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ko-kimchi · 26 days ago

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UNDER THE SEA

summary: When a voiceless prince of the sea washes up on shore, the last thing you expect is to fall in love with him. But Suguru is nothing like the legends — sharp-eyed, wild-hearted, and hiding more pain than he lets on. As your world turns upside down with stolen glances and forbidden touches, you're both pulled into a storm of old magic, royal wrath, and the kind of love that changes everything. In the end, the only thing stronger than the tide is the bond between you.

pairing: ariel! suguru geto x prince eric! male reader

content warnings: 18+, top male reader, the side characters are originally sea creatures but get turned into humans at the end (for the plot), shapeshifting, thoughts of suicide (implied).

word count: 8.0k

The coast was a living thing.

It breathed salt into the air, stirred the waves with invisible hands, whispered secrets through the sea grass curling around the rocks. You knew the shoreline better than you knew the royal gardens, better than the throne room where your future was supposed to be waiting. Here, at the ragged edge of the kingdom, you could pretend the world was yours alone.

Megumi barked at the foam licking the sand, then trotted back to nudge your knee with a wet nose. You smiled, absently scratching behind his ears as you watched the ships bobbing out on the horizon — pale ghosts against the setting sun.

Tomorrow there would be meetings. Talks of alliances, marriage contracts and duty. You had been reminded of it a hundred times this week alone. A prince's life is not his own, they told you. A prince lives for his people.

You tipped your head back and let the wind steal the breath from your lungs. Maybe that was true. Maybe that was why you spent so much time down here, pretending you could forget.

The first night you saw him, you thought he was a dream.

A figure cutting through the dark waves, black hair slicked back from his sharp, beautiful face, a flicker of something silvered and strange at his waist where legs should have been. He didn't speak. He only watched you from a distance, half-shielded by a jagged rock outcropping — until the tide rose too high and you had to retreat, pulse thundering like a drum.

You didn’t tell anyone. You weren’t even sure he was real.

But you came back the next night anyway. And the night after that.

⋆｡°✩

The sea above was never quiet.

It pressed against Geto's skin like a second heartbeat, a steady drum of currents and whispered storms. He learned long ago how to move with it, how to let the world pass around him without leaving a mark. Down here, nothing changed. Down here, he could be anything except free.

His father's court was endless: treaties with the southern pods, patrols against deepwater threats, lectures on duty and bloodlines. The weight of it wrapped around his ribs tighter with every passing year. One day, Gakuganji told him, the crown would be his. One day, he would lead their people. One day, one day, one day.

None of it ever felt like it belonged to him.

Only the surface did.

Only the wind-struck light dappling the upper currents, the forgotten shipwrecks rusting like bones, the songs carried down from the world above. Only the days he risked everything to rise to the rocky cliffs near the human harbour — to watch them, to imagine a life where he could breathe air and walk wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without permission or fear.

It was on one of those days that he saw you.

A boy standing barefoot on the rocks, hair tousled by the wind, face turned toward the horizon like he was searching for something he hadn't found yet. You looked out at the world the way Geto did from below — aching for it.

He should have swum away. Should have gone back to the safety of the deeps.

But he stayed. And he watched. And for the first time in a long time, the ocean around him didn’t feel like a cage.

⋆｡°✩

The night the storm hit, the harbour bells rang too late.

You had been aboard one of the trading ships by then, half-listening to the captain grumble about incoming weather and ignoring the pit twisting in your gut. The sky was already bruising purple when the first gust hit — tearing sails, snapping rigging. Men shouted, scrambling to reef lines and lower anchors, but the sea didn’t care for human hands.

It swallowed the ships one by one.

The deck pitched under your feet. You stumbled, slamming against the rail just as a wall of black water rose above the stern. Megumi barked once, sharp and terrified, before something wrenched you backwards — the mast, splintering free and crashing down.

You didn’t have time to scream.

The ocean yawned open and dragged you under.

⋆｡°✩

Geto felt it before he saw it.

The current shifted — sudden and wrong — churning with debris and panic. He surfaced just in time to see the human ships breaking apart like toys, to hear the distant wail of horns and voices swallowed by thunder.

And you.

Sinking.

He didn't think. He never thought, where you were concerned.

Geto dove, cutting through the wreckage, ignoring the jagged shards that scraped his arms. He found you drifting down like a broken-winged bird, limbs slack, hair fanning in the dark.

The ocean wanted you. It always wanted the beautiful ones.

Not this time.

He caught you around the waist and kicked hard for the surface.

You were heavy with soaked clothes and fading warmth. Every second dragged like chains. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but he held onto you like you were the last real thing left in the world.

When they broke the surface, the storm was still raging. Waves tossed them like driftwood. He scanned the dark coastline — spotted the jutting rocks near the harbour mouth — and swam.

He didn’t know how long it took. He didn’t care.

He hauled you up onto the slick stones, shielding your body with his own as the rain lashed down. You coughed weakly, choking on salt, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

Alive.

You were alive.

⋆｡°✩

The sound of human voices echoed from the cliffs — search parties, flashing lanterns between the rocks. Geto looked down at you, memorising the line of your jaw, the stubborn set of your mouth even in sleep.

He wanted — stupidly, selfishly — to stay.

Instead, he pressed his forehead briefly against yours, whispering something he would never have the chance to explain. Then he slid back into the water and vanished with the tide.

By the time the villagers found you, the only trace of him was the salt drying on your skin.

The throne room shimmered with trapped light — columns carved from coral and salt-stained marble, banners heavy with the weight of generations. Geto stood in the centre of it all, dripping seawater onto the polished floor, heart hammering against his ribs.

"You endangered the whole pod!" Gakuganji’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip. His crown tilted slightly with the force of his rage. "You think the humans would hesitate to capture you? To carve you open and mount you on a wall?"

Geto said nothing.

There was no point arguing. Not when his father’s anger was loud enough to drown the entire ocean.

Beside the dais, Nanami stood stiff-backed, arms crossed. He didn’t look triumphant about reporting Geto’s surfacing — just tired, like he hated this as much as everyone else. It almost made it worse.

"You're heir to the throne!" Gakuganji thundered. "You have responsibilities beyond your childish fascinations."

Geto's hands curled into fists. He could still feel the weight of you in his arms, the raw terror of losing you to the storm. "I saved him," he said quietly.

"What?" The king leaned forward, incredulous.

"I saved a human boy," Geto repeated. "He would have died."

"You risked us for one human?!" Gakuganji slammed his trident into the floor, the impact echoing up the columns. "You think they would show you the same mercy? You think they would not hunt you down the moment they saw what you are?"

"They’re not all the same," Geto said, teeth gritted. "He—"

"Enough." Gakuganji's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "You will not surface again. You will not approach the humans. You will remember who you are."

"And if I don't?" Geto asked, before he could stop himself.

For a moment — a long, dangerous heartbeat — the throne room went dead still.

"You are my son," Gakuganji said, low and cold. "You have no other path."

⋆｡°✩

Later, in the empty coral gardens, Gojo found him — lounging sideways across a crumbling pillar, grinning like he hadn't just been chased out of a war meeting.

"Yikes," Gojo said cheerfully. "You sure know how to make an exit."

Geto didn’t answer. He stared up at the distorted sunlight filtering through the water, aching all over in ways he didn’t have names for.

"You’re lucky," Gojo continued, drifting upside down just to be annoying. "If it were my old man, I’d already be gutted and grilled."

"You're not helping."

"You never let me," Gojo huffed. He floated closer, peering at Geto. "So. You gonna tell me what’s got you risking excommunication? Or do I have to guess?"

Geto stayed silent.

Gojo tilted his head. "It’s a boy, isn’t it?"

Geto groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Gojo whooped. "I knew it! The brooding, the reckless endangerment, the classic tragic ocean prince move—"

"Shut up."

"Make me," Gojo said smugly. He poked Geto’s arm. "Come on, you big idiot. You’re already halfway to disaster. Might as well tell me the whole tragic love story before Nanami comes back and scolds you again."

⋆｡°✩

The sea grew colder as Geto swam downward.

Here, light barely touched the water — a place forgotten by even the boldest currents. The rocks twisted into cruel shapes, and whispers rode the tides like broken shells. If there was a place for mistakes to be made permanent, it was here.

He should have turned back.

He didn't.

The cavern loomed ahead, yawning wide, lit from within by a sickly green glow. Strange silhouettes moved against the walls — half-formed faces, reaching hands. Geto steeled himself and drifted closer.

"You’re a hard one to catch," a voice purred from the darkness.

Kenjaku.

The wizard drifted forward, robes flowing like smoke around his legs, face split by a smile too wide to be friendly.

"You want something, little prince," Kenjaku crooned. "I can smell it."

Two figures uncoiled from the shadows behind him — long, sinuous, sharp-toothed. Mai and Maki, twinned and terrible, circled lazily around Geto, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Look at him," Mai said mockingly, twirling a lock of her hair. "So serious."

"So sad," Maki agreed, baring her teeth in a grin.

"So stupid," they said together, and laughed — a low, rippling sound that made Geto’s skin crawl.

⋆｡°✩

"I need legs," Geto said, forcing his voice steady.

Kenjaku’s smile sharpened. "Legs, hm? For what, I wonder? A human? A flash of bare skin and you’re ready to drown yourself in heartbreak?"

"Name your price," Geto said flatly.

The witch tsked, floating closer until their noses almost touched. "Such a waste. Such beautiful magic, all tangled up in something as stupid as hope."

Behind him, Mai and Maki snickered.

⋆｡°✩

Kenjaku raised one hand, tracing a circle in the water. A contract shimmered into view — ancient script twisting around its edges.

"The price is your voice," Kenjaku said sweetly. "Three days. If he falls in love with you — truly — and seals it with a kiss, you stay human. If not..." His smile grew wider. "You belong to me."

The eels spun around Geto, tightening the circle. Their laughter dripped like venom into the water.

Geto hesitated — just for a breath.

Long enough to remember your face, lit by stormlight. Long enough to remember the way you clutched his hand even unconscious.

He reached out and touched the glowing contract.

⋆｡°✩

Pain flared in his throat — white-hot and merciless — cutting off his cry halfway. The magic stripped him clean, peeling his voice from his body like silk torn from skin.

He gasped silently, clutching his throat as the spell wrapped around him, crushing, reshaping, burning.

When it was done, he drifted there — smaller, heavier, different.

Legs where there had been fins. Silence where there had been song.

Kenjaku smiled like a man who had just caught a very rare fish.

"Good luck, little prince," he said, voice syrup-thick. "And do hurry."

Mai and Maki cackled as the currents carried Geto upward — toward the waiting world above.

⋆｡°✩

The morning broke soft and slow over the coastline, spilling gold across the restless sea. The world still smelled of the storm — salt-heavy, sharp with the tang of broken kelp — but the sky had cleared, vast and aching blue from horizon to horizon.

You stumbled barefoot across the sand, Megumi racing ahead, nose low to the ground. Every muscle in your body ached from the night before — the crash of the ship, the icy clutch of the water, the way your lungs had burned as you fought to surface. It blurred in your memory now, stitched together only by fragments: the cold, the fear — and something else. A hand, pulling you upward. A voice you couldn’t remember, except that it had made you feel safe even in the middle of drowning.

You had barely slept. You couldn't. Not when the memory of it kept clawing at you, whispering that there was more you were supposed to remember.

And then Megumi barked — sharp and urgent — and you saw him.

A body crumpled on the sand, half-buried in seafoam, black hair spilling in tangled waves across pale skin. He was naked — startlingly so — his skin marred only by the faint bruises of the storm, the faint shimmer of salt drying on him. There was nothing indecent about it; it felt more like finding something sacred, half-formed and left behind by the tide.

You ran before you even realised you were moving, dropping to your knees in the wet sand beside him. He wasn’t breathing — or if he was, it was shallow enough to terrify you.

"Hey," you gasped, pressing trembling fingers to his cheek. "Hey, wake up—"

He stirred faintly under your touch.

His lashes fluttered. His mouth parted in a soundless breath. Dark eyes blinked up at you, wide and dazed and afraid.

Relief crashed through you so fast it left you dizzy. "You're okay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "You're okay."

You sat back, heart hammering, and without thinking, yanked your jacket from your shoulders. You wrapped it hastily around his body, covering him, trying to shield him from the cold — from the world — from everything that had brought him here.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn't pull away.

"Can you speak?" you asked, softer now.

He shook his head.

Panic twisted low in your gut. You scanned the beach for any sign of help — villagers, healers — but there was only you, the boy, and the endless hiss of the tide.

"Alright," you said, forcing your voice steady. "Okay. You’re safe now. We'll get you help."

He looked at you then — really looked — and the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, made your throat tighten.

You slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully. He was heavier than he looked, all wiry strength packed into his slender frame. Still, you managed to half-carry, half-drag him toward the path leading back to the village, Megumi trotting anxiously at your heels.

You didn’t even know his name.

But some part of you whispered — old and certain — that you would learn it.

Whatever it cost.

Sneaking an unconscious man into the palace was harder than it sounded.

You kept your head down, murmuring apologies to the few kitchen servants and gardeners you passed, trying to make it look like he was a drunken cousin you'd plucked off the docks rather than a half-drowned stranger you’d found lying naked on the beach. Thankfully, your reputation for odd charity cases preceded you, and nobody dared stop you outright.

Megumi pressed close to your leg, hackles raised, growling low at anyone who came too near.

The boy clung to you with what little strength he had, swaying on his feet, skin still clammy under your jacket. His eyes stayed downcast, wide and dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for the moment someone dragged him away.

You tightened your grip on his waist.

Not happening.

Not while you were breathing.

⋆｡°✩

You finally reached your wing of the castle — a small, sun-lit corner usually ignored by the court — and kicked the door open with your boot.

"Utahime’s gonna kill me," you muttered under your breath.

As if summoned by fate itself, Utahime appeared at the end of the hall, a stack of linens balanced precariously in her arms. She froze when she saw you — soaked, half-dragging a half-naked stranger through the corridor, dripping seawater onto the rug.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

You spoke first. "It’s not what it looks like."

She raised an eyebrow so sharp it could have cut glass.

"Really?" she said flatly. "Because it looks exactly like you smuggled a drowned courtesan into the guest quarters."

"Utahime," you begged, "please. Just... trust me."

Her gaze flickered from you to the boy — to Geto — noting the way he sagged against you, the bruises on his skin, the way he flinched from sudden movement. Something softened in her expression.

"Fine," she said, voice clipped. "But if the king finds out you brought another stray into the palace, you’re explaining it, not me."

"Thank you," you breathed, genuinely relieved.

She rolled her eyes so hard you thought she might sprain something, then spun on her heel. "Hot water. Dry clothes. Quietly, if you have any sense left at all."

You turned to Geto, offering the barest smile. "See? It’ll be fine."

He gave you a look that clearly said he wasn’t so sure.

You shifted him toward the washroom, only to hear a wet slap! behind you. Startled, you turned — and blinked at the sight of a bright blue fish flopping awkwardly across the tiles, tail flicking madly.

"...Okay," you muttered. "Guess the tide brought in a few extra things."

Megumi barked once, chasing after the fish with a delighted growl.

In the basin, a large lobster scuttled up the side, clacking its claws indignantly. You laughed under your breath, because what else could you do? First the storm, then the mysterious boy, now sea creatures invading your house. It figured.

You shook your head and nudged the boy toward the warm towels waiting near the fire. "Come on. Let’s get you dry before you catch something worse."

Behind you, the lobster snapped its claws in what might have been furious disapproval.

You chalked it up to a very weird day and got to work.

⋆｡°✩

The water in the copper basin steamed gently, carrying the soft scent of rosemary and soap into the air. You crouched beside it, wringing out a clean cloth with careful hands, trying not to startle the boy any more than he already was. He sat on a low stool wrapped in one of Utahime’s thick linen towels, the oversized fabric drowning his frame. His dark hair clung wetly to his cheeks, droplets carving slow trails down his throat and collarbone.

You worked in silence at first. He didn’t speak — couldn’t, you remembered with a pang — but he watched you with those dark, endless eyes, wary and unblinking. Like he expected you to change your mind. Like he was waiting to be thrown back into the sea.

You hated that look.

"You’re safe here," you said softly, dipping the cloth again and squeezing it out. "I swear it."

He blinked once, the smallest tremor of a nod, and let you gently wipe away the sand and salt crusted on his skin.

The bruises were worse up close. A constellation of them across his ribs and hips, angry purples fading into sickly greens. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling slightly as you cleaned him, careful not to press too hard. He bore it in silence, though his hands fisted white-knuckled in the towel whenever you touched a particularly deep mark.

"You really went through hell, didn’t you?" you murmured, not expecting an answer.

He just tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t decided to trust yet.

You couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking — waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he couldn’t understand, without even his voice to defend himself.

Still, he didn’t pull away from you.

That had to mean something.

⋆｡°✩

You helped him stand — slowly, carefully — and guided him to the clothes Utahime had left out. Simple trousers and a linen shirt, soft from years of washing. Nothing that would bind or restrict him. You turned your back politely to give him privacy, but you caught glimpses of him fumbling with the strange fastenings, his hands clumsy and uncertain.

You hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then — cursing the blood already rushing traitorously to your face — you turned back and crouched in front of him.

"Here," you said, voice low. "Let me help."

His hands trembled as he held out the shirt. You took it from him, sliding it carefully over his arms, mindful of the bruises. Your fingers brushed the bare skin of his back — warm now from the fire — and he shivered under your touch.

Not from cold.

From something else.

You swallowed against the tightness rising in your throat and focused on fastening the buttons one by one, your hands slow and steady.

He smelled of salt and clean water, of something older and wilder than anything that had ever lived in the palace. Being this close to him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring the wind to take you.

When you finally looked up, he was watching you again — close enough that you could see the fine droplets clinging to his lashes, the faint pink rising in his cheeks.

For a moment — just a moment — the world narrowed to this: your hands still resting lightly on his ribs, his breath ghosting warm across your mouth, the almost unbearable weight of the things you weren’t saying.

You cleared your throat roughly and stepped back.

"Better," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

He smiled — small and uncertain, but real.

It hit you like a sucker punch.

Gods help you.

You were so, so doomed.

The next few days blurred into something slow and strange and golden.

You weren’t sure when the man slipped into the rhythm of your life. It happened so naturally that even Utahime stopped giving you suspicious glares after a while, though she still huffed disapprovingly whenever she caught you teaching him how to balance a teacup properly or helping him pronounce simple words by mouthing them slowly across the breakfast table.

He learned fast.

He struggled with some things — forks, for instance, and the baffling concept of shoes — but he watched you intently whenever you demonstrated something, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration. You found yourself performing for him more and more, exaggerating small daily tasks just to hear the faint huff of laughter he tried to hide behind his hand.

He was different from anyone you had ever known. He didn’t speak, but he listened. He didn’t understand your world, but he treated every clumsy new experience like it was precious — sacred.

And gods help you, every day you spent with him carved deeper into your ribs.

It wasn’t just the way he looked — though that was its own kind of torture, the way his hair curled damply against his forehead in the mornings, the way his smiles bloomed shy and bright when you praised him. It was the way he made everything feel new. Like you were seeing the world for the first time through his eyes.

It terrified you.

And you never wanted it to end.

⋆｡°✩

One evening, Gojo hatched a plan.

The fish flopped dramatically into Geto’s washbasin, splattering water everywhere, and gurgled out something that sounded suspiciously like, "You need a romantic setting, dumbass."

Nanami snapped his claws sharply at Gojo, looking scandalised, but Geto tilted his head thoughtfully, considering.

Thus: the boat.

It was old — a battered rowboat the castle’s fishermen had abandoned months ago — but you managed to patch it up enough to float. The little inlet near the gardens shimmered under the late afternoon sun, warm and heavy with the scent of summer roses. It wasn’t much.

But Geto beamed when you led him to it, and that was enough.

⋆｡°✩

The boat rocked gently as you pushed off from the shore, settling into the lazy current. Megumi whined once, left behind on the dock, but Utahime had promised to watch him with strict warnings about muddy paws on clean linens.

You and Geto sat side by side, knees bumping occasionally as the boat drifted.

He leaned over the side once, trailing his fingers through the water, eyes wide in quiet wonder. You watched him, unable to look away. The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way the breeze toyed with the loose laces of his shirt — he looked like something dreamed into existence, something too fragile for this world.

Your heart ached with it.

Gojo and Nanami lurked somewhere nearby — you caught glimpses of them in the water now and then, little splashes and flashes of colour as they tried (very badly) to be subtle.

At one point, Gojo bumped a lily pad under your boat in what could only be described as a "subtle nudge."

You laughed under your breath.

Geto looked up, curious, and you smiled at him, helpless against it.

The boat drifted into a patch of golden reeds. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft lapping of the water, the gentle hush of the wind.

You turned toward him.

He turned toward you.

The distance between you shrank — slow, inevitable.

You could feel the heat of him, the tentative hope in his gaze, the silent question trembling between you.

You leaned in. He leaned in. Closer. Closer. Your breath mingled. Your noses brushed.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

A massive wave crashed against the side of the boat, nearly capsizing it.

You yelped, scrambling to grab the edges as Geto flailed, soaking wet, clutching desperately at the seat. The boat rocked wildly, slamming back into the reeds.

You twisted, scanning the water. No wind. No passing ship. Just... a single ominous ripple fading into the distance.

Your heart pounded with more than just adrenaline. Geto looked at you, his mouth tight with frustration, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the wood.

Something was wrong. You could feel it.

⋆｡°✩

You sat on the damp seat of the rocking boat for a long time after the wave struck, breathing hard and blinking salt from your eyes. The boy — the stranger — hunched beside you, gripping the edge of the hull so tightly his knuckles had turned bloodless. Water dripped steadily from his hair, trailing down his throat, soaking the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt until it clung to the sharp lines of his body. His mouth was a tight line, his brow furrowed in frustration, but when he turned those dark, searching eyes on you, all you could feel was the echo of something unfinished.

You almost kissed him. Gods above, you almost kissed him.

Your skin still tingled from the near-touch of it. Your heart hammered an uneven beat, deafening in the quiet. You didn’t know what you would have done if the kiss had landed — you barely knew what you were doing now, sitting here, pretending that the whole world hadn't shifted around you in the space of a breath.

You laughed under your breath — short, self-mocking — and shook your head. What was happening to you?

The boy watched you with something complicated in his gaze. There was no fear there, no hesitation. Only a kind of raw, aching patience, like he would wait as long as it took for you to understand something he couldn’t say.

The boat rocked gently again, nudged by a smaller ripple. You glanced around — no sign of the flounder or the lobster now. The water stretched flat and empty in every direction, save for the faintest shimmer on the horizon. For a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of something — a shape beneath the surface, too fast and sinuous to be natural — but when you blinked, it was gone.

You chalked it up to exhaustion. To nerves.

You rowed back to the dock in silence, your arms aching with each pull. He helped where he could, clumsy but determined, his strength returning with every passing hour. He steadied you when you nearly slipped on the wet stones, his hands warm and sure on your waist, and you laughed breathlessly despite yourself.

He smiled back — that small, fierce thing — and your heart nearly stumbled out of your chest.

⋆｡°✩

That night, the castle felt different.

Quieter, heavier.

The halls echoed strangely under your boots as you made your rounds, half-hoping to spot him tucked somewhere unexpected — curled in the library window seat, maybe, trying to puzzle out one of the battered old books you kept stacked there. Instead, you found Utahime in the kitchens, snapping orders at the scullery boys while Megumi chased a half-plucked chicken across the floor.

"You should be resting," she scolded, tossing a towel at your face without looking up. You caught it, laughing. "I’m fine. Just... restless." She gave you a knowing glance but didn’t push.

You slipped away again, heading out into the garden where the moon silvered the paths and the roses breathed heavily in the night air. You thought of the boy — of how the candlelight caught in his hair, how he tilted his head like he was listening to music no one else could hear. You thought of how close you had been on the boat, how your bodies had leaned together like they belonged in the same breath.

You thought — for the first time — that maybe the world was bigger than the walls you had been raised inside. Maybe it had always been bigger. You had just never seen it clearly until now.

You tipped your head back and let the stars blur overhead.

And somewhere, far below the still surface of the ocean, something watched. And smiled.

It began the next morning, without warning.

You barely noticed her at first — a new arrival to the court, travelling with a merchant caravan from the northern coast. She was beautiful in the way painted icons were beautiful: too polished, too deliberate. Skin like porcelain, hair so dark it seemed to swallow light, a smile that felt just a little too fixed when it landed on you.

She introduced herself as Kaori.

The name meant nothing. The smile meant even less. You nodded politely, offered the customary welcome, and forgot her almost immediately, distracted by the far more pressing task of slipping away to find the boy — your boy, you thought, and then hated yourself a little for the possessive curl of it.

You found him in the gardens again, his bare feet tucked into the sun-warmed grass, his eyes closed, face tilted to the sky like he was trying to drink the sunlight straight into his bones. You stopped in the doorway, momentarily robbed of breath by the simple, devastating sight of him.

He didn’t hear you approach. He never did. He always felt you instead — like a tide pulling at his skin.

He opened his eyes slowly, smiling that small, secret smile that made your heart ache. You crossed the distance without thinking, dropping onto the bench beside him, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar cloak.

You wanted to ask him about the wave. About the way the boat had nearly capsized at the exact wrong moment. About the way he had looked afterwards — hollow-eyed, trembling. You wanted to ask if he felt it too — the wrongness riding the air like a brewing storm.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself laughing about something trivial — the look on Utahime’s face when Megumi tracked mud all the way across the main hall — and he laughed too, breathless and soundless, clapping a hand over his mouth like it would help.

It didn’t. You caught a glimpse of it then — a boy trying so desperately to belong in a world that wasn't made for him.

And gods above, you wanted to give him that world if you could.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t see Kaori again until the next evening, at the palace banquet.

She appeared at the foot of the great staircase, clothed in sea-green silk that shimmered like scales. Her smile caught the candlelight and bent it in strange ways. When your gaze slid over her, something in your gut twisted — sharp and cold — but you forced it down. Court life was full of oddities. Beautiful strangers were hardly rare.

Still, when she moved toward you, the crowd parting instinctively around her, your hands clenched at your sides without you meaning to.

She spoke little, but when she did, her voice was soft and lilting, curling around your thoughts like mist. Every word sounded somehow heavier than it should have — harder to resist, harder to ignore.

When she laughed — high and delicate — you smiled back without wanting to. When she touched your arm, you didn’t pull away. Not because you wanted her to. Because your body wouldn't listen.

In the corner of the hall, you caught a flash of movement — the boy standing stiff and small near the tapestry-lined walls, clutching a goblet like it was a shield. His face was pale, drawn tight with something you didn’t have words for yet.

You started toward him — almost managed to break free of the invisible weight sinking its claws into you — but Kaori’s hand slipped through the crook of your elbow, light as a breath.

"Stay," she murmured. And you stayed.

You stayed while the boy you had dragged from the sea turned away, his shoulders stiff with heartbreak. You stayed while Kaori's smile sharpened at the edges.

You stayed while, somewhere deep in the castle’s belly, something ancient and wrong grinned wider in the dark.

⋆｡°✩

The days after the banquet blurred into a haze you couldn't shake.

Kaori was everywhere.

Always at your side — during morning council, during the endless, glittering dinners, during the quiet walks you used to sneak alone along the cliffs. Her hand found yours without asking; her laughter brushed against your ear like a ghost. She said very little, and somehow that made it worse — like a dream half-remembered, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold onto the pieces.

The boy — the one you had pulled from the wreckage of your life — withdrew further with every sunrise.

He stopped meeting your gaze across the long banquet tables. Stopped smiling when you stumbled over your words trying to make him laugh. Stopped trailing after you like a shadow you had learned to need without noticing.

You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself he was settling in, finding his place, finding a way to live here without needing you to hold him up.

But when you passed him in the garden one afternoon and he didn’t even glance up from where he was hunched over a battered book, something in your chest cracked so hard you almost stumbled.

You almost turned back. Almost said his name — whatever it was. Almost begged him to look at you like he used to.

Instead, you let Kaori curl her arm around yours and lead you back inside.

The court whispered, as courts always did. About alliances. About bloodlines. About destiny. The king, old and growing frail, watched you with something like approval warming the corners of his sharp mouth. His advisors began drawing up the paperwork without waiting for your consent.

The date was set. Three days from now. The engagement would be announced with all the pomp and ceremony a prince deserved.

You barely felt it happening. You smiled when you were meant to. You bowed and raised toasts and accepted the congratulations of men you hated.

You told yourself you were happy. You had to be happy.

Wasn’t this what you had always been raised for?

⋆｡°✩

That night, standing alone in your chamber, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

A stranger stared back at you — a boy dressed in a prince's clothes, weighed down by invisible chains.

You stripped the coat from your shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor. Your hands braced against the cold glass, and for a moment, you could have sworn you heard something — faint and broken — pressing against the edges of your mind.

A whisper. A cry. A name you had never been told, and yet somehow knew.

⋆｡°✩

Far across the castle, in the cramped little servants' room where he had been given a pallet and a worn blanket, the boy curled in on himself.

He clutched the locket around his throat — the one token of home he had been allowed to keep — and pressed his forehead to the rough mattress. Silent tears soaked into the fabric. His voice was gone, stolen by magic and bargain, and now the last thread tying him to you was slipping through his fingers like water.

He had almost kissed you. He had almost been enough.

Almost.

But almost didn't win. And the clock was running out.

The castle at night breathed differently.

Gone were the courtiers, the musicians, the easy laughter. The corridors stretched long and hollow, lined with flickering torchlight and the faint, restless whisper of the wind clawing against the stone. Somewhere in the kitchens, rats scrabbled unseen. Somewhere higher up, the great banners bearing your family crest sagged like forgotten memories.

And in a disused fountain tucked into a shadowed courtyard, two very angry sea creatures plotted treason.

Gojo flicked his tail in irritation, sending a ripple across the stagnant water. "I'm telling you," he hissed, voice low and urgent, "this is a full-blown, classic villain enchantment scenario. I’ve read about these things. You think princes just fall in love with creepy water-witch girls by accident?"

Nanami clacked his claws together in sharp agreement. "The signs are all there. Sudden behaviour shifts. Loss of free will. Proximity compulsion." His antennae twitched in frustration. "It's textbook dark magic."

"Exactly!" Gojo splashed dramatically. "And if we don’t snap Prince Broody out of it, he’s going to end up shackled to that creepy fake mermaid until death do they part."

Nanami adjusted his position with a weary sigh. "Do you have a plan, or are you just here to complain?"

"I always have a plan," Gojo said smugly. "Step one: cause chaos. Step two: expose the truth. Step three: make sure someone kisses Geto before the clock runs out."

Nanami paused, considering this. "You realise the 'chaos' part will get us executed if it fails."

Gojo grinned, showing far too many sharp little teeth for comfort. "Worth it."

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the castle, you paced your chamber like a caged animal.

Something was wrong. You could feel it — thick and choking in the back of your throat, wrapping around your ribs like iron bands. Every time Kaori touched you, your skin crawled. Every time you smiled at her, something inside you shrivelled smaller.

You had dreams now — strange, aching dreams where a boy with black hair reached for you through a wall of glass, his mouth open in a silent scream you couldn't hear.

You woke gasping, fists tangled in the sheets, heart battering itself bloody against your ribs.

And yet in the daylight, with the court watching, you went through the motions. Smiling. Nodding. Playing the part of the perfect prince. You told yourself it was a duty. You told yourself it was the expectation.

You lied so well, you almost believed it.

Until tonight. Tonight, something inside you snapped.

Standing before the mirror, dressed in the ceremonial clothes chosen for your engagement announcement, you caught sight of yourself — not as a prince, not as a puppet — but as a boy trapped in a cage of golden lies.

And somewhere deep in your bones, a voice you had never heard but always known whispered:

Find him.

⋆｡°✩

It began with a ripple.

A wrongness threading through the crowded ballroom — subtle at first, like a chill down your spine, like a pressure change before a storm. You stood at Kaori's side, the official proclamation clutched in your hand, the weight of duty coiling tighter and tighter around your throat. The court watched, expectant and smiling, their faces blurred at the edges of your vision.

And then the fountain at the centre of the hall exploded.

Water erupted sky-high, dousing nobles and chandeliers alike. Screams tore through the air. Plates crashed. Horses whinnied outside the gates. And in the chaos, two very familiar figures flailed onto the polished marble — one blue and flopping indignantly, the other red and clacking his claws with the frantic dignity of a man facing execution.

Gojo. Nanami.

You blinked, stunned.

Kaori gasped, stepping back from the spreading flood. Her hand brushed your sleeve—and for the first time, you felt it.

The illusion slipped.

The magic peeled away like rotted paint, revealing not a girl at all, but something older and hungrier. Her eyes flickered black for a heartbeat. Her mouth twisted, something wrong slithering just beneath the surface of her skin.

You staggered backwards, revulsion crashing over you like a tidal wave.The boy — your boy — caught your eye across the hall.

He stood frozen in the archway, soaked to the bone, clutching the locket at his throat like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His face was pale, his mouth trembling with words he couldn’t speak. His eyes — gods, his eyes — were wide and aching and full of so much hope you thought it might tear you in two.

You moved before you even realised it.

Across the ballroom, through the wreckage and screaming and magic unravelling at the seams, you ran. Kaori shrieked behind you, her voice warping into something guttural and wrong, but you didn’t look back. You tore past the courtiers, past the guards, past everything you had been trained your whole life to care about, and skidded to a halt in front of him.

He flinched — tiny, automatic — but didn’t run.

You reached out, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the tremor racing through him. He smelled like salt and sunlight and something sharp and ancient that had nothing to do with this world.

"You," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It was always you." His mouth opened — a gasp, a sob — but no words came.

He didn’t need them.

You surged forward and kissed him.

The world splintered.

The spell shattered with a soundless crack, like a mirror dropped from a great height. Light spilled from the locket at his throat, engulfing you both, washing the last of Kenjaku’s magic from the air. Somewhere in the distance, you heard a shriek — furious, inhuman — and then silence.

Only the two of you remained, tangled together, breathless and shaking.

He stared up at you like you had hung the stars.You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to.

You leaned in again, slower this time, pressing your forehead to his. His hands fisted in the front of your jacket, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like you might still disappear.

"Stay," he mouthed.

You nodded, voice wrecked and raw. "Always."

And then you kissed him again — harder, desperate — and he melted into you like he had been waiting his whole life for this.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t know how you got back to your room.

The storm had ended. The court was in chaos. Kaori — no, Kenjaku — had vanished with the tide. And yet, somehow, you were here, the boy in your arms, trembling like he couldn’t believe you were real.

The moonlight pooled across the floor in silver-blue waves. The bed creaked softly beneath your weight as you helped him sit, careful, reverent, like he might dissolve if you touched him too roughly.

His hair was still damp, sticking to his cheeks. His lips were red from your kisses. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know his story. But you knew his eyes — you’d always known them — and that was enough.

He looked at you, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles just to be here. And when he reached out — hands clumsy, unsure — it was you who leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, slow and sure and deep enough to make him gasp.

Clothes slipped away like seafoam. Not rushed, not greedy — just... necessary. Like you’d both been waiting for this without even realising it. He was lean under your hands, sculpted by the current and salt and something softer underneath. He didn’t try to hide himself. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, only want. Trust.

You laid him back carefully, the way you’d handle something sacred. His legs framed your hips, his fingers tracing your jaw like he needed to memorise you. You kissed down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest — pausing only when you felt the shiver run through him again.

"Okay?" you murmured, voice low.

He nodded, breathless.

You went slow.

You took your time with him — with your mouth, your hands, your everything. You kissed every inch you could reach. You made him fall apart with your tongue before you even pressed inside. And when he finally gasped and arched beneath you, eyes glassy with pleasure, it felt like the sea itself rose to meet you.

You held him through every thrust, every moan, every desperate whisper. And when he came — shaking, clinging, mouth open in a silent cry — you followed right after, burying your face in his shoulder, trying not to break in half from the way it felt to be wanted like that.

When it was over, you stayed tangled together in the sheets. Breathing. Listening to the ocean outside. Letting the quiet settle over you both like a promise.

His voice came at last — a hoarse whisper, barely a sound.

“...Suguru.”

You blinked. Looked down.

He gave you a tiny, tired smile. “My name. It’s Suguru.”

You swallowed hard. Nodded.

And in the silence that followed, you kissed him again.

Just because you could.

The sea had been quiet ever since Kenjaku vanished. No more sudden storms. No more secrets in the tide. Just warmth. Calm. Healing.

Suguru had never imagined he’d walk on legs — let alone walk down an aisle.

But there he was, dressed in white and gold, barefoot in the grass, arm linked with Gojo’s (who was somehow crying and smiling at the same time). The kingdom had gathered in the cliffside courtyard overlooking the ocean. Shells and petals lined the aisle. Musicians played softly. And at the altar, you waited — standing taller than you ever had, like the earth itself had been holding its breath for this moment.

When Suguru met your eyes, it was over. He laughed. You did too. Both of you lost to it — that stupid, breathless, aching kind of joy.

The ceremony was short. Sweet. Suguru’s father, still stiff with guilt, gave a reluctant blessing. Gojo (still sniffling) handed off the rings. And when you finally kissed him — husband and husband, above the sea, with the whole world watching — it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the start of everything.

There was a party after, of course. Suguru twirled in his robes, kissed your cheek until you blushed, danced barefoot on the stone with his hair loose and his smile wild. Gojo sang an off-key love song while Nanami tried to shove cake into his face. Mai and Maki bickered over who got the bigger slice. You stood with Suguru’s hand in yours, watching them all, heart full in a way it had never been before.

And later — when the moon rose, and the guests had gone, and you carried Suguru into the bedroom like he weighed nothing at all — he whispered something against your chest that made you stop breathing entirely.

“I used to dream of being part of your world,” he said softly.

You kissed the words from his lips. “You are my world now.”

And outside, the sea sang softly to itself, content at last.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq

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ko-kimchi · 28 days ago

Text

"Long Time No See"

(Elias 'Stack' Moore x Male!Reader)

Word Count: 1.9k+

Summary: You get yourself a visitor from a familiar face who wants nothing but to see you; allegedly.

Tags: Black!Reader, Sexual Tension, Kissing, Teasing, Established Relationship, Mild Angst

Author note: Ok, so first, I'm out of retirement lol. I saw Sinners (2025) a few days ago, and holy shit it was good. I'm gonna see it again today! To my dismay, the male reader fics for Sinners, specially either Elias 'Stack' and Elijah 'Smoke' is so low. So, for all the other male readers who liked the film this is for you all! This took way longer than it should've and shorter than I wanted, but it's finished! Enjoy!

You sigh deeply, eyeing the empty shelf where your main source of canned fruits were missing. Bummer, you thought not giving it much as a thought other than glancing at the young girl by the register. You settled on the canned peas instead, shoving a couple in your nearly full sack. Rolling your items around, you decide you had sufficient enough food.

Although not enough, you could at least experience the slight joy of having a few extra dollars to spare; awaiting expenditure. You were sure you'd burn through it sooner or later, saving init of itself was a gift you'd wish it didn't feel like anything but a miracle.

"Thank you for comin'".

You nod, with a small smile, "Thanks."

Exiting the store, you take the long trek home. The weather conditions never bothered you, Mississippi’s heat, sometimes an annoyance, made you consider another plantation north, but at the cost of losing contact with the community you’ve grown to find endearing; no way.

You didn't ponder on it very much, it served very little to dream big but sometimes you felt doubting kept you from reaching for opportunities beyond yourself, as if there was much to reach for. The rich life was madly tempting, you weren't gonna deny that. You bit your lip, scoping the vast fields with distance where huddled up homes were. You shake your head not even noticing the passing vehicle in parallel with your trajectory.

The polished motor growing smaller by the second almost felt comedically timed, acting as the external world’s method of rubbing what you could never have right in your face. It wouldn't be all too bad, at least you had the rest of the day to kick back til morning.

Circling into the small village, you give a nod to your known neighbors, picking up your pace as noon was soon to hit. Your eyes catch a glimpse of your house which was occupied by both someone on your doorstep and a vehicle by the front steps. Stunned, your brows furrowed as you picked up your pace. The man, wearing a top hat, gave your door a knock which only urged you to shout out to him.

"Hey!"

The man turned at your voice, his face slightly more visible. "Oh" he exaggerated, "There he is..."

You squint, tracing his face as the man leaned against the porch’s post.

"Thought you was ignorin' me."

The moment you got close enough, his features ran clear; the smug smile, familiar voice and stance. You didn't realize it, but you were expressing awe in his new attire; brisling in a tux that hosted room for a chain or two to hang freely. The unfamiliar look in both his outfit and vehicle made you consider if you were merely hallucinating. But no, the slight gust brushing against your skin proved otherwise. This was reality, and Stack was back after a year and a half of no contact.

"What?" he inquires, getting you to make eye contact with him. "Somethin' on my face?" The hints of gold on his teeth had you scoffing before flicking your eyes in an exaggerated manner. You trot forward, not bothering to make eye contact with him. Before you could get into your house, he slid in front of the door; blocking your method of entry.

You stare at his shoulder for a moment, tracing up to his expression reading as ‘well…?’ You mimic his features, tilting your head to the right, “Can I get in, please?”

“Not without hello. Or how about, ‘Long time no see.’ Yeah, that’a do it.”

You sigh, “Hello-”

“Ah!” he raises a finger before pointing at you, “Welcome back, Stack. How bout you give it a try.”

You roll your eyes, already being pulled back into his charming nature, “How bout you get that motor out my grass.”

Stack gets a good chuckle out, “Alright, my bad”, he grips your shoulder, squeezing it, as he passes you, “You got it. Baby.”

A huff left you the moment you push indoors, placing your pouch down onto the small but creaky wooden counter. You hated when he called you that with the knowledge of his infrequent visits.

With the sniff of your shirt, your feet drag you into your bedroom instead of pondering. Quickly you throw on a fresh enough cassimere shirt with a hole or two in it, but nonetheless, a garment you consider nice enough for a visitor. Applying extra lotion for your skin, the door swung open followed by two whistles.

You suck your teeth, “Come in.”

Stack enters, immediately you drop your shirt, hoping the smell of salt was mitigated by the cream. It wasn’t for him, you told yourself, you’d do this for anyone visiting; your parents, friends, even Smoke on a good day.

Your steps have him snapping his head toward you, soldier instincts you supposed, you guess you couldn’t blame him for that like you could for other things. You gulp, with mixed feelings at Stack’s eyes looking you over. Typically it’d be a queue for sizing you up or the alternative of checking you out; face alone was proof alone that anyone could deduce that the former was practically zero. You had better reasons to mimic him however; his light brown cargos and clean coat, the traits of a wealthy man.

You digress, biting your tongue, no way Stack was gonna get you fumbling easily over his current display, not without him even touching or sweet talking you.

Stack smirks as you come into your living space. He takes his hat off and sets it down on your table before gently resting against it. He glances around, seemingly giving you an opportunity to get yourself situated with your items.

Stack huffs to himself, “Not much change huh?”

“Hmm?”

“Here. Home.”

Your head shakes, “Nope. I mean, it's been quieter for the last seven years, cause…”, you look at him momentarily.

He puts two and two together, “Shit! My brother is quite the talker.” He knew well, you weren’t referring to Smoke, rolling your eyes once more. “Am I really that annoyin’?” You nod slowly. Stack sucks his teeth, walking up to and mounting his weight against the counter right next to you, “Now you’re gonna have to suffer with me then.”

You let out a long breath due to his proximity, but you kept focus on your food. You clear your throat, pivoting, “The plantation’s been calm as well…if you could believe that.”

He takes a second to respond, “None of the them Klan members try to-”

“Nope. As far as I know.”

Stack nods, and what follows is a long pause. Whether it was him deciding to eye you again, or if there was nothing he had left you speak up, balling up your pouch in the process. “So why’d you come back? Aren’ you supposed to be in…Chicago, doing-”, ‘god knows what.’

He looks down at his boots, “Yeah…things up there have been alright. We still have our business. But shit! Let me tell you, we got our pockets chiming.”

‘Business’, what he really meant was killing for profit or getting involved in illegal activity. You knew it, he knew it. If there was something he couldn’t fool anyone on, it was this.

A sharp breath comes, reminded all over again that the SmockStack twins still were pursuing that life. Being on and off with Stack over the years, felt constantly unsatisfying, only amplified by the infrequent visits; you’d be lucky if he’d visit once a year. You were sure every time he’d head north that he was essentially walking to his demise. Planning robberies, getting involved with gangs; was just as equally dangerous as the country was to the two of you.

You gritted your teeth, unsure of what to say. The pushing and pulling between ecstasy and dread was exhausting. You weren’t even sure what to say, your opinion previously conveyed, and yet he still kept at it.

Instead of replying, you turned away, the silence even more deafening than ever. Almost instantly, or perhaps a moment of you staring out the window clouded your perception of time; either way a soft touch graces your side. The feeling of Stack’s fingers nearly have you tremble however you attempt to remain unshaken.

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his warmth growing with his weight chest to your back; straightening your posture. You pear down, thoughts swimming, tenderness soothing over both your mind and physique.

Stack’s hands carefully trace up your concealed stomach. Dare you try swatting them away to save yourself the trouble. No, your hands cup over his, where it was methodically caressing your abdomen. A warm breath tickled your ear, Stack’s head leaning against yours, soothing your nerves.

“Is this alright,” he asked in a low tone.

You swallow, tilting slightly toward him. He’s got you trapped yet again, the temptation overbearing. You gave in with a nod.

Stack took the chance to start kissing your cheek. You lean into him, biting your lip, “Shit.” His pecks started as soft, turning into an attack on your neck. You closed your eyes in both sensitivity and enjoyment. Bite, lick, then kiss over; you had forgotten that was his usual routine while buried in your neck. You recall having to worry you’d have to account for the marks on your neck to others, but no worries ever came up thanks to your collar garb.

Spinning around, you lock lips with his, your hand wrapping around his back, his thick hands cupping your face. A mix of his salt and reminisce of a cigarette lingered, you didn’t care, you’d been craving the intimacy with him for a long while, and certainly it was mutual. His kisses had a certain sense of passion, his tongue slipping in, not even a few seconds into it. While expected of him, there was something a lot deeper you felt by how prolonged, how tight and long he’d hold each kiss. Maybe you were grasping for straws in the repetitive nature of everyday life, that Stack’s presence could alter your mindset. Or it could’ve equally been your growing bulge doing the talking.

You weren’t sure either or could’ve been possible, but what you were sure of was his neediness for you. He releases his palm to cup your grotch, “-fuck…!’, you blurt into his mouth.

He smirks against your lips.“Mhmm, you like that baby?”

You, of course, didn’t get a chance to answer when he nibbled on your lips. Hands now rubbing against his collar, you slowly start undoing his button up coat. He grips your hands, mumbling ‘uh uh’. Stack instead seemingly had other plans, releasing your wrist and unbuttoning your flannel. He lets out a sharp huff, looking over your chest, pupils enlightened by your skin.

Slipping his fingers into your shirt you speak up, “What’re you thinkin’”?

“Lotta things”, he softly plays with your nipples, “Some I bet you're going like?”

Your breath becomes shaky, “Really?”

“Yeah. Whichyousay we drink a bit and I’ll show you.”

You snicker to yourself, “I don’t got no beer in here”

Slack’s eyebrows raise, stopping the motion of his hands, “Guess that means you're gonna have to wait,”

“You’re not thinking of the bar, are ya?”

He nods, “It’s not far out from here. Couple of rowdy folk in and out of there, but I doubt that’d be an issue.”

“Certainly won’t be, I hope,” you breathe, fingers interlocking with him. So much for a peaceful day.

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