy?"

He scrunches his nose and shakes his head, "Not really -- Steve'll drag me to the beach a lot when he visits and I'm fine with the beach but -- I'm not like, a beach guy. Or a river guy, or whatever. Lakes, sure. Ponds, why not?"

"I love being near the water," you say, leading him into the boathouse. You get in line behind at least ten people, all savoring their dog days of summer with an ice cream cone. It's warm in there, all the fans do is blow around the smell of sugar and cream, waffle cones off the press. He lets go of your hand to lay it gently on your shoulder to guide you through, heated skin to heated skin.

"I can love being near the water," he offers.

"Yeah?" you turn your head to look at him, his cheeks flushing. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. A little warm, a little slick on your skin. In your pretty summer dress that he hadn't seen yet. The soft quirk of your brows when you ask.

"Yeah," he nods, "For you? Of course."

You roll your eyes, taking a few steps forward as the line moves, "What looks good to you?" You pass a sticky menu you to him that he squints to read, apples up his lifting up to hide his eyes. You pull his glasses from the worn collar of his shirt, clearing your throat while you tap them against his knuckle.

"I can read it, baby," he mutters, distracted by the descriptions in light ink on white paper hidden behind a foggy sheet of plastic.

"You're gonna give yourself a headache," you chide. He rolls his eyes this time, taking his glasses and tucking them back on his collar. He passes the menu back to you.

"I already know what I want."

"Sure you do."

You walk out together, him with his Sweet Cream & Cookies cone and you with you Salted Crack'd Caramel in a cup. He's had two bites of yours and already regrets his decision.

"Well if you could read the menu then you probably would've got something more exciting," you tease, pulling your cup away when he reaches again.

"I mean this is good but it's boring," he pouts, "I'm not a boring ice cream kind of person."

"Is Steve?" you ask, his head tilts at the question, turning to you.

"Steve?" he repeats, "Why're you asking about Steve?"

"That's who Big Guy is in your phone, right -- with the little muscle emoji next to it? Your buddy Steve?" you smirk at him, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth.

"Yeah, that's my guy," he nods, "You know how I said he always drags me to the beach when he visits?"

"I do," you nod, a spoonful of ice cream resting on your tongue before you swallow leaving a coating of mocha, sea salt, and caramel behind.

"He's visiting soon," Eddie smiles down at your lips closed around the plastic spoon, "I'm really excited for him to meet you."

"Do you think I'll like him?"

"I think...Steve's a boring ice cream person," he laughs, "Always gets like -- butter pecan or something. You think I'm an old man? Wait until you meet this guy."

You both laugh with each other like mean girls on the playground.

"Is he um -- is he doing okay? I know you mentioned a few weeks ago that he lost his wife," you're shy while you approach the subject, you could tell it weighed heavy on Eddie to talk about it.

"I think..." Eddie starts, taking a lick of his ice cream while he considers it, "I think he's doing okay for being almost half a year out. I um, I stayed with him for the first three months -- moved him into the house they bought --"

"She passed before they moved," he explains when your brows knit in confusion.

"Oh," you nod along, face relaxing so he can continue.

"Moved him in -- I think he cried for six days straight. We didn't even sleep, just laid on his couch and watched Fever Pitch like, eighty five times in a row," he looks out at the water while he recalls it and then smiles, "Which is so weird considering he's a Cubs fan."

"That's so niche," you giggle before softening, "You're a good friend."

"He'd do it for me," Eddie shrugs, "He's already done like so mu--"

Before he can finish, two runners speed by, knocking him in the shoulder. You both watch his cone fall in slow motion towards the blacktop of the walk way.

"Sorry," the guy calls out while he continues on, barely looking back over his shoulder while he goes. The neon yellow of his running sneakers become little flecks as he gets deeper towards the tree covered walkway on the other side.

"Hey, fuck off and DIE, asshole!" you call after him, a grit in your voice that Eddie hadn't expected to hear. He can't help but laugh at your anger at his expense.

"Hey, hey," he starts, newly free hands resting on your shoulders, "Easy killer."

"There was plenty of space for him to run," you seethe, "He's a fuckin' asshole."

"It's okay," he promises, face relaxed, "It's okay."

"It's not okay," you sigh. You hold your half full cup and spoon out to him, "Have mine."

"But then you won't have one," he says, "I'm not taking yours."

"You already know you like the flavor," you insist, "I'll grab myself another one, I need a water anyway."

Eddie looks at the ice cream and then you, one dimple creasing when a side smile pulls at his lips, "Okay."

When you come back with your new ice cream he's settled down on a bench directly across from the Freedom Tower. You can see all the lights across the water from the Seaport, water taxis and mini dinner cruises coming in an out of dock in the haze of a midsummer night.

"Before Sandy, this used to be a weird sad looking mall," you say, sitting next to him, "And there used to be a really good restauarant called Red -- I loved it cause they never carded me."

"You go to college here?" he asks, you nod.

"I liked the mall cause there was a Bath and Body Works and a Christmas in New York store. I'd go in there every time I was homesick -- just felt cozy for some reason," you shrug.

"But the new stuff there is cool too," you say, taking a bite of your ice cream, "It's definitely like -- for rich people."

"Definitely for rich people," he agrees, his spoon sneaking over to your full cup, his empty one next to him. He steals a bite, letting the flavor savor on his tongue.

"Come on, why do you keep getting amazing flavors?" he sighs. You hold the cup tighter to yourself, a smile working on your lips.

"This one is just for me," you chide, "If you want more go get more."

"Nah, I just wanna taste it one more time," he says smoothly, quietly, leaning in. His hand finds your cheek, ducking in for a long slow kiss, "There we go."

Speechless, you just shake your head and take another bite when he breaks away.

"No, no, I think I need another one -- gotta get the full flavor profile," he smirks, loving the sounds of your giggle when he leans in again for another kiss. He gives you three loud smooches on the lips, enough to make a few people roll their eyes but neither of you notice. Too wrapped up in each other to really care.

Eddie's apartment is as it always is -- it smells like him, the walls are covered in knick-knacks and framed posters. Maximalism at it's finest -- organized chaos -- but somehow streamlined. You leave your sandals in the hallway, barefeet hugging the cold hardwood from the AC.

"You know what I could go for right now?" you ask. He looks up with his brows raised, putting his wallet and keys in a bowl by the door. He'd forget them otherwise.

"A mezcal marg," you say, "I'd fuck up a marg so hard right now."

"Well lucky for you," he starts, walking over to the bar cart behind the dining room table, he lifts up a bottle of Del Maguey Vida, "I have mezcal."

"Yay," you let out quietly, not too far off from our quiet cheer when you were wasted in his kitchen last week. You can tell he used to bar tend by the way he mixes drinks, how he slaps the mixer and shakes it, how he eyeballs the liquor. It's not long after you've situated on the couch that he comes over to you with your drink.

"Here cutie," he says, carefully passing it to you from behind the couch and walking around it with his own. The first sip confirms he's made these a million times, wonderfully smokey and salty, refreshing and fruity.

"Oh no," you laugh, "It's really good."

"I'll make you as many as you want," he takes a sip and settles down next to you, arm outstretched behind you, "Thank you."

"Why're you so good at everything?"

"Me?" he quirks his brow, "Nah, I'm just -- I have a lot of experience with like, mundane shit."

"No, no, you're like -- you're good at a lot of stuff," you nod, "Give yourself some credit."

You feel bold even though you've only had two sips of the margarita, but it gives you some courage nonetheless, "What else are you good at?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well --" the cat catches your tongue for a moment, suddenly unsure if you want to bring it up. But then again, he's already seen you at your almost most pathetic.

"I saw those handcuffs in your room the first time I was here," you start, "You good at tying girls up?"

He blushes hard, laughing off the embarrassment, "S'cuse me?"

"I'm serious," you laugh, "Are you good at tying girls up? Is that the kind of stuff you're into?"

"I -- wow -- um," he bumble through words trying to find an answer, looking down at his drink and then looking at you and back down again.

"I -- yeah," he shakes his head, surprised at his own confession, "Yeah, I'm -- I'm into that kind of stuff. Not like, not all the time -- but for some partners, sure, yeah." "So you are a little freak then," you tease.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "By the look on your face though it looks like you might be really interested in that."

You shrug back coolly, another sip of your marg giving you a moment to consider, "I can be."

"Yeah?" He leans back on the couch, legs spread open while he looks you over. He keeps his eyes on you, sipping slowly on his drink while he does. You start to get shy under his gaze, exactly what he was waiting for, "You think you could handle it, sweetheart?"

As expected, you roll your eyes, "Ew."

He puts his drink on a coaster on the coffee table, coming back up to give you a kiss, "You don't think it's ew."

"I know," you nod, letting his lips trail down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Unafraid, you crawl back onto his lap like you did the first night you were there. His hands wander more freely, sliding up and around your thighs, listening to your sounds and how you like to be touched. When you roll your hips he doesn't stop you this time, he lets you do it, savoring the relief he gets every time the pressure meets his hardening cock in his slacks.

"I'm not," Kiss, "Gonna do that," Kiss, "Tonight, though."

"Oh," you smirk, holdhing his face in your hands while you look down at him, "Are we gonna do it tonight?"

He blushes again, chastising himself for assuming what you wanted, "No, no, only if you want to. And I want it to be nice and like -- I want it to --"

You lean in for one more slow kiss to shut him up, he groans into it, "I want to."

Eddie gulps, looking up at you with a nod, "I'll um...I'll meet you upstairs."

He watches you get up and head towards the small spiral staircase, his mind buzzing a mile a minute. He collects the glasses and puts them in the fridge for later, cleaning up a bit while his hands nearly shake with nerves and excitement. Just as he's about to make it up the stairs he sees his phone start to buzz on the coffee table. Steve.

And normally he never does this, but for the first time in months he clicks 'Ignore' before heading up the stairs behind you.

You undress after him, trying not to gape at his body, trying to ignore the way it drives you insane. His tattoos dance with each move of his waist and arms, each flex of his thighs. He takes his time making his way over to the bed, sliding the throw to the floor when he sits on the edge of it to watch you.

Your dress comes off slow -- he beckons you forward to stand between his thighs. Neither of you speak while he cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing softly. You let out a quiet sigh when his lower lip drags against the top curve, pressing into a kiss. Moving to the next to take a nipple into his mouth, wet tongue sliding over it while his thumb teases the other.

Your hand reactively reaches for his head, pleasure starting as a line up your neck and down to your pelvis -- a whimper coming out of you involuntarily. He gives a final flick of his tongue before pulling your underwear down to your knees, letting them fall to your ankles. He looks up with a smile and a kiss to your lips, "Lay down for me."

He doesn't have to ask you twice, kicking kicking your panties off and sliding onto his bed. You lay back against the soft comforter and look up at him while he kneels over you, eyes gleaming while they take you in.

“Peach you’re…you gotta be fucking kidding me,” he lets out with an airy laugh. 

You look up at him while he lets his eyes roam over you again, suddenly self conscious. You cover some of your chest with your forearm, tucking in on yourself. 

“No, no baby,” he coaxes softly, “Show me, show me you.” 

You reluctantly release, it had been a while since you were fully naked in front of someone. You grimace when your arms fall back flat on the comforter, hands daintily laying just above your head. He bites his lower lip, the pink in his cheeks flushing to a soft red. His hands reach up to the sides of your rib cage, eyes on you for silent permission.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath. His hands slide down carefully, cascading into the dip of your waist and up over your belly. One finger tip traces a stretch mark just above your pelvis that you wished he hadn’t noticed — that you forgot you had. His hands continue their journey over your hips to the tops of your thighs — your body warm and welcoming to his touch. 

“You are gorgeous,” he whispers — partly to himself, partly to you. 

You lean up on your forearms and look down at yourself briefly, “Yeah? You think so?” 

“I uh – fuck –” he shakes his head in disbelief before leaning forward to kiss you, “I really think so.” 

His lips come in for a long peck, settling himself over your calves, forearms and biceps flexing while he leans on his hands to steady himself on the mattress. He breaks away to kiss your neck – gentle, only a few before placing one soft kiss to your chest – working his way downward. He kisses the pad of fat on the peak of your ribcage, down to your stomach, right over the stretch mark that you wish you’d forget about now. He kisses the other side of your belly, mouth and breath warm while he does, eyes blown like he’s mapping you out. 

You revel in the quiet, watching him savor you, adjusting to sit on his knees between your legs. He bends down like he’s praying, lips blessing the top of one of your thighs. He bends one of your legs up and out, kissing the inside of your knee. 

“Please,” you whisper down at him. He kisses the inside of your knee again, feeling your weight shift in the bed while you open your legs further. He looks down between your thighs, brows tilting in awe at the sight of you bared for him. 

“Push up on the bed a little, honey,” he instructs, so quietly you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t so close. If the rest of the apartment wasn’t so still. You slide up on the comforter while he adjusts the pillows behind you, “That’s good? You comfortable?” 

You nod breathlessly, his smile making you melt the more you see it in the light of his lamp in the corner. He kisses you again, hand reaching up behind your neck to pull you to him while you let his tongue into your mouth. It slides against yours with needy precision, wanting to get as close to you as possible while he does. When you part he lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling your nose. 

“You okay?” you press your forehead to his. 

“Yeah I’m just – I think I’m nervous,” he laughs, “You’re makin’ me nervous.” 

“Why’re you nervous?” you ask, pulling back to look at him. 

“I dunno. I guess I just,” he leans back, “I’m never normally thinking my way through it. At least I haven’t for a while.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Like I was just taking people home to fuck, then they’d leave,” he shrugs, “I’m like…I’m taking my time and I wanna make sure it’s like – the best sexual experience you’ll ever have.” 

“Sexual experience,” you repeat back in a tease, he puffs out a breath with a roll of his pretty brown eyes. 

“I’m trying to be meaningful here,” he asserts, “M’trying to like – make love to you.” 

You giggle again at ‘make love’ but cover your mouth, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I’m not making fun of you. That’s very sweet, Ed.” 

He tinges an embarrassed pink and settles back on his knees, hands running through his hair. 

“Baby,” you soothe, coming up to smooth your hands over his shoulders, “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not trying to make you feel silly or embarrassed. I’m nervous, too.” 

“Baby…” he repeats back, a boyish grin pulling up on his lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

“Yeah you are,” you nod, kissing his cheek, “You’re such a baby.” 

“Thought I was an old man,” he says, that blushy grin still plastered on his face. 

“You can be both.” You lay back against the pillows, watching him take a settling breath before coming back down to meet you for another taste of warm kisses. He lets himself press a loving kiss to your cheek before dipping down to leave intentional kisses down your sternum, following his map from your rib cage to your belly, the top of your thigh, the inside of your knee. Neither of you speak when he kisses the inside of your thigh, letting him part you right before his tongue starts to flick dutifully over your clit. 

Your quiet gasp makes his eyes flutter closed, feeling you settle down into the pillows while his lips open over you, nose resting on the pudge of your mound. His tongue works steadily, working you while your legs bend and creep upwards, thighs to your chest. One hand reaches up to squeeze the inside of one, spreading you apart a little further for him. You feel the warmth of the back of his head as he leans to the side against your thigh, tongue dragging up over and over before moving right back to center. 

“More,” you sigh out, starting to whimper, hips reacting to each flutter of his tongue. He start to suckle, eyes flicking up at the sound of your voice. He nods while he works, one hand coming up to slide a finger in either ease – he’s not surprised. 

“Oh!” you squeak out, the little quake in your thighs makes him huff a laugh. 

“Does this feel good?” he asks against your skin. He kisses your other thigh why he waist for an answer. You nod down at him, breaths picking up while his finger dips slowly in and out. 

“S’really good,” you slur out, the tingle in your belly rising to an electric buzz. 

“D’you like getting eaten out?” he asks, starting again. His middle finger pushes in with his index this time with mild resistance. 

“Hmmm-yes,” you breathe out at the slight stretch, feeling him hook into you once his fingers push the hilt. You push up on your forearms and then your hands, the pleasure making you dizzy while you look down at him. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. He obliges, head down and determined, sucking and teasing, the soft flick of his tongue getting you closer and closer. His fingers pulse, pushing in and in and in, the pads of his fingers pressing on your core that makes heat run through you. You aren’t sure if you’re numb with pleasure or you’re flooding over his finger, the buzz is becoming overwhelming. Your heart hammers, his fingers working in a controlled steady rhythm – too grown to know that when a girl’s about to cum you don’t speed up, you stay the course.

“ShhhitI’mgonnacum – ohmigodI’mgonnacum.” 

His lips break away from your clit as you start to come undone, a smirk prevalent on his face when he leans in to kiss you through it. You moan so loud into his mouth it’s almost a cry – a prayer to God that you make it out with all your senses. 

He feels the gush of your release over his first and middle finger, leaking plentifully into his comforter. He smiles when he breaks away from you — soft kisses on your cheeks while you shiver.

You flop flat on your back with a deep breath, shutting your eyes while you push air out of O shaped lips. 

“You okay?” his low gravelly voice settling in your chest. You nod, a little hazy, shifting over a wet spot under your limp thighs.  “Ugh.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, knowing that you can feel what you left behind. He squeezes your calf with a soft chuckle, “Just a lil’ mess, baby. D’y’need a minute?” 

You nod, another deep breath, peeking through your heavy lids to watch him stretch over you while he clicks on another light. The sconces above his bed glow golden and soft above the both of you, glinting against his silver jewelry like a fire. Eddie’s form shifts the mattress when he lays next to you, rough palm smoothing over the top of your stomach to the opposite dip in your waist. 

“That was uh…” 

“Yeah…”

You lay there with each other, eventually finding the strength to move onto your side to face him. He’s confident now that you came, more sure of himself – he knows he can make you do it again. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you chide. 

He giggles darkly, face splitting smile pulling his cheeks up, “M’not giving you a look.” 

“You are giving me a look.” 

“M’just…you know – It’s always good to know you still got it,” he shrugs, falling onto his back. He tucks his hands behind his head, elbows splayed out on either side, biceps flexing, “And I still got it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you still got it old man,” you laugh, tucking yourself under his arm so that your head lays on his chest. You look down the expanse of him, fingertip tracing one of his tattoos that flows down to his lower stomach. His cock twitches, kicking up at the gentle touch so close to his pelvis. You let out a soft hum when one of his arms comes down to wrap around you, kiss pressed to the top of your head. You tilt up, noses brushing while your fingers still trace, searching lower until the scratch of stubble from week old manscaping finds you. 

You kiss him first, moving out from under his arm, propping yourself up on your elbow while you guide him. He grunts out a low groan when your hand finally wraps around his cock, offering him steady strokes, giving him a type of relief he’s deeply needed this past month and some change. It’s not long before his fingers wrap around your wrist to put you back on the mattress, hard and leaking, desperate to be inside you. Your eyes linger on it while he leans over to grab a condom from his bedside table drawer, he smirks while he rolls it on. 

“Ready?” he asks, cocky, tossing the foil packaging off the bed. You nod hurriedly, grinning while he props your hips up under a couple of his pillows. 

Another kiss and he’s parting your legs again, fingers sinking into the fat of the back of one of your thighs while he guides himself down the slick slit of your core. He goes slow, tip teasing your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He’s concentrating, but he still flicks his eyes up at you beneath his feathered bangs before starting to push. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

He eases in, you feel the stretch immediately, legs springing up tight towards your chest. One, two, three short even thrusts before you’re slick enough to accommodate him. He pushes in slowly, both of you sighing in pleasure when he splits you open to the hilt, your legs parting further. His other hand meets your lonely thigh, gripping tight while he starts at a steady rhythm, head lolling back for a moment then coming back to center.  

“Baby…” he starts, a growl of a grunt coming from his chest, “You – oh, honey – you feel so good, so — oh fuck...” 

You can only respond with choked ‘uhn! uhn! uhn!’s at every thrust, the head of his cock plunging deep at this angle, nearly brushing your cervix. His kiss is welcomed when he lets go of your legs to lean forward over you, propping himself up on one forearm, hand  on your cheek. 

“That’s good? This feels good?” he pants into your mouth. 

“Mhm,” you whine, “You’re so deep.” 

“I know,” he coos, “M’really deep. You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you squeak when his thrusts become intentionally strong and slow. 

“Feelin’ me?” he asks, tip of his nose running along your cheek, forehead against your temple. You nod, groaning while he continues, holding his hips in place after every plunge into your core. His cologne and scent of his hair products blend together in a dark spice that makes your mouth water, eyes fluttering closed when you hear his breaths become gravelly – each one its own growl. You can barely think, your mind’s not able to keep up with the pleasure of where his cock keeps hitting, how full you feel, where his free hand wanders, how he kisses your neck. In the haze you realize that he likes this, he likes being in control. 

Your body bounces against his hips when his thrusts start to pick up in speed, not fast like a jackhammer, but fast enough that the buzz in your belly becomes a vibrant hum. He gives you a final sloppy kiss on the neck and then the lips before leaning back up for more leverage, gripping your waist just above the flare of your hips. 

“Look at me,” he huffs out, more of a command than a suggestion. Your heart rate quickens at the sound, bark and bite while his fingertips squeeze you. Your eyes snap to his like magnets, like when you first kissed after your date in the park. 

“God,” he groans, “S-so – fuck – pretty.” 

His next thrust hits a spot that makes you see white, a whimper choking out of your throat. You grab his wrist, whining, “Ohmygod there, right there.” 

“There?” he teases softly, slowing down to slowly drag his cock in and out. He hits it again at an achingly low speed this time, but the pleasure is just as delicious. 

“Yes, yes right there – please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying please for, what you’re asking. You just need to feel this, you need him to get you there. He quickens his pace, the slick and sloppy sounds of skin hitting skin and ragged breaths disrupting the quiet of the room. Tears pool in your eyes in pleasure while you cry out, back arching into each snap of his hips. 

“More, more, more,” like a chanting prayer flows out of you, spurring him on. His heart thumps in his chest while he looks down at you, your face contorted, the way your breasts bounce. He resists the urge to reach down and clamp over your neck when you bare it to him, pushing yourself against the pillows. He busies himself by gripping your thighs again in a bruising hold, holding steady at a pace that clearly feels great for you but feels amazing for him. Eddie bites his lip, the sight and sound of you sending him reeling. He’s getting close, hips starting to stutter while your walls loosen a bit to accommodate him further, you’re already soaking his pelvis – you’re gonna cum, he can feel it. 

You can feel all your sounds in your throat, kneels pulling together as the vibrant hum in your lower belly becomes a vibration. He doesn’t stop, grunting and huffing like a bull with each thrust while he tries to hold back. He pulls your knees apart to make space for him, chest to chest while he pumps in a little bit faster. Eddie’s mouth takes yours hungrily, greedily while he lets out an aching moan. 

“Fuck – fuck - shit,” he growls, eyes clamped closed while your noses rest against each other. He keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm despite his shaking arms. At this position he can adjust to go a little deeper, and when he does you gush. He keeps going, feeling the pulses of your walls over his cock, a confident grin puffing out tired breaths. 

You grip his biceps when he does one final hit that sends you over the edge, thighs and hips shaking when he does. You feel it in your whole body, goosebumps rising like you can’t handle it, back nearly aching in an arch that settles back down. Your moan turns into a cry – a real cry. You shudder while your body comes down, tears pouring down your cheeks and you can’t quite get yourself to settle down. 

“Oh, honey no, did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Eddie swallows, voice back to soothing comfort while he eases up, “What’samatter? Did you not like it?” 

You wipe your eyes but the tears still come, you shake your head no. Embarrassed from blubbering you try to cover your face but he smooths your hands away, “What’s wrong, Peach? Please talk to me. Was that too much? Was I too rough?” 

“N-no,” you laugh a little, “Sorry, this is r-ridiculous. I’m – m’okay.” 

“You don’t look okay,” he says. He settles on his calves, easing you up to sitting – with some coaxing he gets you straddled in his lap. The exhaustion from your orgasm distracts you from the stickiness between your thighs, the uncomfortable wetness leftover between your legs. You feel sleepy and soggy. 

“Did I do something?” he asks again, hands cupping your cheeks while his thumbs swipe away oncoming tears. 

“N-no it was ju-just really intense,” you swallow and cough, another sob racking through you, “J-just came really hard.” 

He nods, looking at you intensely, “Do you just want me to hold you?” 

You nod back and without a second though he pulls you tight into him, bringing you both back down sideways on the mattress. He lets you let it out, running the backs of his fingers along your back until you start to calm down, sobs shuddering down into sharp breaths, to normal ones, to slow. 

“A little better?” he asks, quiet and sweet. You nod with your eyes closed, cheek squished against the comforter. Eddie smiles, easing the condom off his now softened shaft and tossing it in the bin under his night stand. He soothes you for a while, sitting on the side of you and running his palms over your back and thighs, over your calves, selfishly over the swell of your ass. He puts pressure on your lower back, between your shoulder blades, the top of your neck. 

“This is really nice,” you croak out, feeling the warmth of his hands cascade gently over you. 

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get worshiped, huh?” 

You nod again, breaths steady, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “You deserve it, don’t you?” 

“I do,” you smile. 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. My girl, my girl, my girl. 

It echoes through the both of you, the declaration – the claim, but neither of you say anything.In fact at this point, it looks like you might’ve fallen asleep. 

Eddie takes the throw that had been pushed to the floor and covers you up for now, he’ll wake you later for pajamas and water and a snack. For now he figures you should just rest, you look so cute like this – all worn out ‘cause of him. He quietly slips on a pair of socks and gray sweats and pads his way downstairs to make you something, swiping up his phone to see two missed messages from Steve on his screen. 

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago Did you just bitch button me? 

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago What the fuck?

Big Guy💪👔 36m ago Photo notification. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, opening his phone to his texts. His eye roll stops when the picture of Bandit curled up on his bed by the sliding door pops up. Eddie said the bed was way too big for him, but Steve insisted he’d grow into it. 

Eddiesorry dude, i was busy. u around? 

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Taking Bandit on a night walk. You okay? You have a show tonight? 

EddieNah.  🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Hell yeah dude 😎 Congrats! 

Eddiethanks man.just putting something together for her for when she wakes up.

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago fucked her to sleep lol 

Eddie gotta change my middle name to nyquil 😎

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago so it was good huh? 

Eddie i’ll tell you all the horny details tomorrow but honestly dude? i might end up loving this one. 

He wakes you up later leaving gentle kisses on your forehead, set of his comfy clothes in his hand for you, “Made you a little snack downstairs, you hungry?” 

You stretch, nodding, feeling a dull ache in your hips and inner thighs. You frown when he eases the throw off of you, forcing you to stand up and get dressed. Eddie’s scent is prevalent on his clothes, enveloping you again when he does the same with his arms. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you assure, looking up at him, “Now, don’t get a big head about this or anything – but that was easily some of the best sex I’ve had in my life.” 

He lets go of you, shrugging with a smile and tilt of his head, “What can I say? I –” 

“I said don’t get a big head,” you warn, stifling a giggle, “Don’t you go around bragging about it either.” 

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I promise,” he holds his hands up, leading the way down the stairs. 

“Not even Steve.” You follow him down, body taking over to lead you to the snacks he laid out on the counter of the island. 

“Not even Steve,” he repeats, picking up his phone again. 

Eddie she just told me that this was the best sex she’s ever had in her life lol i’m the fucking man

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago you da man 😎

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[kakushino]

Meet cute

Tomioka Giyuu x Mer! GN! Reader

Nothing was more terrifying than having Death on your tail.

Tags: Modern AU, Mer AU (human char x mer reader) Word count: 489

Main Masterlist

AN: First in a series of drabbles/snippets of Mer AU I brainrotted with my friends hehe~ Water painted by Ivan Aivazovsky (1817 - 1900)

Nothing was more terrifying than having Death on your tail.

It was just your luck that a pod of Death happened upon your coral reef, and you had just offered your abode to a kind octopus with fries to her name.

Weaving between the kelp off the side of your reef seemed to have confused them enough to allow you to swim to the shallows. You knew that would hardly stop them, powerful fins and agile bodies giving them the ability to strike right to the tide line – no further, lest they beach themselves-

A high-pitched sound reached your ears, interrupting your current of thought, and your heart fell into your stomach.

You poured all your energy into speed. Time was of the essence, they were getting closer, you could hear them now. You were surrounded. The only way out was out.

With the last of your power, and what the shallow water allowed you, you slid up the sandbank, just barely at the high tide line.

It wouldn’t keep you safe.

Strange echo of waves spurred your panicked crawling up the sand – the surface broke, water crashed – your keening song short, cut off – scorching hot hands grabbed your biceps and pulled.

Your back stung in direct sunlight, dorsal fin flapping to the side uncomfortably, pelvic fins scratched up. The sand hurt against your scales as they dried against the heated ground, much quicker than what was natural, but it was better than being torn apart for sport by Death.

You didn’t even look at what pulled you ashore, just rolled up, up, up the beach away from Death. You caught the sight of it retreating to the waters, and shade covered you as the heated hands dropped your arms.

Now far on land, your gills stuck closed, and you breathed hard through your mouth. The adrenaline made your limbs shake. Mind scrambled, eyes searching the surface for the damned black fins that were sure to appear when a pod of Death was nearby.

Nothing.

The sand near your hands moved.

Your head whipped around to look at what – who – dragged you from your demise.

A beautiful human was at your side, its own breathing slowing down from the mad dash to freedom. Long dark hair - messy, as if seawater caused it to dry like that; ruddy blush high on his cheeks – from the sun? from helping you? Skin so light and bright, covered in salt from your home, sparkly even in the shade.

Its eyes opened and the colour of the sea stared back at you.

You were speechless. Had you seen such a mer back home, you would have stayed.

“What are you?” it spoke at last – or he? His voice was deeper than a female mer, so you would say it was a he. The information helped you none because you didn’t understand a lick of his human song.

Well, you beached yourself. Now what?

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or reblog if you liked it :3

Legend: Death = orca / killer whale (TBA)

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

Honorary mentions: @starrierknight-main @aikugo @arlertdarling @mydarlingdahlia @glitchtricks94 (lmk if you want to be untagged)

THERE IS NO TAGLIST!

[travelingare]

📍 Basque Autonomous Community‎‎,Spain!!

The Basque Country of Spain is a place like no other, with a blend of dramatic landscapes, rich history, and unique culture.

Here’s why it should be a must-visit:

🌊Stunning Coastline: The rugged Atlantic coast, dotted with fishing villages like Getaria and cities like San Sebastián, offers pristine beaches and scenic views. The famous surfing waves of Mundaka and the tranquil beauty of the Flysch cliffs make the coastline unforgettable.

🍽Gastronomic Heaven: The Basque Country is home to more Michelin- starred restaurants per capita than almost anywhere else in the world. From pintxos (Basque tapas) in the vibrant old town of San Sebastián to traditional dishes in remote mountain villages, the culinary scene is second to none.

🇪🇸Unique Culture and Language: Basque culture is distinct from the rest of Spain. The ancient Basque language (Euskara) is still spoken, and the region’s festivals, music, and dance offer a window into a culture with roots stretching back thousands of years.

🌅Natural Beauty: From the green rolling hills of the countryside to the towering Pyrenees mountains, the Basque Country offers some of the most breathtaking natural landscapes in Europe. Hike through the Urdaibai Biosphere Reserve, or explore the stunning Picos de Europa.

🖼Art and Architecture: The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, a masterpiece of contemporary architecture, draws art lovers from all over the world. Bilbao itself is a testament to modern urban revitalization, blending old-world charm with avant-garde design.

🏛Rich History and Traditions: The Basque people have preserved their traditions and autonomy throughout centuries of foreign rule. Visiting towns like Guernica, which is steeped in historical significance, helps you understand the resilience of the Basque identity.

The Basque Country isn’t just a destination-it’s an experience, full of contrasts, where nature, food, and culture collide in ways that will stay with you long after you’ve left.

Have you been to the Basque Country before?

If not is it now on your list?

@vineyardsandvoyages

#visiteuskadi #sansebastian #spain #travel #travelingare #dronephotography