#yes her shirt looks a bit modern but this is not a modern au lol

[zellink]

young at last, at last.

[coolepowersthings]

Always Girl

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Benedict have been best friends since college. Every year, they watch romcoms together on Valentine’s Day. But this year might not go as planned… modern au

Warnings: NSFW 18+, sexual content, consensual sex.

Authors Note: Apparently, once every few years I manage to finish a story lol. I’ve become obsessed with Bridgerton, especially one Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, so here’s a lovely modern au for you where Ben and his best friend come to terms with some long-simmering feelings. Mostly, a reason to write some Benedict smut. Would love to hear your thoughts! Comments, likes, reblogs, and messages all appreciated!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She looks in the mirror on her wall and repeats it again. Like a mantra: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had to stop it from being like this.

Y/N flops back on her pillow and sighs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet here she was, another Valentine’s Day, pining after her best friend.

She glances at the clock. Said best friend would be here in about fifteen minutes (which for him meant probably closer to half an hour, if she was lucky and he hadn’t lost himself in a painting) so she had just enough time to pull herself together. The only good thing about this wretched holiday was that she and Benedict always spent it together. The tradition had started in university. She and Benedict had met first term and, after a rocky start involving a misplaced biology textbook, had become close friends. When February rolled around, it became clear that Valentines Day was kind of a capital T “Thing” for him.

***

“I just don’t get the hype!” he had said to her one day over lunch after the girl he was seeing that week asked him what his plans were for February 14th. “It’s one day, where you’re supposed to, what, declare your undying love for whoever you’re with at the moment, lavish them with ridiculous gifts, and watch cheesy romance movies?”

“First of all, you just used the word ‘lavish’ in a sentence. Second, you know the relationship won’t be making it to next week, so you can’t be bothered,” she’d said, pointing her fry at him in mock accusation before popping it into her mouth.

He scowled at her. She loved Benedict to death, but he was something of a flirt. And a bit of a man whore. She’d known him all of six months and already had lost count of the woman he had dated.

“I’ll admit, though, I do like the cheesy romance movie part. But I just want to watch them with a pizza and maybe some chocolate I buy for myself. I could do without the rest of it.”

“Yes!” Benedict had said. “That’s exactly what we’ll do!”

“I’m sorry, what’s exactly what who will do?”

“You and me. On Friday. Bad romcoms. Pizza.”

“And you think your current girl will go for that?”

“Darling, why would I spend valentines with my current girl if I can spend it with my always girl instead?” he said with a smirk.

***

Now, as her doorbell rings, she knows what she’ll find on the other side. Benedict, grinning at her, holding a box of chocolates and a bottle of red wine.

“Happy Valentines, always girl,” he says handing her the box of candy. “For the special lady in my life, I’ve brought a box of dark chocolate salted caramels, and a bottle of the cheapest red wine known to man.”

“You charmer!” She says, examining the bottle and pretending that his words have no effect on her. “This is literally just called ‘Red Blend.’ They couldn’t even be bothered to name their wine?”

“Names cost,” he chuckles, taking the bottle back from her and heading into the kitchen. “Besides,” he yells from the other room, “there’s a heart on the label. See? So, it’s on theme!”

She heard the clinking of him pulling glasses out of the cupboard, but she still was not prepared for the sliver of skin she sees when she turns the corner, his t-shirt riding up as he reaches, showing her a glimpse of his back. Not that she hasn’t seen his skin before – she had seen him fully shirtless in their years of friendship, but the feeling of longing in her gut still caught her off-guard if she wasn’t expecting it. Her stomach clenching, her face getting warm. She clears her throat as he opens the bottle.

“Well, we are nothing if not on theme,” she says brightly, pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head in an effort to distract herself from the way her body was betraying her. “I mean, what could be more valentines themed than this outfit?”

He glances up at her from pouring the wine and smirks. In an attempt to not overdo it, she had gone with her normal movie watching attire – a t-shirt and yoga pants.

“Dazzling, as always darling.”

He hands her a glass and takes a sip of his own. “Oh,” he winces. “That is truly awful.”

She chuckles.

“You know, our tastes have really improved since undergrad. As, may I add, have our salaries. I know you always wanted to be a ‘starving artist,’ but you have managed your way out of that by being wildly successful. We could consider improving the wine for tonight.”

He gasps in mock horror.

“And not follow tradition? You’d never forgive me. So, what do you have in mind for us today?”

“Um.” she stutters, for just a second.

What her mind wanted them to be up to and what she knew he meant were two different things. She clears her throat and tries again.

“Oh, I have some throwback classics that I think you’ll enjoy,” she says sweetly.

This was the agreement. He brought the terrible wine, and she picked out the cheesy movies. They tried not to repeat movies they had watched on past Valentines Days, but that was getting harder for two reasons. One, because they had been friends forever, and the more years they did this, the less options they had. And two, because she had done her best to avoid one specific, horrifyingly common, romcom trope: friends to lovers. Especially if the movie included long-standing-best-friends to lovers. This year, though, she didn’t have a choice. One of the movies was going to include best friends realizing they were in love with each other. Her options had been that or dredging into truly terrible D grade romcoms. And honestly, while they often poked fun at the ridiculous storylines and over-the-top climatic moments of these films, she genuinely enjoyed watching them, especially with Ben. So, she didn’t want to cheapen it to the worst of the worst. She wanted something actually pleasant to watch.

“Excellent. Que us up then, I’ll order the pizza.”

Ninety minutes later, they had finished their first movie, half the pizza, and a whole bottle of wine.

“Mmm, I liked that one,” she hums, riding the romcom happy ending high.

“I could tell,” he laughs. “You threw a pillow at my head when I suggested that the setup for their romance wasn’t very realistic.”

“Yes, well, don’t forget that I have another pillow right here if I need to do it again.”

“You would never.”

“Don’t pretend you know what I would or would not do, Mr. Bridgeton. I have hidden depths.”

“Darling,” he says. “I have known you forever, I’m pretty sure I know everything about you. And I know, without a doubt, that you would never give up your last pillow during a movie marathon.”

“You don’t know everything,” she says. And then quickly, “For example, you don’t know that what we are about to watch next is one of my all-time favorite movies.”

He quirks a brow.

“Really? A favorite? I didn’t think we had any of those left. I’m surprised you had the willpower to hold off on it until now.”

“Oh, I have willpower like you’d never believe,” she mutters, clicking over to the next film.

The opening of When Harry Met Sally starts playing on the screen.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, it’s this one. I guess you’re right, we haven’t watched this, have we.”

“You’ve seen it right?”

“Of course. It may be the only Meg Ryan movie that doesn’t make me want to die.”

“Rude!” she says. “She is a romcom treasure! And you made it through her other movies unscathed.”

“Barely!”

“Oh, shh it’s starting.”

They sit in companionable silence as the movie moves on, Meg Ryan and Billy Chrystal bantering back and forth. They get to the scene where Sally orders her food in a completely ridiculous way and Ben chuckles.

“God, she reminds me of you,” he says.

“What, terribly difficult? Complicated? Impossible for most men to love?”

“No! No, she knows what she wants. She refuses to settle.”

“I’m flattered, I guess. But that’s not really me at all, you know.”

“Well, it definitely is when you’re ordering at a restaurant,” he smirks at her. But then it turns into a softer smile, something she can’t quite identify behind his eyes. “And honestly, when it comes to dating, you are so, so brave.”

“Stop!”

“You really are! You never stay with men who don’t deserve you. You’re not afraid to go after what you want, rather than staying stagnant in something safe. That’s brave. And not easy.”

“But I don’t go after what I want,” she breaths out. “Not really. I…I’m just not willing to stay with idiots.” She stares at her fingers, which are playing with a thread on the couch pillow she’s holding close, afraid she’s said too much, but somehow not able to stop. “But I’m not willing to go after what I really want, either. I’m not that brave.”

When she chances a look up at him, there is something in his face. It’s soft and sweet. She had expected him to poke fun at her, to say something about how maybe she shouldn’t start off by dating idiots and then it wouldn’t be an issue. But instead, she finds him leaning closer to her, his eyes serious.

“Well, you should go after it. What you want, I mean. You’re brilliant, y/n. And funny and smart. Any man would be lucky to have you.” And then his wide smile is back, the glint in his eye returned. “And I would know, as I’ve been your friend for ages and I have excellent taste.”

She snorts, looking away, trying to diffuse the heavy tension she feels sitting in her chest at his kind words, the way he’s leant towards her, his subtle scent, all fresh and clean with a hint of oil paint and something woodsy underneath.

“You forget that I’ve seen the women you go for,” she says. “And frankly, your taste is questionable.”

They both chuckle and turned back to the film.

“So mean,” he says.

“I tease because I love,” she says.

Then she freezes for just a second. She and Ben tell each other they love each other constantly – as friends, of course. But tonight has seemed so weighted somehow, that she’s worried she has stepped too far. A glance at Ben tells her he’s looking at her again, smiling.

***

When they get to arguably the most famous scene of the movie, y/n nearly spits out her wine, which would have been a shame, since they had moved on to a decent bottle from her own cupboard. She had somehow forgotten about this part and, while she had watched a lot of love scenes over the years with Benedict, this one feels more intimate, somehow, even though the people in question are fully clothed, in a diner.

As she watches Meg Ryan continue to imitate an orgasm, her cheeks flush and she tried very hard not to move. It will be impossible for Ben not to make some comment about this part, and she wasn’t sure she was up to joking about it, given the amount of wine she had consumed and the rush she was already feeling this evening. She wasn’t sure why tonight it was harder to ignore the pull she felt towards him, the warmth of his arm, slung along the back of the couch - not behind her, but close enough to make her want to snuggle into him. But what he says is not what she expected.

“I don’t know how he doesn’t just lunge across that table,” he says, lowly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

“What do you mean?”

She turns to look at him and realizes he’s already looking at her, not at the screen. His eyes are darker than normal, his arm seems suddenly tense behind her.

“I mean, that if a woman I loved showed me how beautiful she could be in the throws of passion, even if I knew she was faking it, there is no way I could just stay where I was. I would need her to know. I would need to show her what she had been missing, what she could have for real.”

She feels her whole face, completely on fire. She’s thought about Ben plenty. About what it would be like to be with him. But to hear him talking about it, in his low, smooth voice, all she can think about is what he could do, with his hands, his tongue…she shivers involuntarily.

“Just, promise me you don’t play this stupid game, do you? You’re too good for that, I hope you know. No man’s ego is worth it. I just – “

“Ben,” she says, suddenly finding her voice and cutting him off. “Stop. I can’t – I don’t want to talk about this.” She tries to make her voice sound light, but when she hears it she knows it’s anything but.

“No! No, tell me you don’t?”

“Of course I don’t. I’d never fake it. But…but it does make for some awkward encounters.”

“Awkward encounters?”

“Don’t pretend you can’t imagine what happens when a woman doesn’t get off? Men have a way of convincing themselves they are the best at sex, and if you in any way make them feel like they’re not…it doesn’t always go great.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it? You shouldn’t have to pretend, and they should make sure you’re satisfied.”

“Ben,” she looks at him, seriously. “Come on. You have got to know that it is not always that easy. For some women, it’s tricky. I’m just saying, it can cause tension, when things are new.”

Ben scoffs. “Not for me. I would never leave a woman to feel like she had to fake it.”

“You know who you sound like right now, right?” she says, pointing to the television. “You sound like Harry.”

“It’s different. He’s sure a woman has never faked it with him. I make sure she never feels like she has to with me.”

“First sexual encounters are rarely the best.”

“Maybe. But I would make sure it was good. Even if it can’t be the best.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Well that we can agree on.”

“Women’s bodies are different.”

“I would never presume to know a woman’s body better than she does.”

“What?”

“I would ask her. What she likes,” he says, his voice still low, his eyes intent on her. “If she wasn’t happy, I would ask her to show me. I would never pretend like I know everything.”

Her heart is beating so fast, she feels like it might burst from her chest. Hearing him talk about this is too much. He’s so close, closer, somehow, than he had been moments ago. Had she moved towards him? Had the sound of his voice caused her to shift even closer to him? God, this was embarrassing. She goes to sit up straighter, away from him, but he catches her wrist, gently, and keeps her where she is.

“I would never let any woman go unsatisfied. But I absolutely, without a doubt, would never let you go unsatisfied.”

She feels like all the air has left her body.

“Ben,” she barely whispers.

“Please,” he says. “Please tell me that you haven’t been letting immature boys treat you poorly all this time, when I could have been taking care of you.”  

All she can do is shake her head and look down, trying to pull herself out of the depth of his eyes. What was happening? Was Ben coming on to her? Did he know how she felt? No, no he was just worried about her. He thought she was brave, that she went for what she wanted, and she had admitted that wasn’t always the case. Ben was nothing if not someone who was comfortable with sex, and so talking about this would not be a big deal to him. He was just concerned. Trying to take care of her, as always. But not in the way she thought. Not in the way she wanted.

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship, Ben. But I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, if you want to. But if that’s not what you want. If you want someone else – “

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Ben. Not like that.”

“I know it’s not but, what if I want it to be.”

Her eyes fly back up to his.

“Please,” he says, moving his hand to cup her cheek now, his face impossibly closer to hers. “Please let me take care of you. Like I want to. Like I’ve always wanted to.”

She doesn’t think she could respond if she tried.

He pauses and looks at her, searching for an answer in her eyes. He must have found what he was looking for, because suddenly he’s there, so close to her, whispering her name.

And then, his lips are on hers.

It starts out sweet, tentative. He was giving her plenty of time to push him away, to say no. But the moment his tongue slides against her mouth, she opens for him without hesitation, and he starts to kiss her in earnest, exploring her mouth with his own. They are all teeth and tongues, and damn, why had they waited so long to do this? She pushes herself closer to him, and he grasps her waist, pulling her up until she is straddling him on the sofa. She feels him, hard against her. Her hands go to his hair and his slide down, cupping her ass through the thin fabric of her leggings. A moan leaves his throat, and she wants to swallow every sound he makes, wants to taste it, to feel the vibrations of him through her body.

His hands move up her back and into her hair, tugging on it lightly as his lips leave hers to trail kisses down her neck. She can’t help the sound that leaves her as he finds the sensitive spot just above her collarbone.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost reverently, before attaching his lips to the spot again, making her keen. “How can this feel so good when all I’ve done is kiss you?”

Something about his words make her stop and pull his face up to look at her.

“Ben,” she breaths out. “Ben, what are we doing?”

Her question seems to snap him out of the haze.

He looks at her with complete sincerity and says, “I’m so sorry. I should have asked. Do you want this? Do you want this with me? Because if not, we will stop, right now. I would never want to make you uncomfortable – “

“No, Ben, I do want this.”

She can’t help but smile shyly at the relieved look on his face as she says it. Sweet Ben, of course he was worried about her consent. He was a gentleman through and through.

“But that’s not what I meant. I meant, what are we, me and you, doing. Is this, are you…”

She can’t find the words to ask what she wants to - no, what she needs to know. Was this because he wanted her, wanted more with her? Was this a one-time thing for him? Proof that he would take care of her, always, even physically, if that’s what she needed?

Ben tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and keeps looking at her.

“I want this with you,” she lowers her eyes, unable to look at him. “I have wanted this, with you. For a long time. I don’t even know when I started to but…I need to know what you want. What this is for you. Because I…”

“Love,” he says, lifting her face up to look at him again. “Listen to me. I want you. You, Y/N. Here and now. And tomorrow, assuming you don’t kick me out of your bed or freeze me to death, because you are such a blanket hog. I want to wake up next to you, and make coffee, and bicker about what constitutes breakfast, and finally make you stop talking with my mouth on your lips, on your neck, on your body, until we both forget what we were fighting about in the first place. I want to make love to you on every soft surface in this room, and then fuck you against the kitchen counter when you’re trying to cook dinner, because I just cannot wait to be touching you again.”

Her face is on fire now, her whole body on alert, attuned to him. A hot ball of need pulsing at her core, just from his words. And that’s it. Benedicts words are her final undoing, and she lungs forward and presses her lips back to his, fervent, no questions or uncertainty swirling in her head now, just unbridled need and want and a feeling she isn’t ready to name urging her on.

He matches her intensity, kissing her fiercely, biting at her lip, her throat, the exposed part of her collarbone, pushing her t-shirt down her shoulder to get to more of her. His hands roaming up her back, into her hair, holding her steady against him.

“Ben, I…” she starts, but her words leave her as his mouth moves to her breasts, biting at her through her thin t-shirt. His hands move down to her waist, his fingers slipping under the hem of the fabric, lifting it up as they move over her ribs. She reaches for it and pulls the shirt over her head with one swift movement, wanting less between them. A needy hum sounds in Ben’s throat and he leans forward, kissing and nuzzling between her breasts, his hands reaching around her to unclasp her bra and pull it away from her skin. She gasps, her breasts exposed to him for the first time, her nipples pebbling, hard and taut and waiting. He palms the fullness of her in his large hands, and then takes a nipple into his mouth. Licking, biting, making her writhe on his lap from the feel of his tongue, with the way he sucks on her with his hot, wet mouth. He switches to her other breast, but keeps a hand on the first, his fingers twisting and pulling at her. It’s almost too much, how quickly he’s pushing her higher and higher in her need, but it also isn’t enough, not nearly.

As if he could hear her thoughts, his fingers start moving down her stomach, towards the waistband of her leggings.

“Wait,” she rasps, and he stills, his eyes looking to her for what she wants. What she needs.

“You’re still dressed,” she says, putting her hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt under her fingers.

He chuckles, and kisses her on the tip of her nose, before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.

“Better?” he asks, smirking at her, her fingers already roaming the expanse of his chest.

“Much.”

“May I?” he asks, his fingers trailing along the top of her leggings, not quite dipping under the fabric.

“Please, Ben,” she breathes out, and he makes a low sound in his throat.

“Fuck,” he says, his hands working under the fabric. “Never stop saying my name.”

And then his fingers are pushing her panties aside.

“So wet for me love,” he says, kissing up her neck, nipping at her ear, his fingers stroking, up and down along her slit, finally pushing up against her clit, rubbing it teasingly. She moves against him, searching for more friction, pushing herself forward, trapping his hand between her and his own length, straining against his jeans. He breathes out hard, moving his hand up so that he can feel more of the warm heat radiating from her core.

“I want to make this good for you, love. But if you keep grinding into me like that…” she pushes against him again.

“I’m not worried, Ben,” she says, breathily. “But I need you inside of me. Now.”

She grinds against him again, wanting to feel more of him. Wanting him inside of her.

“Fuck,” he says again, tightening his arms around her waste and lifting her up with him. “Bedroom. We need to get to the bedroom.”

While his hands are busy carrying her across the living room, she uses hers to explore the expanse of his chest, to slide over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, pulling lightly at it as her mouth follows behind on the same path, leaving kisses across his shoulders and up to his ear.

“If you keep doing that,” he whispers, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “I might drop you.”

“You would never,” she giggles, just as he sets her down on the side of the bed, stretching his body out over her.

She smiles. This is Ben, she thinks, her Ben. The funny, flirty man she’s known forever. He’s still the same person he’s always been, only now it’s so much more. He smiles back down at her, but then his face shifts as he presses her body into the mattress with his own.

“Pants. Off. Now,” she says, her hands finding their way to the button of his jeans, undoing the zipper and tugging at them. He straightens and pulls them down his waste, taking his boxers along with them.

“Holy shit, Ben,” she says, without even meaning to. His cock is ready and waiting, and my god, they are not supposed to be as appealing as his is to her. She has never had this kind of reaction before. She wants to take it in her mouth, to lick up his shaft and suck his head into her mouth and feel it in the back of her throat.  She looks up at him, and he is looking away, suddenly blushing. Boyish and bashful, for just a minute. As if this, coming from her, has thrown him. And she remembers that this is new for him too – the two of them, like this. It lasts for only a moment, but it makes her heart ache.

“Look at me, Ben,” she says quietly. He meets her eyes, the smolder back in them now. “My god, you are the most amazing thing I have ever seen.” His mouth quirks.

“Isn’t that my line?” he says, teasing. Clearly deflecting her praise.

“No. No, I get to take care of you too now. And you need to know how perfect you are. How much I want you, just as much.”

And then his mouth is on hers again, hot and persistent, and his hands are back at her waist, pushing at the last of her clothing. She breaks away from the kiss and pushes at him to stand back so she can lift her hips and help him pull the leggings and panties down and off her.

“Holy shit,” he says. He’s mimicking her reaction to him, but from the look in his eyes, she’s not sure he even realizes it. And then he is back in her arms, kissing up her neck, biting at her ear. Whispering to her. “I’ve thought about you for so long. I’ve imagined what it would be like, to see all of you. For you to let me, to want me to. But my god, I could never have imagined how beautiful you would be.” He pushes against her, skin to skin for the first time, his hard length grinding against her core. They both hiss at the contact.

“Condom?” he rasps, and she points to the bedside drawer. She pulls herself farther up the bed as she watches him retrieve the condom and roll it down his shaft, then make his way back to her.

“Love,” he says, crawling between her thighs, his eyes on hers. “I want this to be perfect, but you have to tell me what you like, ok? If somethings not working, I need to know.”

She nods and pulls him down for a kiss, as he reaches down and angles himself into her, and then he is there, pushing inside, filling her.

“Fuck,” he says, lowly, seating himself fully inside her. “So warm and wet and perfect.”

“Oh,” she says, moaning as he starts to move inside her. She feels so full, and Ben is there, looking at her as he thrusts. Then he is kissing, nipping at every part of her he can reach. He pulls back, sitting up on his knees and watching the point where they are connected for just a moment before grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to him, angling upward as he lifts one of her legs up over her shoulder. He hits a spot inside her as he does, and her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she says, trying to angle herself to the spot again.

“Their?” he asks, hitting the same angle again.

“Yes,” she says, “Fuck, yes, right there.”

He hits the spot again and she keens.

“But Ben, I –“ she starts to say, but loses her voice as his fingers, those gorgeous fingers that she has watched write, and paint, and hold the stem of a wine glass, are touching her again. Gently, at first, his thrusts slow and purposeful, in time with his hands as they stroke at her.

“I know,” he says. “I told you, I want to take care of you.”

She looks up and sees that he’s watching her, her reactions, her movements as he strokes. Then he looks up and catches her eyes, stilling.

“I’m going to make you come,” he says, voice husky. “But I need you to tell me if what I’m doing is good. If you’re getting close, if there’s something else you need.”

She nods, shakily. Just hearing him talk to her, in that voice, while he is inside of her, is doing things to her she can’t explain.

Then he is moving again, rocking into her body as he touches her, starting where their bodies are joined and moving up to her clit and circling there. Slower, than faster, building her up, the heat growing between them. It feels amazing and she loves all of it. But she’s not quite there. She’s never been good at asking for what she wants, what she needs.

“Tell me,” he says, kissing up the leg that he has over his shoulder.

“Talk to me,” she says. “I want to hear…” she can’t say exactly what she wants, but he understands.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says. “Seeing you like this, naked, beneath me. I have thought about you in every fucking way, but none of it compares.”

She cannot help the sounds that come out of her now, whimpers when he pulls his fingers away from her clit, moans when he pushes them back up.

“Always so controlled, so collected for everyone else. I want this part of you. To see you lose all control. To watch you as you come, to feel you clench around my cock. I swear, I know already I’ll come with you, just from watching you, feeling you,” he moves his hand away, reaching for her own on the bed.

“Show me,” he says. She can hear the need in his voice. How hard he is trying to hold on to his own control. “Help me get you there love. I want to see what you like.” He pulls her hand with his own, back to where they are joined. Encouraging her movement with his fingers, following her lead. And then she is showing him, moving to her clit, rubbing and touching in the way that she knows will get her there. Her hips move, loving the friction, wanting more, desperate to mee his thrusts.

“Yes,” he praises. “Yes, fuck, so hot, so wet, so good.”

She pushes harder, feels him everywhere, inside her, around her. She is coiled so tight, about to snap. Then he turns his head, bites gently into her calf, and she is gone, crying out as waves of pleasure move through her body, tensing and arching and unable to stop.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, grasping at her hips now, canting his own, faster into her as she rides out the high. “I’m going to come so hard inside of you, fuck, I can’t –“ but then his body goes rigid, his cock pulsating inside of her, he says her name as he buries himself once more, riding out his own pleasure.

They both breath hard, slick and sweaty against each other, his head in the crook of her neck, his body over hers, holding his weight off her shakily.

“I..” she says, “that was, I didn’t know…”

He chuckles as he leaves light kisses on her collarbone, across her shoulder.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, love. I told you I would take care of you.”

He lifts his face to look into her eyes, sweeps the hair off her forehead.

“I’ve always got you, my always girl."

[seb-reads31]

Hiii!! I saw that u wrote for dungeon meshi as well! Could you write fluff with laios in a modern setting? Maybe now that’s almost summertime, could it be summer themed? Or any other that you feel like writing lol. Ty!!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

Cautions - SPOILERS, a little bit of cursing 🤏, Chilchuck almost drowning (he's fine)

Type - drabble

Genre - fluff

Comments - YESSS, BEEN 20 MINUTES AND HERE YOU ARE 😭😭 so, this is mostly world building, BUT, laios stuff too dw. You are a mind reader lmao, I was JUST thinking about a modern au sometime today! This ended up being about the main 4 on accident, but I tried to make it mostly about Laios 😭

Modern!Laios

So, the golden kingdom is sort of how the modern world would be like, everyone is in harmony, no deaths (except old age depending on species race??), everyone has phones, internet, no more dungeons

So modern, but with a touch of fantasy, kinda like Onwards! (Such a good movie go watch it rn)

And jobs are more modern now, like Laios is a sous chef in a well known underground restaurant that's owned by a dwarf named Senshi! Chilchuck is a lockpick, then Marcille is a teacher! Falin is doing some out of state studying, wanting to keep the art of magic alive, Shuro is a fencing teacher, and Nimari does construction!

But let's focus on the main 4 😋

Laios and Chilchuck met when Laios locked himself out of his shared house with Falin several times cause he left it at work, in his car (had to pick that too cause the doors locked on him) and so that developed a small friendship (not that Chilchuck would call it that) between the two

Marcille knew Falin while they were studying magic together (like in the anime but modern) and so Marcille met Laios through her

Before Falin went away to study abroad Marcille and Laios held a going away party for her and Laios invited Chilchuck, where he may Marcille and Falin (Nimari and Shuro were there too but I'll say how they met everyone in another modern post if someone wants 🫶)

Now back to the restaurant- Laios and Senshi works at (Senshi owns it btw) Laios had always been a good cook while growing up, also taking any and all cooking classes he could while in high school

And he was amazing at it!

So good that THE Senshi, owner of the famous underground restaurant that turned monsters into FOOD, groundbreaking isn't it?? Sent him an invitation to come WORK DIRECTLY UNDER HIM

Laios had always wanted to cook monsters, and after visiting the restaurant once or twice growing up?? HELL YEAH HE WANTED TO WORK FOR SENSHI

This all happened in the span of about 7 years I suppose?

Now, summer time ⛱️

Laios definitely invites everyone to go to the beach, even his sister when she comes to visit from her studies!

And while Senshi is hesitant in leaving his restaurant (he kinda.. lives there too.) to see the beach he caves and says yes, but refuses to wear swim trunks. He looks like a barbeque dad lmao, full on Hawaiian shirt and some tan shorts, and some sandals as he's making some summer themed monster food for everyone

Marcille is the one trying to get him to wear trunks, gives up, but wears a super cute 1 piece to make herself feel better

Chilchuck is kinda in the same boat as Senshi, but wears trunks and the Hawaiian shirt, but sheds it later to go play chicken with the twins and Marcille out in the ocean while they wait for the yummy food

Marcille and Falin are going against Laios and Chilchuck!

Who won?

...the girls

Chilchuck very quickly got pushed into the water, damn near drowned cause he wasn't prepared to swim after being knocked off of Laios' shoulders by Marcille (who he was talking trash to)

But after he stopped dying and held less of a grudge with Marcille after she dried him off, Senshi finally finished the food!

It was some grilled kraken skewers with some veggies, each customized specifically to everyone :D

They all spend the rest of their time at the beach telling stories, enjoying the skewers, and having general fun lol

[ichijager13]

Pairings : Eren x reader

Raiting: explicit

Modern AU, aged-up characters (late twenties early thirties), memories, drinking to cop, unhealthy coping mechanism, fluff and smut, overstimulation, angst, morning after.

Summary: After being together for years, Eren decides to put an end to your relationship. On his birthday, only one thing can ease your pain and chase away ghosts of happy memories: Alcohol.

A/N: this is a chapter from Remember how it was, a work that I posted on AO3 months ago. I originally intended to post it on Eren’s birthday but I couldn’t wait lol. I hope you enjoy this one.

Also, I would love to thank everyone for the support you are showing me and for reading my work. your reactions warms my heart and motivates me to write more.

Reblogs and reaction are more than welcomed. be happy :*

It popped into your mind before you even open your eyes. It was today and knowing it will be the first time in six years you won’t be by his side for the occasion brought you tears. You stared at the ceiling debating whether you should let your emotions slip or make yourself something strong to numb your feelings. You ended up opting for the safer option.

You were in the kitchen serving yourself your first shot of the day when ghosts of old and happy days captured you.

 It was past midnight, and Eren was still in his study working on a new model. You glanced one more time at your reflection in the mirror then eyed the small cake and the bottle of red wine you held in each hand. You were a little bit stressed about the dress you picked for the matter. It was a bit edgy for you. taking a deep breath, you threw one last look at the tight silky red dress you were in and headed to where Eren was.

 The moment you opened the curtains of the fitting room the girls’ mouths dropped. “Forget about the mini birthday cake, girl, he will devour you instead”. Sasha breathed excitedly. “Right ladies”. She nudged Annie and Mikasa who couldn’t tear their eyes from you.

“Could you spin around?” Annie managed to ask and you did. The dress was a strappy deep v-neck, and the thin straps ran across your naked back. “Girls I’m afraid he will pass out if he sees her like this”. She whispered.

“That’s the point”. Sasha said, enthusiastic. “It’s his birthday”. She pointed.

“Yeah, well I’m afraid it’s going to be his last”. Mikasa finally spoke. “Roy would be struck if I show up in something like this”.

“Armin too”. Annie added.

“Again, that’s the point. To think that I’m the one who’s single”. She groaned. “You’re buying it, and you’ll put your boldest red lipstick on”. Her eyes were shooting daggers. “Come on give the man a treat he’s turning 30. There’s no better way to celebrate it”.

“What do you think?” you glanced at Annie and Mikasa.

“I guess you should give it a try”. Mikasa said unsure. “Right Annie?”

“Yeah, besides you’ve been together for almost three years”. Annie eyed you again before she follows. “It would be nice to break the routine once in a while”.

“That’s what I’m talking about”. Sasha clapped. “Please for once give up your good girl’s dresses. You’ll thank me later”. She turned her attention to the girls. “And you’d better do the same”.

 So here you are facing your lover’s study room door, you inhaled deeply and called his name. no response, you tried again. “Eren?” Hearing his footsteps, your hands started to tremble. It was too late now; you can’t run away.

“Yes, love?” He spoke as he opened the door. “Why didn’t you just come in?” he was in a loose dark blue cotton t-shirt and grey joggers. The moment his eyes landed on you, he froze.

“Happy birthday, my dear”. You chanted smiling but you got no reaction. He didn’t know where to look. Your curly hair looked amazing, your dress hugged your curves perfectly, revealing much more than what it hid, and that red lipstick. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged them shaking his head. He has been working for hours he must be dreaming. “Honey, are you okay?” you inquired visibly worried. You sat the bottle and stood up reaching a hand to his face. The view offered to Eren when you kneeled made him curse under his breath.

“I’m…”. he looked at your face again. “Fuck”. He growled rubbing the back of his neck eyes roaming your body from head to toe. “Fine, I’m fine… Fuck”. He snitched the cake from your hand, set it on the nearest place he found, and pinned you to the wall kissing you with igniting passion.

While he was devouring your lips you remembered Sasha’s text 15 minutes ago when you sent them a picture of you.

 Sasha

“Daaaaaaamn, Jager boy will keep you up till the sun rises”

“You look A.M.A.Z.I.N.G, love the lipstick”.

Annie

“Yeah, your hair definitely looks amazing”.

Mikasa

“I hope you’re ready for the long night that’s waiting for you”.

Sasha

“Don’t forget to wear sexy perfume”.

Annie

“A body lotion is better don’t you think Sash?”

Mikasa

“I agree”.

 When he finally pulled away resting his head on your shoulder out of breath he spoke. “Damn, you look…”. He cursed once again. “You look sexy, love”. One of his hands rested on your waist. “This dress looks so good on you”. he confessed against your ear; his warm breath rose goosebumps all over your neck. With the other hand, he tilted your head and started ravaging the thin skin of your neck. “And you smell so fucking nice”. He rumbled; voice dangerously husky. Eren was in trance, unable to think straight. he didn’t know where to touch, where to kiss, or what to say. his blood was rushing through his veins and his heart was pounding against his chest. Breathing never felt this hard. when he finally looked back at your face the sight of your ruined lipstick and crimson cheeks made him hard. “You’re so pretty that my heart might stop”.

“I’m glad you liked it”. you mumbled stumbling over your words.

“Liked it? I fucking love it”. you have never heard Eren curse this much.

“Would you like to blow out the candle and cut the cake?” you hazarded looking at your bare feet. You remembered Sasha’s words from earlier.

“I’m staring now at the cake I wanna eat”. He murmured, face inches away from yours before backing away. “But first, let me see the dress”. His eyes traveled along your body. “Can I see the back?” you baited your lower lip. Feeling your hesitation, he added in a soft voice. “Please, love?” you slowly spun. You heard his sharp breath before he brushed your hair away to uncover your bare back. He moved closer and hugged you. “Forget about the cake. tonight, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t stand straight”. His words traveled all over your body causing your skin’s temperature to rise and your stomach to clench. His hands were caressing your throat and chest while his lips left a trail of love bits along your back. He slipped one of his hands under your dress and pulled your panties down before inserting two digits inside your warm and wet core. Without a word, he continued kissing and sucking at your skin while his thrusts were becoming faster. With each move, your moans became frantic and louder. With a swift movement, he pulled you on his shoulder and headed to his desk. He carelessly moved his plans and pencils and laid your back on top of it. He pressed his fist to his mouth, hungry eyes scanning your body before speaking hastily. “My pretty girl looks magnificent tonight”. His words were followed by another long and passionate kiss. He then kneeled in front of you pushing your dress up. the moment he swept his tongue against your entrance your lungs stopped functioning correctly.

His moves made you feel so dizzy and the only sounds that could leave your parted lips were long and deep moans alongside undistinguished words. “E-Eren”. You moaned grabbing the loose strands that escaped from his bun. He responded with a deep hum that made the coil forming inside you tightens. Feeling the first waves of pleasure crushing on you, you managed to sort out some intelligible words. “I’m close, my love”. The pet name made him double the pressure he was applying to your nub making you lose track of space and time. The only things you were aware of were: his mouth rummaging what was left of your sanity, his warm breath tickling your soft skin and his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs.

Feeling your walls clench around his tongue when you came, he tightened his grip and sucked your juices. When he finally stood up, you were breathing heavily. He snatched the hand covering your eyes, smiling he pecked your lips and cheeks. “This is the best birthday gift ever”. He spoke against your swollen lips. “Too bad I ruined your lipstick; it looked great on you”. and he kissed you again while helping you sit down. Still feeling dazed you buried your head in his chest. Seeing you like this a deep chuckle left his chest. “I’m still not done with you, my love”. A wide smirk displayed on his face as he caressed your sensitive lips with his thumb.

 Feeling the cold liquor overflowing you got back to reality. That was one of your craziest nights with Eren. When you woke up the next morning every muscle felt stiff.

 Feeling the bed beside you empty you propped yourself on your elbow scanning the room. Eren was nowhere to be seen and the perspective of leaving bed in your state made you cringe. You fell back and buried your face in his pillow. You had no idea that a piece of clothing can get such a reaction from him. last night he got you so fucked up that you barely removed your makeup and cleansed before crashing into bed dragging a giggle from your man.

“Did I go too hard on you?” he asked cuddling you. you had no energy; you placed your hands on his before you were down for the count.

You were dozing off when you felt the bed shift next to you. you slowly faced your lover. He brushed his lips against yours. “Good morning, love”.

“Good morning, honey”. A tired smile curved your lips. “Happy birthday dear”.

“Thank you, love”. he brushed your hair off your face smiling. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been to war”. You breathed making him laugh solely.

“I’m sorry”. He let out laying beside you. “But that dress…”. He paused. “The way you looked yesterday standing there it… it drove me crazy”. He caressed your cheek laughing quietly. “I’m sorry I just couldn’t…”. another pause. “Couldn’t stop”. He shifted and covered his eyes. “Never do that again without a warning or else my heart will stop or worst explode”. He sighed deeply. “Talk about a birthday. By the way the cake was delicious thank you, my love”. Seeing you frowning he added. “I put it in the freezer when I woke up and then took a tiny bite”. He propped an arm around your tired figure and pulled you into a light hug smiling against your bare back.

When he left for work you reached for your phone. the girls left a bunch of messages.

Sasha

“Girls, you think she can keep up?” the first message was from Sasha around 2 in the morning

Annie

“She didn’t give a sign since yesterday, I bet they stayed up late”. She replied this morning.

Mikasa

“I mean she looked so hot; the opposite would’ve been weird. Don’t you think”.

Sasha

“I bet her throat is all covered with hickeys”.

Mikasa

“Jealous?”

Sasha

“Kinda”.

Annie

“I guess Saturday launch is canceled”.

Mikasa

“Yeah, I’ll send a message to everyone”.

You unconsciously reached your hand and caressed your throat. You opened your phone’s front camera to inspect it. Sasha was right, he didn’t go easy on your neck and chest. You can already hear your friends’ teasing.

 You laughed when you remembered your friends’ faces when you opened the door.

 “Geez”. Sasha breathed. She opened and closed her mouth several times before she adds. “He went crazy last night”.

“You did the right thing canceling”. Annie spoke to Mikasa.

“It’s Saturday”. You groaned remembering your weekly launch date. “I just woke up”. you massaged your neck.

“So, what are your plans for tonight. Are you still coming with us”. Mikasa asked.

You shook your head. “I’m planning to have full eight hours of sleep”. You said sinking into your living room couch. “Thank you for canceling. And girls make sure you sleep during the day in case you plan on doing such a thing”. You sighed. “What time is it by the way?”

“It’s noon”. Annie answered.

 Taking a sip, you whispered. “Happy birthday Eren”. As tears made their way down your cheeks.

[tryingtimi]

2✨

Too Old For My Hometown

Air by BamBam. It's a bop, but I actually sneaked in another song for this snippet. Which is more fitting lol. It's HOLO by LeeHi. Also, lmao, this one is from last year. Anyway, it's a fun lil experiment for writing a tale that another person tells to others. Enjoy!

MODERN AU | METALSEA AU | FLUFF | ANGST, CUZ A BIT SAD | WC: 1513

Avelyn was that girl to Cronyl.

They met on a chilly spring day when the sun just touched the horizon to dive under. He’s been back in Anore for two weeks, yet he was still an outsider. His job didn’t change much, in fact, it lessened. In the city, he needed many sleepless nights to keep up with work. Here, however, he could have a sleeping break at lunch if he wanted to.

It should have been peaceful.

He should have enjoyed a little bit less after having such a busy life for years.

Still, he didn’t.

For Cronyl it wasn’t appealing how friendly the neighbours were. He didn’t like that everyone could know each other by name. He did not crave the peacefulness of a quiet and seemingly happy village.

Not after a bloody divorce anyway.

And so he remained the ridiculous lone wolf he always was, never chit-chatting, never blending. Helping out wherever he could nevertheless, despite his distaste of the place.

Because he liked the village as an environment.

The quietness and simplicity might not have been what he sought — considering how he would have drowned himself in work rather than thinking about Syonehlia — but the view, well, that was decent.

So, he walked home from work on the usual pathway — sunflower fields framing both sides, the lively people still far away. The wind cooled down the early spring’s heat, so Cronyl could stroll the way he preferred to do it; briefcase and jacket draped over his shoulder, hanging from his fingers, shirt’s sleeves rolled up leisurely. He was tired, though not the satisfying kind you feel after a busy day full of accomplishments. It was more what you would call numbness, if anything.

Cronyl closed one of his eyes when the sun decided to give them a proper showdown of sunshine as a slow goodbye.

He kept his stare at the sky, nevertheless.

It was a little thing he started when he moved back, and that still gave him some kind of comfort.

Sure, it was his hobby, if you will. And the very thing that almost cost his life. (Yes, baby. I’m overexaggerating for dramatic effect.)

Cronyl could faintly hear the rattling of the old bicycle which raced down from the nearby hill every day. Yet, he only noticed how loud it became, when a moderately high-pitched squeak squeezed out of the mess of blonde locks, as she collided with him.

Avelyn gifted a bouquet of bruises and two cracked ribs to Cronyl on their first meeting.

He always says he can still smell the frowzy dandelions that spread in the nursing room. You see, Anore was so small, that they had no proper hospital, only a rural nursing building. Which seemed to be enough most of the time, and this time wasn’t an exception either.

Cronyl still needed to stay in, which definitely dragged some grumbling out of him.

She visited from the first day.

Avelyn — as it turned out — was one of the neighbours’ daughters; a local since birth. She wore the gentle smile of the anorean, farmed so diligently as his father, and cooked so deliciously as her mother. Which she showed Cronyl as well when she brought him soup as an apology.

Avelyn didn’t leave without a scratch either. A scraped knee and some aching parts of her body weren’t as important in her eyes as Cronyl’s injuries.

She didn’t say a thing when she entered the room, only looked around and when she found a chair, she pulled beside Cronyl’s bed. Her eyes searched for his, serious and determined. Then, when her gaze met his cocked eyebrow, her features turned sheepish, a lovely shade of red dancing across her cheeks. (Mhm, I saw it, I was there.)

She came the next, the one after and every day again, until Cronyl was eventually released.

He didn’t know where to put her. Cronyl was not someone used to such care from strangers. It made no sense why she kept visiting him after he made clear it was nothing. She seemed shy, yet chatted with him as if he was a close friend. Amusement was what she brought to Cronyl, something he didn’t really think he would find in here. He quite literally awaited her arrival at the end.

She asked him out the day she walked him from the building.

Rejection isn’t something that usually follows this, right? Spring blossomed on the cherry trees around them, but the doom-and-gloom wasn’t over yet. The numbness I mentioned, remember? A divorce is a tricky thing to get over if you can at all. It’s a transition from being with someone every minute to coming back to your hometown, alone. It leaves you with the feeling as if something was missing, even though everything you had was with you. Makes you numb for a time, too.

This is why, Cronyl did not go out with Avelyn.

He’d always been a strong-headed nitwit, and it wasn’t Anore, his hometown that would make him change. Or so he thought. Standing beside the awkwardly smiling Avelyn, he only seemed to think that they weren’t teenagers anymore to start off like that. As if he was way too old for this little friendly town, where life was as simple as falling in love.

“Oh god, don’t look at me like that. I’d rather you just be angry than do the whole disappointed face,” was what he said to my reaction to the confession. As if being angry at him would have changed anything. Just like I said, strong-headed nitwit.

Life had so much more stored for them, though. Bumping to each other every corner even if they didn’t try to meet, living beside one another, never escaping the parents’ favours from Cronyl to come to them and help out. You’d think it was embarrassing for them.

And oh how wrong you would have been then.

Despite everything, Avelyn never treated Cronyl differently than before. She brought him lunch whenever he helped out on the fields, joked about their frequent accidental meetings, and kept being shy about how much she loved her kindergarten job. She asked and listened like no one in this little community. Cronyl, in return, grew a meadow of respect for her in his chest. Never too close, never too approachable, they became friends. His first friend, since he moved back.

The lengthening peach days of spring didn’t seem to go by as fast when they met. His walk home was accompanied by the quiet rattling of the bicycle as she joined to the daily routine. Cronyl still didn’t enjoy the lessened work and the all-time happy people. But, his numbness began to falter.

It took a year for him to realise that she must have been the cause of it.

A year, which after Avelyn seemed to leave work way too early. His routine turned to peeking inside the kindergarten after leaving his tiny, flat-roofed workplace, so he could notice it before everything. Smiling at his worry when he mentioned the change, Avelyn told him she’d tell him only when his numbness faded away completely. Because even then, Cronyl clearly lived a life among the greying clouds, sheltered from the bursting yellow fields.

Most moments come to us unnoticed. Good or bad, happy or sad, the most memorable parts of our lives can build up without us being aware of it. Inch by inch, it piles, until we stop and look at it. But we can only see the result.

That was exactly how Cronyl felt when after another half a year, he faced two things.

Firstly, Avelyn called in sick more times than she went to meet with the children. They met more and more along the way to the nursing building. She slowed, however much she smiled. Their time didn’t thin away, yet it was clear to him that she forced herself sometimes. He might have been dense, but he wasn’t stupid. His time was waning by the minute.

Secondly, Cronyl couldn’t remember how it felt to be numb anymore.

It surprised him so deeply, that he left work way, way too early. Even though I only heard about this from others, he actually went grocery shopping right after that. Some said he was more in a rush than a summer rain on a peaceful night.

Cronyl couldn’t hide his soft heaving when he just caught Avelyn leaving the nursing building. They almost bumped into each other, like they did so many times in the early morning market. Soup in his hand, a bicycle bell in the other, he stood before her, silent. The scent of dandelions danced them around, Avelyn’s bright face open with a question Cronyl answered the moment after.

And that, my darlings, is how your dad met your mother.

[lacheri]

|| moon river. || part xi. ||

|| masterpost || taglist form || part x. || part xii. ||

pairing: Levi x fem bodied reader

chapter content: modern au, neighbors au, coworkers au, minor smut/suggestive themes, "just the tip" (lol), degradation, almost unprotected sex, exhibitionism (getting caught oof), angst/emotional angst, mention of virginity loss/talks about virginity, alcohol mentions, a lot of preamble but I promise it gets to the point, minors/ageless blogs do not interact.

summary: in which you're faced with the past, the future, and the daunting weight of the present.

wc: 9k

a/n: thank you so very much to @owldatime for their help with beta-ing this chapter! this chapter was one of my favorites to write, diving into reader's thoughts and feelings was something very important to me before we dive right on in to the rising action of this here story progression. so I hope you guys enjoy this deep diving of reader's inner workings!

Eren was always a bit dense. Wore his shirts inside out a time too many, tripped over his own feet when he walked, and always somehow managed to get sauce behind his ears whenever he’d eat pasta. A bit of an airhead, but he held the purest heart of gold. He made it easy to be his friend.

Eren was, and is, your longest friendship to date. Meeting on a playground, playing silly childhood games, he quickly grew as a permanent fixture in your life. Always pairing up in class, sharing your snacks at lunch, growing older and older throughout the years. It was so natural to befriend him, with his ever so charming personality and goofy demeanor. Even if his so-called “charm” was picking out worms in the dirt during recess to show you how wiggly they were. You’d scrunch your nose and squeal, and he would howl in laughter. His big green eyes were mesmerizing, even way back when.

Somehow, the snot nosed boy who routinely stole your red crayons in elementary school became the lean young man who taught you what love could feel like. A more innocent, platonic kind of love — pinky promises that you still hold to this day, falling asleep together in countless back seats on car rides home, hugs so tight they could break your spines.

You miss him the most when you think of him like this. Because you can’t remember just one thing about Eren, you have to try to remember all of it.

The crinkles by his eyes when he laughed — loud, unapologetic, contagious. The comforting embrace of his presence, the way he would pay attention to every expression on your face, clinging to every word that fell from your lips. An amazing friend, through and through. He’d walk through fire for you, lending you the shirt off of his back without you even asking for it.

Watching him grow and blossom into himself was an honor, and you get teary eyed if you dwell on it too much. He was your first everything.

In retrospect, it made total and complete sense that Eren had been the one to take your virginity. Though, take is a misleading word to use, as that stems into a debate about virginity truly being a virtue at all, as if it was something material you owned and had given away. You always found the concept silly, even now, but he was the first man between your legs, so you suppose you’ll allow him the vain word of “take”. Even if it was an equal exchange.

You remember how soft he had been with you.

“Are you sure?” “You really want it to be me?” “But we’re not in love, wait, are we?”

You smiled so sweetly as you responded with, “Yes, Eren.”

Stumbling out of a dress meant to mark the end of your adolescence, pulling at the tie at Eren’s collarbone to signal the beginnings of his manhood — awkward hands, breathy moans, slurring laughter. He touched you as if you were made of glass, you could hardly even look him in the eyes. It was perfectly flawed. You wouldn’t change a single detail about your prom night.

Well, except for the fact that Mikasa was Eren’s date, and he had ditched her for you. But it all worked out in the end, no hard feelings were harbored. Except for yours towards the asshole who stood you up in the first place, creating the domino effect of ditching. It’s sort of funny to look back on, so typically high school and cliche. Still, you often wonder how hurt Mikasa had felt that night, alone and forgotten.

After your shared “losses”, your friendship still remained perfectly intact, though Eren did try to romance you a time or two. The temptation was always there, but how could it not be? Eren was your first love in a lot of different ways — but most importantly, he taught you how sex is supposed to feel. How much meaning it can hold, and you’re grateful for that.

You can lament over the fact you’ve never had a “real” relationship before, but honestly you’d just prefer to be happy for what you’ve already experienced. Eren, your childhood best friend with a one-time benefit, was of course the one who stood out the most. Followed by a short string of men and women, sexual and not so much, kisses and drunken chatter in the early mornings, hand holding and ghosting. No one ever truly stuck, but whether it was due to you or them, it was hard to tell. Timing versus personality, fate versus coincidence — you’ve explored a lifetime of what-ifs. You’ve just never seen them through to know the endings.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been avoiding Levi for a few days now. You’re being forced to come face to face with a looming ending, a potential beginning, a definite purgatory.

He lives next door. You work with him. You share the same friends. You can’t escape him. Do you even want to? But what if it all crashes and burns? What if he’s the one? Is there even such a thing as the one?

Your brain hurts and your heart is heavy. You feel vain, so very shallow for allowing your mind to dwell on this. There’s people in the world who are suffering, truly, and here you are, wondering if falling in the dreaded L word will lead you to ruin, or if it’ll be an adventure worth risking.

If Levi was capable of making you question that profound feeling once, he might be able to make it a permanent fixture. That scares the absolute hell out of you.

It’s only been three days since Levi knocked on your door and was invited into your bed. It wasn’t weird the morning after, he’d left nearly an hour after you awoke, chatting and acting completely normal. Then the realizations set in, the self doubt came flooding, and now, it’s weird.

You can’t even look at him without getting flustered. Even right now, staring at your reflection in the bar bathroom, you feel yourself flush with embarrassment at the fact he’s going to walk into Hange’s any moment now, wondering why you’ve walked to work by yourself.

You haven’t even told Petra you fucked him. You can’t get the words out.

What you do know is that Levi’s the first man who’s ever made you feel like this. Whatever this means, you don’t know, but you feel it. The racing heartbeat, the light layer of sweat dotting your skin, the fight or flight kicking in. It's pure adrenaline, shooting back and forth through your veins like a drug, to a point where you wonder if what you feel is even healthy.

Are you obsessing? Probably. Is it just infatuation running its course? Probably. Are you valid in feeling concerned about all of this? Probably.

It’s a lot of different feelings. It mangles in your mind and you lose track of yourself. How many minutes now have you been washing your hands? How long have you been staring at yourself in the mirror, remembering all of your past lovers? Should you feel guilty about comparing Levi to Eren, to the one night stands and burnt out flames?

You groan, shutting off the tap and gripping the sink’s basin. You have got to get a grip on this. You consider raising a palm to slap yourself, but decide to use it to push away from the mirror, and towards your awaiting shift.

It’s a fairly dead night at the bar. Only a few patrons linger about, and Petra is swiping down table tops to pass the rest of her time. You send her a tight lipped smile, to which she rolls her eyes and mocks a silent groan. Clearly, she doesn’t want to be here tonight either.

As you settle behind the bar counter, setting up clean glasses that probably won’t be filled, the front door swings open, and you know that you’re not going to be able to run anymore. That you have to deal with the consequences of your actions like a big girl. Face your feelings, for fuck’s sake.

Levi’s hair has started to fall in front of his eyes again, though the majority is swept back into the tiniest of buns. His eyes scan the floor until they rise, meeting your direct line of sight.

Run in the opposite fucking direction now.

Your legs protest against your thoughts, your muscles lock and you’re stuck. Why the fuck are you acting so weird? It was just sex.

The best sex you’ve ever had. Post nut clarity didn’t prepare you for the onslaught of emotions you’d be feeling though. You want to run, either to or away from Levi, you’re undecided. You just want this, again whatever this is, to stop.

He takes a stride, and your brain quiets. Perhaps it’s a self defense mechanism. You’re panicking, nearly positive that everyone in the room can feel the awkwardness you radiate. You busy your hands with the glasses, shooting your sights down to the oak counter, and pretend as if the man who brought you insurmountable pleasure didn’t just walk into the room.

You don’t so much as even look up as he walks closer and closer to you. You don’t even flinch when he circles the bar, steps behind you, and takes his place at your side. It’s a tiny victory, one you’re all too eager to celebrate — a shaky breath exits your lips, and your body relaxes.

And then a palm graces the small of your back, and you’re tensed up all over again.

“Hey,” Levi rasps, all too sultry and flirtatious.

You hate the way you smile at his tone, “Hi.”

“You came here all by yourself?” he asks, practically purring.

You will yourself to keep your head down, “Yeah, wanted to get here early.”

“Sure,” Levi clearly doesn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth. “Whatever you say.”

You gulp, not knowing what to respond with. His hand doesn’t move. Instead, his thumb presses further into your spine and makes small circles over your shirt. You want to crawl in a hole and die.

Why can’t you just be normal? What do normal people say after they’ve just had sex with someone else? How do they act? Oh god, this is fucking mortifying. Here you are, sweating bullets and internally screaming over a mere touch.

Levi’s hip brushes against yours as he moves closer, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Nothing to say,” you murmur bashfully.

“That’s a first,” his voice dips lower. “Sure had a lot to say the other night.”

“I’ll be back!” you begin to bolt, but his hand slides over to your hip to hold you in place.

“Ah-ah,” he hums. “We need to talk.”

“Here? Right now?” your eyes dart around, thoroughly shocked no one has noticed how close you and Levi are at the moment.

“Petra’s here for another hour. Office,” he nods his head towards the hallway door. “Now.”

Dread and anxiety swarm your stomach, and you swallow with a dry throat. Two things can happen here: One — Levi confronts you about your avoidance and overall awkwardness, or two — he confirms this all as one massive mistake.

Either option doesn’t sit well with you. You nod regardless of this, and his hand moves to the middle of your spine, nudging you towards the door.

With heavy feet and wobbly knees, you tread forward, not sparing a single glance back. You know Levi’s right behind you. Too close behind you, actually. His palm falls from your back as you pass through the doorway, an action you’re not sure you want to celebrate or protest against.

You think you black out from sheer panic during the short walk to the office. All too soon, you’re sitting in a familiar worn chair, and Levi’s leaning his backside against the desk, facing you.

You stare at one another for a long pause. You, in preparation for whatever he’s about to say, and him, analyzing your nervous fidgeting. You feel like livestock to a wolf. Staring up, blinking at his piercing gaze, you feel more vulnerable in this instance with him than you have ever felt before. Though he’s stared into the depths of your most sacred parts, swallowed your moans and drank your lust from your lips — this feels entirely more intimate than any moment you’ve shared prior.

The memory claws at your skin behind your cheeks, surfacing blood and flustering in its violence. The heat puts you in the agonizing present, and you cross your legs at the knees.

A feast for a predator, yeah, that’s what you are. What a perfect metaphor.

Levi clears his throat, “Why have you been acting weird?”

“I haven’t,” you deny, averting your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t bother lying,” he says dryly. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in three days. Which is very unlike you.”

“Maybe I decided to give you a break, you know, from annoying you,” you mean the words to come across witty, but they sound quite pathetic upon leaving your lips. You inwardly cringe.

He sighs, deep and long, “Shut up, just be honest.”

“How can I not act weird?” you mumble. “What, what do we even do now?”

“I see the “not friends” thing isn’t working,” he says, and your eyes meet once more. “Well? What else?”

“What do you mean, “what else”? That’s it.”

“That’s it,” he repeats sarcastically. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Why don’t you say how you feel then?” you bite back. “I’m always the one talking.”

“You want to know how I feel? Truly?”

You nod, afraid your voice may crack.

He continues, “I feel like that was the best sex I’ve ever had, and I want to keep fucking you.”

Oh. Well, that’s very blunt.

Your teeth tug on your bottom lip, “Okay?”

“But not if you’re going to act like I don’t exist every time after. So, what else is bothering you?” his tone is unwavering, you feel as if you’re a child being scolded.

“I’ve never done this before,” you murmur honestly under your breath. “What if we ruin something?”

“What’s there to ruin?” Levi crosses his arms. “We work together, live next to each other, if this doesn’t work out, who gives a fuck? We’re both adults, we can act like it.”

“Yeah but like, how casual are we making this?” you bring your palms to your face, fingers digging into your temples. “Are you fucking anyone else? Am I fucking anyone else? Are we exclusive? This is a fucking mess, Levi. I don’t, I’ve never, I just—“

“Why are you so caught up on this?” he asks, tilting his head. “Why can’t you just let this happen?”

“What is this?” you laugh without humor.

“You know, for someone who ran away from home with no money and no plan, you sure get hung up on the smallest of details.”

“Levi—“

“I’m not seeing anyone else,” Levi cuts you off again. “I don’t want to see anyone else. You, you can do whatever you want. I just don’t care to know about it.”

But, you don’t want to see anyone else either. Whether it’s based on how awfully you’re handling the casualness of your situation with the man in front of you, or how much you like Levi, you don’t know. But the option of other people is simply not there for you.

“No,” you admit shyly. “No one else. I don’t want to either.”

“So, we can just,” he starts to fidget, fingers tugging at the hem of his sleeve. “Just rely on each other then.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Is this like an arrangement then?”

He snorts, “Of sorts, sure. But, maybe, we can just see where this goes.”

We can just see where this goes. Simple enough. Planning for no plan. Can you honestly do that? What if one of you catches real feelings?

“I should tell you now, I guess,” you uncross your legs. “I’ve never been in a relationship before, and I don’t know if I’m necessarily looking for one. I can’t promise you commitment.”

His silver eyes shift to the floor, “That’s fine with me.”

Your heart aches, even though it’s your own warning. You decide not to question the hurt in your chest, “So, friends with benefits then, I guess?”

“Co-worker neighbors with benefits,” he corrects you, the slightest smirk gracing his lips.

“What a mouthful,” you tease, feeling slightly more relaxed. The worst part in this conversation seems to be over, “So what now?”

“Just act normal,” Levi says, tips of his ears beginning to ignite in a red flush. “For the record, it pisses me off more when you try not to annoy me.”

“Aw, you missed me?” you chuckle. “Cute.”

“No,” he scoffs, voice lowering as he continues. “Just didn’t like it. I thought you were regretting fucking me.”

Even in the inner turmoil you’ve been dealing with the last few days, regret was not a part of your thoughts whatsoever. Levi shifts his weight to his left foot, angling his chin down. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

Your expression turns sympathetic, “No, I don’t regret it.”

“Then annoy me anytime you’d like,” he breathes.

It’s a simple sentence, but it feels like a confession. There’s layers to his words, indecipherable and cryptic. It almost coaxes you into your own confession. Almost.

“Will do, boss,” you smile, standing to your feet. “Normal. I can do that.”

“You said something like that last time,” Levi pushes off the desk, taking small steps towards you. His tone dips lower, “Besides, is this not our normal?”

His fingers reach forward, gripping the front of your shirt is a loose fist. He tugs, your legs ever so pliant, until you’re face-to-face with the ravenette. His eyes flicker down, watching the surprised gasp tumble from your lips. His tongue slides over his own pout, and you find yourself locked in on the action.

“We should probably get back to work,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering.

You want to kiss him so badly. Fuck. What even is normal anyways? You want to normally put your tongue in his mouth, suck on his bottom lip until he loses his patience, bending you over the desk and—

“We should,” his fist loosens, sliding his palm flat over the top of your chest. It’s scorching hot, even through the fabric of your shirt you can feel the heat drip from his fingertips.

It isn’t until his other hand lays weight atop of your covered breast do you pull away. Just as his thumb brushes over the spot where he knows your nipple is hidden, you take a step back. You struggle to catch your breath, sending Levi a warning glare.

“Normal,” you reiterate with a pointed tone.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugs cockily. “Hard to keep my hands off of you.”

“Try,” you bite back, chuckling to yourself. “Fuck.”

“Later?” he smirks.

You turn your back, striding to leave the office. You spare him one last glance over your shoulder, “Maybe.”

The rest of your shift flies by with hardly anymore interactions from your favorite “coworker/neighbor with benefits”. You walk home together as usual, tension in the air so thick you could slice it with a knife. Neither of you act on it, but as you close your front door, you notice the way Levi hesitates to enter his own apartment. He stalls outside your archway, eyes low and swirling.

You take the coldest shower of your life in an attempt to convince yourself that you can make it a week without fucking the stamina out of Levi. Just long enough to really believe what the two of you are is totally normal.

Mostly, it’s to get your feelings in check. Because back in the bar, what you really wanted to tell him was this — “I don’t do commitment, but maybe I can try for you.”

You realize on a particularly cold day that you have fully adjusted to your new life. Days mold together, weeks pass by, and seasons have changed. You’ve witnessed the end of summer and the beginnings of winter. The holidays come and go, and they’re spent with your new found friends — though, they’re not quite as new as before.

You learn Petra’s favorite color is red and she enjoys any meal with potatoes involved. She likes the summer, as she can’t seem to stop talking about how much she misses the glide of a sundress along her knees. She has trouble holding back her opinions, opting to speak her mind because being honest is the most important virtue she holds. She likes to run in the mornings, and she can speak three languages. She’s easily become your best friend here.

Hange is a bit more complicated, simply because you don’t spend a whole lot of time with them. They own the bar you work at, and they’re married to a man named Moblit, though you haven’t gotten the chance to meet him quite yet. The way Hange speaks of him though, it feels as if you have.

Regardless, they’re witty and mischievous, smart and collected. Hange loves texting you memes they find on Twitter, especially ones you do not understand. Still, you laugh, and they explain the joke happily to you.

You learn that you were meant to meet these people. Call it fate, call it whatever, but you feel it deep in your heart that this is true.

No one could ever replace Mikasa, Eren, and Armin — but Hange and Petra fill the void of their absence.

You learn all the creeks in your stairwell, and which parts of the stairs make the loudest noises. That if you adjust the thermostat an hour before sunset, your apartment warms to the most comfortable degree. If you don’t, you shiver all night. You’ve learned that begonias don’t fare well in the cold, so Jeremy now has the sweetest spot in your bedroom next to your balcony doors — drinking up the sunlight and enjoying the paradise of the indoors.

Every day, you gather information about colleges in the area. Should you go online or in person? Should you pursue an art degree again? Should you even go back to school at all? You have to admit, you really miss learning. Plus, France must be a perfect place to continue to learn the fine arts. You’re constantly surrounded by architectural beauty, history painted in the streets. It’s inspiring, almost consuming at times.

All of this reminds you of how permanent you feel here. You’re no longer a stranger to this city — an invasive species turned domesticated. The thought makes you laugh. This is your ecosystem, so to speak, and it scares you how quickly you’ve adjusted. The girl who booked her one way flight is not the same one you are now. You’ve grown, you’ve learned, you’ve thrived.

You don’t regret this. Not one bit.

Though, you wish you could talk to your friends from home. If it were possible, you would. But as the days march forward, tumbling towards the vast unknown, you forget if Mikasa’s phone number starts with an eight or a seven. You forget how warm Armin’s advice is. You forget how toothy Eren’s smile is.

You forget to remember. You forget to forget. It all blurs, and because the present and the future are so vivid, you start to let go of the past. You don’t know if it’s because you’ve fallen out of love with who you used to be, or because you’re learning to love who you’re becoming.

Regardless, there’s one matter that seems to take hold of your inner dialogue. Rearing it’s obnoxious head dead center in your mind’s eyes, showing off its glistening teeth and claws and howling things you can’t seem to shake.

Levi is right. Why can’t you just let things happen? What’s the worst thing that can truly happen?

The week passes by with those questions in mind. Let go, let go, let go. You can exist in all three — past, present, future. You can allow yourself to be different versions of you, and why shouldn’t you? Why mourn a past, why dread a future? Why shouldn’t you celebrate the fact you are where you are because of where you came from? Why shouldn’t you be prideful of what’s to come next?

And why the fuck shouldn’t you just be present right now?

Two fingers gently tap on the bar in front of you, breaking you from your thoughts. You really have to stop zoning out at work.

“Sorry,” you mumble to Claude, who offers you a small smile in return. “I’ll get your drink in just a second.”

Oh, another thing you��ve learned — you no longer need Levi’s cheat sheet to make drinks.

He nods, and even though he hardly ever speaks, he understands your words at least. His glass is placed in front of him, and he offers another nod as a thank you. You smile curtly, and lean your elbows on the bar.

“Hey, Claude,” you start apprehensively. “You consider yourself wise?”

The mustached man simply shrugs. You snort, and continue, “What do you do when you feel like you don’t know yourself anymore?”

“Flow,” his voice is deep and graveled. “Learn to go with it.”

“Even if it scares you?”

“Yes, what’s life without fear?”

“You are wise,” you crack a grin. “Thanks.”

His palm lifts, gesturing to you to keep talking. His crinkled eyes blink, overflowing with sincerity.

“Things have changed so much,” you sigh. “I’ve changed so much. I can’t stop thinking about the past, the people who were in it. I miss them, but I can feel myself letting go. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing.”

“Neither,” Claude takes a deep breath. “We’re people, it’s what we’re meant to do.”

“Time just keeps going,” you discard your gaze to the floor. “I feel like a new person every day. I don’t feel like me.”

“How is that bad?” he asks. “You’re still you.”

“I’m still me,” you chuckle lowly. “I am still me.”

And you’re stuck with yourself until the very end. It feels beautiful to think this. It would be awfully boring to always stay the same, wouldn’t it?

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you two on?”

Your attention snaps to the sudden voice, Hange standing with their arms crossed, eyebrows bunched together. A slightly taller man stands beside them, brown shaggy hair brushing along his forehead. He wears an apologetic grin, and your focus floats to the lazy arm thrown around Hange’s waist. You smile as you connect the dots.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Moblit!” you beam. “Hange talks about you so much I feel like I already know you!”

He blushes, throwing Hange an affectionate glance, “I wish that was the first time I’ve been told that.”

Hange swats at his chest playfully, “I love you, stupid! Of course I’m gonna talk about you!”

“I didn’t realize you worked today?” you tilt your head in question.

“Just stopping by, taking care of some bills. Moblit’s gotta take a look around and make sure everything’s up and running alright. Levi’s stopping in too.”

“Levi?” he also isn’t supposed to be working today.

Since Monday, the two of you have hardly seen each other. Passing by at work, offering sultry gazes, acting in your versions of normal — it’s as if nothing between the two of you has changed. Even though everything has.

You still can’t shake the nerves the thought of him brings you, but you’ve been making more of an active effort to not be weird.

“Yeah, same thing,” they roll their eyes. “Boring bills. Making sure the toilets flush. Blah. Blah.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” you laugh.

“Should be here in the next hour,” they tug at Moblit’s arm, heading towards the hallway door. “Okay, go back to your deep deep talk!”

The pair disappear, and your heart feels fuzzy. They’re really sweet together.

“Thanks for the clarity, Claude,” you sigh happily, standing fully upright.

He nods his head, raising his glass, “Anytime. You don’t get this old being stupid.”

You chuckle, and shake your head. You find a rag to your left, deciding now is a great time to wipe down some more spotless tables. Weekday shifts are the worst, as usual, the bar is almost barrenly empty. Just you, Claude, Moblit and Hange — and soon to be Levi.

As you work and buffer out the tabletops, you fall back into your thoughts.

You can’t forget the past. Sure, it may get dull over time, it may seem as if eons have passed since the memories were made, but you can never forget.

Mikasa’s phone number starts with an eight. Her favorite color is blue. She likes to read old poetry because it makes her feel empowered and ethereal. Her favorite place to be is the barricade at a concert of her favorite band. She smells like coconut. She hates pickles.

She forgave you for ruining the most important night of her highschool years. It’s a funny story, actually, but you’ll find time to recall the specifics later. You’ll remember.

Armin may be the smartest, wisest, kindest soul you’ve ever met. He hates bustling crowds, loves to read anything, but his favorite book is The Great Gatsby. You could talk to Armin about everything and anything for hours, he’s a walking encyclopedia. He taught you how to appreciate the beauty in kindness.

Eren’s canines are pointed, vampirically so. They poke at his bottom lip when he laughs or smiles. He’s obnoxious and abrasive, but he’s kind and soft too. He was always there for you when you needed a friend the most.

The four of you together, though? Nearly unstoppable. A kaleidoscope of memories flood you — late night study sessions, pitchers of piss-like beer pouring, laughter as loud as thunder. Best friends forever, even though you’re gone. You could never forget them, ever.

They still smile just as brightly in the hazy recollection of yesterdays, the varnished tables you polish reflect their gleams through light rays from bulbs above.

A cold breeze disrupts you, the wind chilling down your spine and scratching along your skin. You shiver, and without turning around you know Levi’s come in, right on time — for more than one reason. A few more footsteps follow behind him, probably the exit of Claude. It’s late, so it’s unlikely you’ll be faced with any more customers.

The telltale footsteps fall closer, until you’re compelled to look to your right, and there he stands. Levi looks cute. He’s bundled up in a thick black coat, face red from the harsh weather, hair flat against his forehead from his beanie. He looks adorable, really.

His lips twitch as his hand extends forward, and your eyes follow his movements. He holds tight to a thickly papered cup, tilting it towards you.

“What’s this?” you smile, reaching out to transfer the drink into your hold.

“Tea, it’s hot,” his eyes flicker teasingly. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Thank you,” you chuckle, wrapping both hands around the warmth. “That was very sweet of you. Some might even say it’s weird.”

His eyes roll, and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Consider it one of the benefits.”

“Thought I can’t get used to it?”

“A one-time benefit.”

You arch an eyebrow, “Only once?”

“Maybe twice, if I’m feeling generous.”

“How kind of you.”

“I can take it back.”

You bring the cup to your chest, your lips forming into a pout. Levi laughs through his nose, shaking his head.

“You good to close up by yourself while I help Hange with bills?” he stuffs his hands into his coat pockets.

“I think so! Unless, you wanna stick around and keep me company,” you beam.

“It’s gonna be snowing by the time you’re out of here. I don’t have a choice. I don’t feel like hearing you complain about a broken anything after slipping on ice,” he says flippantly, already shifting his weight to make way towards the office.

“What’re you gonna do? Break my fall?”

“You wish I was that nice of a person.”

“Your actions state otherwise,” you shake the cup gently to prove your point.

Levi rolls his eyes playfully, “Let me know if you need help.”

“I think I got it,” you smile, large and prideful.

“Okay,” though he doesn’t smile, his eyes glimmer in a similar manner. His lips part as if to speak more, but his mouth shuts, and he’s shaking his head. Levi stalks off quickly afterwards.

Sighing to yourself, you put an end to your nonsensical wiping, and start the closing process. With the now emptied bar area, it’s fairly easy to do. Washed drinkware is set up along a dry towel on the reddened oak counter, the blinds to the windows are drawn shut, the floor is swept, money is accounted for. Thankfully to your wonderful coworkers, and Levi, you have the closing shift down to a science. By the fifteen minute mark, you’ve completed most of the mundane necessities, and you’re left to idly straighten up the occasional bottle or two on the shelving decorating the back wall, sipping from your gifted tea.

It’s a boring routine, but it’s one you’re happy to know as well as you do now. It’s improvement and growth, no matter how small of a deal it may seem. It’s a victory in its own right to you.

Hange and Moblit exit the hallway door within the half an hour it takes for you to close down the bar. They seem hurried, stumbling and whispering — they’re really flustered, but you can’t find the reason for it. Blush speckles across their cheeks, their voices thick and heavy like syrup, and then you take note of their twitching hands and heavy panting.

Oh. You smirk. They hardly raise their hands in a goodbye as they fly out of the bar. You wonder if that’s how you and Levi will look leaving.

No, you know that’s how you’ll look. You’ve made up your mind. Because you are changing, you should allow yourself the freedom of trying new things — your past is just an intricate and complex foundation, a column of support to help you stand tall in your present.

You can just let things happen. Specifically, you can let yourself fall into whatever with Levi. Whether it be love, hatred, or nothing with him, you’ll let it happen.

Levi is sitting at the desk when you enter the office, hand holding his chin, elbow on the table. His coat is folded neatly on the armchair adjacent to the desk, his beanie like a cherry on top of the pile. His hair is disheveled, as if he’s been raking his fingers through the locks out of stress. His eyes flick up upon your arrival, but they shift back down to the paperwork in front of him.

Good. You want him to be surprised.

Your fingers rest on your hips, tugging at the hem of the sweater you’ve decided to wear today. You’re nervous, but in one motion, you tug the fabric over your head. Messily tossing it on the chair, Levi casts his attention to the sound of rustling, and his eyes glaze over to you upon realization.

He says your name in a low gravel, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers trace over the straps of your bra, slowly placing one foot in front of the other, “Acting normal, annoying you. You said I could do it whenever I wanted.”

He breathes a swear under his breath, eyes greedily drinking in your half naked form, “I did.”

You nod, “You did.”

When you reach the front of the desk, you idly pick up the small pile of papers on the surface, and set them neatly to the floor. Levi doesn’t stop you, in fact, he’s already leaning back in his chair, palms face down on his thighs. His knuckles twitch, and his gaze flickers all over your form.

It doesn’t matter if you look sexy right now, you feel it with the way Levi looks at you. You almost wish you had left your shirt on. You wonder if he’d react like this even with you fully clothed.

Your naked belly lays against the cold wood, elbows holding your upper half up, hands cradling your cheeks. You grin wickedly, “Hi.”

A single palm floats up from his lap, a thumb presses into the plush of your bottom lip. You kiss the digit as he heaves, “Fuck.”

You pepper slow, tantalizing kisses down the expanse of his thumb, nipping at the meat where it connects into his palm. Your tongue soothes over the bite in a teasing lick, your lips pressing flat and smooth against his skin. Your eyes dart to his, and your mouth waters. Levi’s jaw is slacked, amazement written in his expression.

“Want you,” you murmur, gasping out a lustful noise from the back of your throat. “Want you so bad, Levi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, stupified. “Are you, are you trying, what?”

You giggle, low and seductive, “What’s the matter?”

“You,” he grits, forcing the tip of his thumb past your pout. Your tongue circles the pad, and he regrounds himself in a, “Fucking suck it.”

Your hands leave your face, gripping his wrist and tugging his hand back. Your teeth scrape against his knuckles, lips popping as it rests against your lips, “No.”

“Don’t be a brat,” Levi warns, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “You came in here. You started this.”

“Exactly.”

You push yourself off the desk, circling the wood, and plant your ass to the surface before him. You spread your legs, lean back on your hands, and smirk.

“You use your fucking mouth,” you assert yourself, hooking your right ankle around his neck.

His flustered demeanor changes in a blink of an eye. His fingers wrap around your foot, throwing your leg off of his shoulder. Levi stands to full height, palms slapping against your thighs to prevent you from running. His eyes are narrowed, pupils dilated and hazy. His jaw clenches, his anger clear and apparent.

“And who the fuck told you that you were in charge, slut?”

You choke on a strangled gasp of surprise, heat rocketing down to your center, “Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” he leans forward, lips dangerously edging towards your own. You whimper, he continues, “You come in here after depriving me of your pussy for an entire week, you fucking temptress, and decide you get to call the shots? You think you deserve my mouth? Licking and sucking on your needy little clit until you cum? Huh?”

Holy shit. Where the fuck did this come from?

You attempt to sit up further, to leverage your lower half closer to where you need the blissful pressure of Levi’s bulge. It’s prominent now that he stands, a stiff bump in the lining of his crotch. Maybe you should’ve just done what you were told. Maybe you would’ve been rewarded with his cock in your mouth.

“Answer me,” Levi growls, a palm sliding up to grab your neck, fingers pressing into your pulse point.

“I do, I want it,” you whine. “Levi, please.”

“Should’ve used that empty head of yours before making demands,” he hisses. His hand travels up, his pointer and middle fingers tap at your wet lips, “Now suck.”

When Levi talks to you like that, in that tone, calling you all these names, you have to listen. As much as you want to push his hand away, regain control of this switching dominance, you don’t. You listen, you submit, you wrap your lips around his curling fingers, and you suck.

Your tongue traces between the digits, softly and teasingly. The pads of his fingers press your muscle down, edging towards the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, and for dramatic effect, you moan gently as you slowly bob your head. Levi traces every taste bud on your tongue through this, mapping out the textured wetness of your eager mouth. When you open your eyes, his eyes are hyper focused on your lips.

He pulls his wrist back, sliding his fingers beyond your teeth and to your lips. He smears your saliva across your pout, gripping your bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger. He tugs, and you follow.

The kiss he greets you with is soft — dainty, he hardly presses the creases of his lips to yours. It almost tickles. His breath fans out from his nose, whispering at your cupid’s bow. When you try to lean forward, to seek out that passionate embrace you know he’s capable of, Levi pulls away. Not far, but far enough to keep that small distance between you.

“Tease,” you giggle breathlessly.

“You started it,” he responds, his palms falling to your thighs once more. His fingers circle around, grasping at the undersides of your knees, and he pulls you closer until your ass is at the edge of the desk. His hips wiggle forward, slotting between your opened legs, “Look at you, coming in here, taking your shirt off, why?”

“You know why,” you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “I already said it.”

“That’s not what I heard,” his lips descend down your neck, laying careless kisses to your throat. “Use your words.”

“I want you,” you moan, tossing your head back to allow him more skin.

“Tell me how,” he demands roughly, nipping at your collarbone.

You shutter, “Take me on the desk. God, just, fuck me.”

“Filthy,” Levi chuckles darkly. “Want me to fill you up, right here, in the office? Fuck you until you can’t walk? You’ll need me to carry you home, you know.”

“Don’t care,” you buck your hips, desperately trying to catch friction against his jeans. “Need you.”

“Love it when you talk like that, princesse.”

“Lev’,” you pant, his kisses becoming more and more uncontrolled. “Please.”

Without a snarky comment, Levi reaches between the two of you, and begins to unbutton your pants. His lips engulf the skin above your bra, licking and sucking a heated path across the top of your chest. He yanks down the waistband of your jeans, you lift your hips, and the denim is tugged down to your ankles. Your shoes are slid off of your feet. Then, slowly, he takes each foot, rolling the remainder of your clothing off until it lays on the floor. His arms circle around your bare waist, his mouth ascending to your cheek.

His chest meets yours, his hands solidifying at your hips, thumbs pressing into your belly.

Then you feel it — the harsh weight of his desire pressing flush to yours. His cock is hard, the texture of fabric is rough, and this is going all way too fucking slowly for your liking. Your hands leave his back to find solace at his navel, and you work his zipper down until the feeling of denim is replaced by smooth cotton.

You moan at the contrast, “Fuck, just put it in.”

“We don’t have a condom,” he states, making no effort to stop your palms from working his member free of his briefs. The head slides through the small slit of fabric, his precum dampening your already wet panties, “‘S not smart.”

Fuck being smart, you want his dick in your cunt right now. You want the messy, unhinged slurring speech to fall from his lips as his balls slap against your ass. You want the hair pulling, teeth indenting, wild and untamed sex only he can give you. You want to do it on this desk, at your job, you want him to call you names and tell you how disgusting and needy you are — you’ll say the same things right back to him.

You want Levi to fuck you out of your mind, to finally quiet your never-ending thoughts from this week. You don’t want to comprehend a past, present, or future. You just want to exist, in the simplest form of existing.

Levi doesn’t stop you as your other hand works your panties to the side, doesn’t even verbally protest as you slide his leaking cock against your clit. You groan as you work his member in tight circles, rubbing his prespend into your bundle of nerves. You pulse, clenching on nothing, soon to be everything he has to offer, and he finally presses his lips to yours. He devours you in this way, sucking on your bottom lip, sliding his tongue along your teeth and against your own wet muscle. He’s breathing so heavily, but so are you, so you don’t make a comment about it.

You move his throbbing cock down to where you need him the most, your hole spasming in anticipation. It barely dips in, his frenulum just about to fall into the depths of your cunt. You’re so wet, you can feel yourself dripping down his length. The lack of prep will probably hurt like a bitch at first, but the reward is worth it.

You’ll feel the way he throbs once he’s buried inside of you, feel the combined arousal deep within you. Is it your gushing want or his that’ll fill you up? Levi will pull out once he begins to feel that rush of climax, spewing his hot seed all over your thighs and belly. Maybe he’ll be kind enough to let you sink to your knees when that happens, and you’ll swallow every drop he spills down your throat.

He rocks his tip back, ready to plunge, ready to take you. Your knees press into his sides, ready to cage his cock in your soaking cunt, ready to lose yourself in him.

“Hey sorry forgot my coat— what the fuck!”

The scream you let out should’ve been reserved for something else.

Levi’s cock falls out of you, and he presses you entirely to his chest, arms shielding your naked back from whoever just walked in, “Get out!”

“Oh my god!”

Oh fuck, it’s Hange.

You are definitely going to get fired for this.

You push your face into Levi’s shoulder, silently praying you’ll just sink into his skin and disappear from this entire ordeal. This is fucking mortifying.

“No fucking way, on the desk? Levi!” Hange begins to laugh, obnoxious and loud. “Holy shit!”

“Close the fucking door!” Levi shouts, hand cradling the back of your head.

“Okay, okay!” The office door slams, signaling their exit. In the silence following, you can hear clear as day through the wood, “I fucking knew it!”

Embarrassed doesn’t begin to describe how you feel.

Levi doesn’t move his arms, instead, he tugs you closer, “We’re going to get dressed.”

You nod, unable to find the courage to speak. His fingers pet along your scalp, and he continues, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

You don’t believe this, but you nod once more, and try not to cry. Everything you worked for will be gone as soon as your clothes are on, and you’re forced to deal with the consequences of your actions.

When Levi finally releases you, handing over your clothes and giving you the space to get dressed, you decide on something. Whatever wrath you’ll face outside that door, you’ll take the full and total blame.

How stupid of you to try and seduce Levi, unprotectedly, at your place of work? This all falls on you, and your reckless choices. Maybe you should care about the future. Maybe it’ll prevent you from making dumb decisions like this.

You’re quiet as you finish dressing, internally berating yourself. Levi waits, patient and collected. You send him an apologetic look, sorry for more than one reason, and you walk towards the door. He says your name, but your hand wraps around the handle, and you meet your fate.

Hange leans against the hallway wall, their smirk sly and eyes narrowed, “Care to explain why I just walked in on you guys going at it like a couple of fucking animals?”

“I’m sorry,” your voice shakes. “I’m so fucking sorry Hange. It will never happen again.”

“Not here, at least,” they snort. “What were you guys thinking? Anyone could’ve walked in, the front door was unlocked. You’re really fucking lucky it was me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, attempting to keep pathetic tears at bay.

“Levi?” Hange looks past you, eyebrows raised. “Anything you want to say?”

“Not really,” he stands directly behind you, discreetly running his fingers along your back.

“I’m really angry at you two,” they frown. “Like, really pissed off.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” Levi scoffs. “You would’ve never known about it had you remembered your coat.”

“That’s exactly why I’m mad!” they shout, flinging their arms up. “When did this even happen?”

You blink, thoroughly confused, “What?”

“I can’t believe you guys have been hooking up and didn’t tell me! Levi!” Hange whines, pouting. “You should’ve told me!”

“You would’ve made it a big deal,” Levi says calmly. “Like how you are right now.”

“To be fair, I did just find you guys fucking on my desk. I have a right to be freaking out right now.”

“Wait, are you not mad? About that?” you ask timidly.

They roll their eyes, “Of course I’m mad about that. That’s gross. Do you know how many times Moblit and I have fucked in the office? Now I’m going to have to disinfect that entire room to ever consider taking him in there again.”

If you could see Levi’s face, you’d see the gag he tries to hold down.

Hange laughs, “What the fuck, you guys? Seriously, you couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to make it home? Holy fuck, I’d be so embarassed if I were you two. That’s punishment enough.”

“I’m not getting fired?” you feel so stupid for asking this question, but it needs to be asked. Hange is acting way too cool about this whole thing.

“No, I’m not firing you,” they sigh. “I probably should, but I’m not. Just don’t fuck at work, again, and we’ll be straight.”

You’d rather eat rocks than to stand another second of this conversation, so you nod, and murmur, “I promise”, and make a beeline towards the bar.

“I want details about everything!” Hange shouts down the hallway. “Wait, fuck! I lost the bet to Claude! God dammit!”

With a promise to Hange to clean the entire office until it sparkles and gleams, the three of you depart from the bar. Levi walks close to your side, your feet crunching in the newly fallen snow coating the sidewalk.

What starts as a giggle manifests into full blown laughter, your hysteria filling the silence shared between the two of you as you walk home.

Well, that could’ve turned out a lot worse. You got a slap on the wrist, barely.

You feel crazy, but the laughter feels good, so it doesn’t stop. Tears swell in your waterline, and Levi’s chuckling to himself quietly.

“That was easily top five most embarrassing things to ever happen to me,” you heave, wiping the wetness from underneath your eyes. “Maybe even top three.”

“Told you everything would be fine,” Levi smirks. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked in on Hange and Moblit. We were going at it like animals? I’m traumatized from the shit I’ve seen them do.”

“You didn’t even put it all the way in!” you smile, shaking your head. “Imagine if they had come in five minutes later, holy shit, that would’ve been a thousand times worse.”

“Hange would’ve gotten a show then,” he snorts, elbow knocking against yours. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you gently shove yourself into his side. “Clearly I don’t know how to control myself.”

“I was about to fuck you raw,” he arches an eyebrow. “What does that say?”

“That we’re not a good match,” you tease. “We obviously can’t use our brains when we’re together.”

“You may be onto something.”

“If I’m right, then I’m not. No brain power is being used at any moment when I’m with you.”

“Just when you’re with me?”

“Hey,” you laugh. “Keep calling me stupid and watch what happens.”

“Are you threatening me?” The back of his hand brushes against yours.

Your fingers twitch, “No, I’m promising you.”

“Promising me what?” His pinky interlocks with yours.

“I’ll ruin your life,” your wrist circles, connecting your palms together.

His thumb runs over your knuckles, “That’s a big promise.”

“I don’t take insults lightly.”

“Wonder what you’ll promise me if I complimented you.”

“Probably something nicer,” you muse. “Probably.”

“You’re really cute,” Levi breathes. “What’s your promise?”

Your eyes lock into his, a smile breaking through your lips, “I promise I’ll give you a kiss.”

He stops, turning towards you. You follow suit, facing the ravenette. Snowflakes flutter down, glistening in the low lighting from the street lamps lining your path home. A few land on your nose and cheeks, but the heat of Levi’s gaze is enough to make them melt on impact. He looks beautiful. His silvery eyes sparkling and sweet, his expression relaxed and happy.

Happy. Yeah, you feel happy, too.

You wish you could freeze this moment like the snow around you. To exist solely in the present for this moment of time, to be the snowflake drifting through the never ending breeze of the sky. Landing on the ground to join all the others who came before it, to chant a cold and broken hallelujah when the night continues on. To witness the way Levi leans forward, gently cupping your cheek, and kissing your lips.

You make your decision then, completely, the creases of your mouth intertwining with his. You’ll fall like the snow, you’ll melt with the sun, you’ll bloom with the flowers. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.

Armin gives the warmest advice. Eren’s grin is toothy. Petra’s favorite color is red. Hange is understanding.

Mikasa’s phone number begins with an eight.

Levi is beautiful. And you are changing.

LACHERI © 2022: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations.

the taglist will now be made in a separate post to ensure everyone gets the notification! let me know if you guys are still missing the notif sigh

[noritoshiikamo]

peach play

professor geto had received an invitation from a fellow student, his curiosity got the best of him. a part of kamo escort collab, check out the rest of the works from other talented writers. thank you @sukirichi for letting me be part of this! pairing: modern au! professor geto suguru + student/escort fem!reader genre: 18+ smut, minors dni warning: geto is a professor and reader is a sex worker/escort it's not a typical escort, oral (both receiving), food play, geto likes to be called professor, thigh fucking, fingering (female receiving both holes) note: the obligatory trio of mine: unedited, lowercase intended and english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. the concept of the playhouse came from a manhwa, iykyk *winkwink* also 4969 words, not me going ham on the keyboard tbh i have no idea what the fuck am i doing so enjoy lol tagging: @sassyeahhhh , @fushigurocockslut, @starsalts , @sakeomi , @miss-ryomen , @lazy10ieiri unofficial part two of the professor series

he didn’t know what he expected when he exited his car. the pavement he stood on was wet from the earlier rain and he looked up to see the bright neon sign with an arrow pointing to the dark alleyway. he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a black card; his finger ran over the same name as the neon light. the name was in bold, embossed peach lettering, a small huff escaped his lips. he remembered when and exactly who gave him the card, it was last wednesday during one of his philosophy class.

peach play by kamo’s escorts services dare to play? join us at xx

“and the nature of observation and understanding is at the centre of a problem posited by the 17th-century philosopher, william molyneux. we are all observing the world in not the same way. if you check the next page, he’d articulated the problem in a letter to fellow professional ponderer, john locke.” professor geto tapped the key on his laptop, satisfied that they were on the correct slide, he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the marker, the slight screeching of the marker on the whiteboard didn’t bother him anymore as he scribbled the problem statement. teaching philosophy had become second nature to him. he glanced briefly, caught a glance of the back row where the girl in red sweater was halfway about to slam her face on the table.

“miss y/n?” he called out, ignoring the groan of disappointment from the front row ladies.

suguru had distinguished his students; mostly the girls sitting on the front seat was nothing more than skanks with low grades waiting for the opportunity to seduce him for extra marks. typically, they are his best friend and fellow professor, gojo satoru’s favourite. with their skirts that could barely cover their thighs and the skimpy underwear he could see from the stage when they cross their legs and his association with satoru, he’s not surprised that the ladies were shooting their shot with him. it annoyed him that they are bundling him up with that manwhore professor.

the girl in red sweater was still in same position, head resting on her fist, eyes shut closed. he knew most of his students are part-timer, it’s a rough world to survive in but it doesn’t give them excuse to come to his class and not participate. he let out a harsh breath, capping his marker and crossing his arms back. the tautness of his muscle underneath the white shirt was just feeding the skanks and he bit his cheeks to content his smile.

“miss y/n?”

he watched as her classmates working together to wake up the girl, who startled with a loud huff. “y-yes, professor geto,” her voice came out like a squeak, causing a wave of laughter to echo in the lecture hall. “okay, settle down, children,” suguru stepped in, “rough night, miss y/n? i’d never seen you sleep in my class before.”

“extra shift,” her voice croaked again as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

he shifted his weight on one leg, arms still crossed behind as he fidgeted with the cap of the marker. y/n is one of his favourite brilliant students, sitting among the smartest students in the back of the hall. if he lives for danger and risking catching anything but pokémon like his best friend, he would’ve picked her. he was interested in bringing her into the professors’ bet going on among the faculties, but unlike noritoshi and his pet, suguru has nothing to dangle in front the girl in red sweater. suguru’s a philosophy professor; his brand has always been about thinking outside the line but god, he won’t lie he’s curious of what is inside her sweater.

he smiled, “we were talking about william molyneux and his thinking of how we see the world not in the same way. based on his theory simplified, would a blind person who learned to distinguish basic shapes by touch be able to distinguish those objects when they suddenly received the power of sight?

“no.”

his smile turned into a grin, atta girl, “explain.”

“medical science has debunked that. an experiment was conducted, and the children were to feel a toy block without looking at it. average success rate was just 58 per cent – barely better than chance means mapping touch to sight must be learned. means reality isn’t the same as we thought it is until experienced. but that’s just my opinion.”

he pressed his lips thinly and nodded, satisfied in her answer, “good enough for me, miss y/n.” he stalked to his desk and leaned against it with his arms crossed, “i think we have our next discussion set. does information from one sensation translate to another, or do we only associate them in our minds? prepare an argument of both sides for next week’s class. remain in your last project’s groups, submit your last paper, and get the hell out of my class. see you guys later.”

the quiet lecturer hall was busy, and he watched as one by one of his students left his lecture hall, dropping his assignment on the box by the stage. his brows furrowed. “you’re not leaving?” he watched as a smile grew on the girl’s face. she skipped down the stairs before standing at the bottom of the stage, looking up to him. “i’m sorry i fell asleep,” she said sheepishly, fidgeting with her fingers, “i had to cover someone’s shift so suddenly and i didn’t get enough rest.”

suguru smiled and shrugged, his fingers playing with his collar, “it’s okay. don’t make it a habit.”

she dropped the assignment on the top of the pile before flashing him a wide smile, “will, do professor geto.” he watched intensely as she walked out, the way her tight jeans hugged the curve of her ass was mouth-watering. and the way that professor rolled out of his tongue was delectable. no way that she didn’t know what she was doing to him. he chuckled when he realised, he was standing on the stage of the empty lecture hall with his cock hard in his slack. raking the random strays back off his face he kneeled to collect the assignments, his brows furrowed again when he realised something wedged in y/n’s assignment.

a black business card.

the same business card he was using to get passed the security guard, as he felt the light droplet of rain started to fall again. he ran to the main door, cursing rain that had made him slightly wet. brushing some of it off his hair, he pushed the tinted front door open. the whole structure looked like some small old factory building that had been renovated. the first space was plain, serving as a waiting area. there was a couch on the side and the place’s name plastered on the wall. underneath it was arrows pointing to reception on right and playroom 1,2 and 3 on the left. suguru hesitated, fishing the black card again out of his pocket. the address is the same and the bodyguard allowed his entry after he handed him the card. what kind of place is this? his mind thought.

shrugging his half-wet coat off and draping it over his arm, he made his way to the reception. a girl awaited behind a desk, perked up when she caught a sight of him. “yum,” she said, shamelessly after raking her eyes up and down on his body, “welcome to peach play, how may i be at your service?” her voice was sultry and laced with-what the fuck is she wearing? his eyes couldn’t help but to linger at the way she wore only two-piece lingerie. the bandeau had a heart cut out in front that barely content her breasts and the matching-coloured panties was complimented by a fishnet and a pair of matching heels.

“i was given this, i assume it is an invite?” he placed the black card on the desk.

“lemme take a look for ya.”

he watched in curiosity as the girl’s face died, she looked up at him, “where did you get this?” she asked, her tone was different from her friendly welcoming tone earlier. i can’t tell her that a student of mine gave it to me, his mind panicked.

“someone gave it.”

“what seems to be a hassle around here?”

a man came out from the door behind him, curious with the ruckus from the receptionist. he offered suguru a smile and a curtsy, “welcome to peach play, sir, we are a subsidiary of kamo’s escort services, it’s an honour to have you here. i’m ijichi, the manager. miss lily, what’s seems to be an issue?” the receptionist handed the manager the card, a small smile appeared on his face as he nodded.

“i see. this card belonged to one of our gold escorts. it’s an invitation only so i guess you’re a very lucky member.” he showed suguru the small gold flower at the corner, he didn’t even notice, “please, follow me.” he brought the man to another separate room with an elevator that looks like another waiting room where he was seated. he was handed a form and he couldn’t help but to chuckle at the questions. he completed it with ease and the forms went to ijichi into another’s escort’s hand and she left through the elevator to the 3rd floor.

“peach play is not an escort services per say,” ijichi mentioned out of blues causing the professor to startle. the manager chuckled, “don’t be surprised. kamo’s escort services is what you expected, an escort service. but in peach play, we provided a safe haven where an adult can safely and freely indulge in their sexual plays and endeavors with our escorts. but no intercourses allowed. any degree of physical contact is allowed according to a client’s preference, and every play is conducted between members of same level by levelling up or invite. that’s why miss lily was shocked, gold escorts are allowed only one invitation per year. your card belongs to one of our best gold escorts. she will carter the playroom according to your answers.”

suguru’s mind was no longer in the room, his heart was thumping in his chest and he wished so badly to give his best friend a call. hold on, did gojo has something to do with this? he contemplated. he shook his head mentally, no way this is out of gojo’s league. he startled when he watched another girl approaching him with something in hand. “just some clothes for your play, sir. your playroom is ready. let me escort you.” he left ijichi with a bow and followed the other girl into the elevator. unlike the first girl, this girl was wearing a proper shirt and skirt, not that suguru can’t see her hardened nipped through the white shirt. as expected, the lift stopped at the third floor.

“the changing room is the blue door at the end of the hall. for this play, i would recommend to not wear anything but the given uniform. i’ll be here waiting to escort you to your room and we’ll shall start your play,” the girl gave him a dismissive wave with a wink, pointing to the door at the end of the hall.

he almost couldn’t believe that this is what his student does. not that he’s a prude of anything, it was just so exciting. and to think that it was one of his best students, he berated himself quickly. he’s not walking out of this changing room with a boner, not when he realised the uniform was a thin, white cotton boxer. he could see the outline of his fingers; this thing is next to useless as a cover up if he put it on. stripping out of his clothes, he put on the boxer and stood in front of the mirror. as he expected, he could see the outline of his cock and the happy trail leading down to it. he wondered if he should put his hair up.

there were no robes or towels for him to wear and suddenly he felt conscious. should i just walk out in boxer? he grabbed the doorknob, hesitating before throwing conscious out of the wind. the floor is cold underneath his feet and he quickly joined the earlier girl. “follow me, mr geto. she’s waiting.” unlocking a door, he was immediately greeted by her.

“i’m surprised you took my offer, professor.” the girl in the red sweater is now just a girl in thin, white dress.

“i didn’t know it was an invitation.”

she smiled, crossing her arms behind her, “yet you still come. it’s flattering.”

the girl interrupted them, clearing her throat. she was holding a clipboard now, “i’ve seen you’re familiar with one of our escorts,” she asked geto who was quick to blush. “uh, yeah.”

“don’t worry. whatever your relationship outside of peach play doesn’t matter, we don’t discriminate. today you’ll be our number 79-44 trial play. since miss y/n is one of our gold escorts, she had requested for the play to be just between you two. what better ways for you two to get to know each other right? please, enter the room through that door and i will explain the game.”

geto was first to enter the room, followed by her. the room was smaller than the waiting room, there was camera on the floor and ceilings, it was making him uneasy. he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see her. she offered him a reassuring smile, she explained that “it’s just a security camera, what happened in this room, remained between us and the watchwomen. so don’t worry.” there was table with a large bowl of blue liquid.

“you have 15 minutes to paint each other’s bodies. it must be on the skin, not on the clothes so feel free to explore your options. further instruction will be given after the timer end. you may start now.” a timer appeared on the screen.

suguru turned to look at the girl who seemed unfazed. “right, so this is what you do that caused you to be sleepy in my class?” he asked jokingly, unsure how to approach the subject. she offered him a smile and shrugged, “why? would you have not come if you know i’m a sex worker?” he shook his head. she strutted to him, pushing him off balance. his eyes widened in fear as he stumbled only to fall on a chair. where did th-the chair came from?

“good, i’m looking forward to have fun, professor. so, relax and enjoy,” she dragged the table closer, quickly dipping her fingers in the paint. straddling him, her blue coated finger traced his lips. his eyes were so fixated on her mouth, he could see a sliver of her tongue jutting out as she focused. he let out a soft gasp when her fingers run down his neck. “don’t be shy, professor, you can touch-” she giggled, grabbing his wrist, dipping it in the bowl of paint, “me.” she gasped when he was quick to slip his hand underneath her dress, the feeling of his cold hand coated with paint on her breasts had her rolling her eyes.

he massaged it slowly, with fascination as the paint seeped through the material of her dress, exposing her. the way her breath quickened, her breast heaving in his palm and the way she looked on him with her lidded eyes, he was more turned on that expected.

“you look pretty,” he mumbled, and she could only laugh.

“thank you, professor, you look fine yourself, it was getting tiring to try to keep imagining how you look under the shirts,” her lips ghosted over his own, he didn’t dare to move, he was curious of what her next move is. he couldn’t complain when she didn’t kiss him, instead she pulled back, pulling the bunched-up end of her dress over her head, throwing it aside. she sat on his laps; head lolled to the side with glob of paint slobbered all over her chest.

he wondered if the paint is edible, eyeing the droplet of paint sitting so inviting on her hardened nub.

removing his hands, he dipped his hand back into the paint before trailing the paint between her breasts, she kept her eyes trained on him as his fingers ghosted over her belly, her shaved mound and down between her slits. her breath caught in her throat as she felt his professor’s fingers resting firmly on her clit. “don’t get wet too fast,” he chuckled, gently rolling the swollen clit between his fingers, “the paint will disappear.” she braced herself by grabbing his shoulder, surprised to see ink on his back. leaning forward to press a kiss on his shoulder, she was awed by the full dragon tattoo etched on his back. “professor, i didn’t know you have a tattoo,” she cooed against his ears, half moaning as she pressed a kiss on the shell of his ear. her fingers desperately traced the inked skin, leaving trails of blue paint on it. and when geto slipped his hand further, she dug her nails on his back, both moaned simultaneously.

“you have no idea how much i want to fuck you dumb right now.”

she clicked her tongue, a playful smile on her lips as she brushed it against his, “that’s not the rules, professor, you don’t wanna be bad, don’t you?” he swallowed her moans and her inviting tongue in his mouth. his fingers rubbing along her wet slits, he wasn’t sure if it is from the paint or is it from her own dripping cunt. his fingers kept slipping and when he slipped again, this time his two fingers went knuckle deep in her cunt. she was overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion, her legs trembled as she cried out, muttering desperately how his fingers made her feel so good. how she has been fantasized about his massive hands down the table under her skirt fingerfucking her as he taught her the new theory.

“come, you’re not painting enough of me. you’re just panting like a bitch in heat.”

he grunted, pulling both of them up. she whined at the lost feeling of his fingers, both paint and her arousal fluid dripped down her thighs. in excitement, he placed her back in front of the floor camera, using his own leg to keep her legs apart. they finally kissed, her earlier painting of his face now is slobbering around her chin and lips. her hand laced in his long, luscious black hair, pulling him closer, her burning loins rubbing against his taut leg. his hands earlier dipped in paint so with her distracted by his kiss, he landed the hands on her ass. the mounds jiggled; blue printed on her skin. “i can’t help it,” he smirked against her lips, his cheekiness had warmed up, he was no longer shy like before. dipping in the paint again, he had her leaning on his chest as he let the paint flew down the valley of her ass, spreading the cheeks apart for the camera to catch the paint dripping down her puckered hole and down to her cunt. he dipped his hand from behind, with two fingers shoved up her cunt, he had his thumb toying around her tight puckered hole. by the change of her expression, clearly, she had never gotten it.

“is that okay?” he asked, gently rubbing the paint against her hole.

she whined, clutching on the fingers that was still fucking her, “be my guest, professor.”

with the amount of paint dripping and then her own fluid, it was easy for his finger to slip in her ass. he watched in fascination as the distraught look on her face turned into pleasure as she was grinding herself on his fingers. “look at you mewling for my fingers up your ass, look at me and tell me does it feels good?” his finger traced her jaw, a simple jerk has her looking up to him, nodding like a good little dog. freeing himself from the boxer, he pushed her away and nudged to the paint. his cock sprung out, hard and leaking precum. she swallowed the lump in her throat as she eyed at the length, with her paint dripping hands, she was shocked to realise that it required both of her hands to fully covered him with the paint. he threw his head back, his hand reaching for her breasts as she jerked his cock in her hand. they enjoyed it for a while before he stopped her, putting both of her hands on his shoulder. “close your legs tighter,” he commanded as he slipped the cock along the slit, the tip of his cock rested neatly along the valley of his ass.

“professor!” her eyes widened at the sudden thrusts, she was about to complain until she felt the cock withdrew, feeling the veiny ridges of his cock brushing against her clit and slamming right back in. “fuck, professor harder please, it feels so good,” she whimpered, eyes back as the feeling of his unconventional thigh fucking had turned her on. oh, how she was desperately wishing that his cock would’ve slipping into her cunt.

“does that feel good?” he nuzzled into the side of her face, licking the sweats off her face, both hands squeezing and spreading apart her cheeks as the camera gobbled up the view of his cock slipping in and against the valley of her butt. they were deep into their kiss, enjoying the feeling of skins against each other when a loud beep interrupted them. heavy heartedly, he pulled away from the kiss, watching the girl gasping for air, his own chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.

“sorry to kill the fun. but your 15 minutes is up. ready for your new instruction?”

“yes,” she wiped some of the paint of her nose off, “what’s next?”

“if you realised, the paint tasted sweet, it’s edible. whoever manage to clean the most paint off their partner is the winner. the only rule is you��re only allowed to use your tongue. you have 15 minutes to complete the task. your time starts now.”

the timer beeped and she squealed as a force pushed her against the wall. “suguru!” her eyes widened to see him kneeling on the floor, his breath ghosting over her dripping cunt. he looked up with the mischievous look on his face, “that’s not how you address your professor. and i’m here to win, so if you don’t mind-” the tip of his tongue lapped the mound, “i’ll have the first bite.”

she let out a loud moan, clutching desperately on his hair as he lapped on her cunt. the mix of her fluid and the sweet paint was intoxicating, he could not stop slurping it up, his tongue running along the slits. it was easy for him to clean her up as she got wetter and wetter. looking up to her, he motioned her to come closer, holding out two fingers. licking her own lips, she accepted the inviting fingers into her warm mouth, his free hand tightened the grip on her ass. the feeling of her warm mouth around his fingers, her sweet fluid down his chin made him dizzy in pleasure.

he could feel the throbbing of his own neglected cock. he continued his endeavor, licking the sticky fluid off her thighs and calves and back up. he wasn’t shy to spread her ass apart ensuring both holes were spotless. her breath was getting more erratic and by the trembling of her legs and the way her voice shakily called for her professor, he knew she was about to cum.

“m’cumming, please please please,” she cried, head thrown back with his hand around her throat.

it took one more lick for his student to come undone, shaking on his face as his tongue readily caught her sweet nectar, tracing her entrance with the tip of his pointy tongue. giving one last slurp, he fell back, grinning as he watched her came down from her high, chuckling. “it’s your turn, miss y/n,” he nudged to his aching cock, excitement flickered in his eyes as he watched her on her knees. he fought the urge to slam her head down his cock when her tongue traced the bulbous tip, revealing the pink tip underneath.

“you’re a fucking tease,” he hissed below his breath, watching as the girl chuckled, the tip of her tongue traced down to the base leaving a strip of cleaned area. she kept her hands active on herself, rubbing her clit. her little hums, and moans against the base of his cock was torturous. she didn’t miss the balls, enjoying the way his eyes darkened when she got closer to her cock only to ignore it.

“you’re getting too tense, professor. why don’t you relax?” she teased.

he drew in a long breath, observing patiently as her mouth enveloped his tip. head thrown back and he couldn’t help but to grab the back of her head, gently guiding her down his cock. she was relaxed, enjoying it as much as he is as she completely bottomed out on him. strings of curses escaped suguru’s lips as he felt her throat tightening around his length, her tongue squirming flat against his length. she pulled out, her saliva dripping down her chin with a single string connecting her swollen lips to his aching cock.

just like that, fuck your throat feels so good, move around it, that’s it, baby, his words gurgled out rapidly as she started to move down.

she made it felt so good around his length, not even a gag as she traced the ridges, and accommodating his whole length even without her hand. the humming of her lips around his tips, rapid breathing, and the urgency of her fingers around her clit made him realised she was about to come again.

his hand palmed her chest, ignoring the painting smearing on his hand, ignoring their actual objective, he just wanted her to feel as good as he is. “come on, rub faster i want to see your cum with my cock in your mouth,” he cooed, watching her pretty face contorted in pleasure; he’d never seen someone looks so beautiful as they came undone, especially with a cock between their lips. he could feel his own knot tightened in his belly and his grip to the back of her head became more painful for her. she increased her pace, deep throating herself on his thick length ignoring the blurry waterline and painful jaws. she rested her hands on his tensed thighs. the sound of his moans and squelching wet noise of her throat around his cock echoed the room and soon he was moaning her name in repeat.

“hnggh ahh, fuck fuck fuck-m’cumming,” he moaned, pushed her head lowered and holding her down as spurts of his thick warm cum filled up her throat. she hummed happily, eyes back enjoying the full feeling of his cum in her mouth, bobbing her head gently as she continued to milk him up. his dick was clean from both paint and cum when she pulled back. his eyes widened in excitement as her head lolled to the side innocently, showing off her clean tongue.

“you’re unbelievable,” his hand grabbed her by the jaw, pulling her into his arms for a kiss as they fell back on the floor.

the timer buzzed.

-

“how does it feel to win?”

suguru didn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice. he listened to the shut of the door, focusing on the cigarette between his lips as he lighted it up, pocketing the lighter in his jacket. they stood in front of the door, watching as the drizzling of rain kissed the earth. he glanced to his side, the girl in red sweater stood beside him fully clothed now, her bag slung over one of her shoulder. he took a long drag, watching as puff of smoke escaped his lips and he shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

“it was fun. but not satisfying enough,” she rolled her eyes, the cigarette exchanged hands as she took a drag of it. “oh, what was lacking? was the playroom wasn’t satisfactory enough to your preference?”

“more like i want to fuck the best gold escort of peach play," they shared a smile, "anyway, how many points do i need to collect?” she couldn’t help but to smile at his genuine serious question.

with the cigarette hung loosely on her lips, she reached for her pocket, pulling out the same black card. what different about the card was his name etched at the back of it. she slipped the card in his pants’ pocket, his breath hitched when her warm hand squeezed his cock through the pocket. “guess you have to start collecting points to find out, professor,” his ear warmed up to the feeling of her exhale. he smirked, their faces were so close, the tension was thick he could cut it with a knife. one last drag, she slipped the cigarette back between his lips and winked.

“see you in class on monday, professor. looking forward for the discussion!”

her words echoed as she made a dash in the rain, he chuckled and threw the stub on the floor, stepping on in as he followed her trails.

she was long gone, but the ghostly feeling of her tongue against his cock lingered as he unlocked the car. for the first time, he couldn’t wait for monday to come.

[maudus1]

Two things: 1. Can you share some of the wips and fic ideas you’ve got squirreled away on your laptop with us? 🥺 2. I wish you loved your writing as much as I love your writing and self doubt or overthinking stuff didn’t hold you back from posting. You are so talented!! Don’t let your brain tell you otherwise!!!

Thank you sm 😭🥺

Sure, I can share some stuff! I have a doc I fling ideas into whenever they hit me, no matter how detailed or small or stupid. PWPs, crack, AUs, slow burns, fix-its, etc. They're usually little more than stream of consciousness rambling, and sometimes just a link, or song lyrics, a reddit thread, meme, or fanart - whatever inspired me in the moment and made me think, "I should revisit this later."

To give you an idea what the former looks like (though I'll be honest, this is tidier than most lol):

Psychologist/Client Modern AU

Premise: Obi-Wan realizes he’s becoming attracted to his beautiful young client and tries to refer him to another doctor. Little does he know, Anakin has been harboring a crush for years.

Anakin comes in one day for a session and Obi-Wan seems off somehow, nervous almost. It's unlike him. Immediately, Anakin is wary. Before he has a chance to say anything, Obi-Wan gets right to the point and tells him he's referring him to another doctor. Anakin demands to know why and he won't give him a straight answer, or at least not one Anakin believes. He's heartbroken, but the more Obi-Wan dodges his questions, the more frustrated he becomes. Obi-Wan opens the door and tells him he should probably go.

As Anakin is passing by, he gets a little too close, and that's when he notices it. A hitch in Obi-Wan's breath, dilated pupils. And he knows. There's no way he's letting it go now. So he tests his theory. Boxes Obi-Wan in. Obi-Wan is becoming increasingly agitated, holy shit he's actually stammering - that never happens - not to him, the man who's always so smooth and professional and careful with his words.

“If you're referring me,” Anakin says, leaning closer, “I guess I'm not your patient anymore then, am I?" 

Obi-Wan blinks, eyes falling briefly to Anakin’s lips. “No,” he breathes, “I suppose you aren't.”

Anakin grins. "Good.”

And then they kiss! Blah blah blah cue the hot desk sex.

Okay, the rest of this got pretty long so I'm dropping the WIPs under the cut.

First, there's Troubled Water. I have bits of multiple chapters written already but most of my focus is of course on chapter 4. Idk why but I've been struggling with it. 😅 It takes place on a different point in the timeline than originally intended (it was actually ch3 but what was supposed to be a flashback ended up turning into an entire scene of its own and thus the whole club disaster lol). It's, again, so long that it will probably end up split into two chapters but as of right now I'm kinda wingin' it.

And am I being entirely self-indulgent by using my own OCs (and some friends')? Yes.

I'm a writer, I can do anything.

Also I just thought it'd be cool to introduce a new species or two lol. The GFFA is vast okay, there's always room for more. Anyway, here's an excerpt:

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Da’riel of Clan Sarel. You have already met my Captain. The big guy behind you is my personal bodyguard. Don’t mind him, he only looks terrifying.” His grin takes on a mischievous edge as Bull huffs what might be a grunt or a laugh and he gestures toward the room he just emerged from. “And last but certainly not least—”

Another Dua’vian materializes in the doorway as though summoned, leaning her shoulder against the architrave. Her hair catches Anakin’s attention first; red as Queen’s Heart blossoms, it cascades in thick waves around shoulders draped in the black silk of a shirt several times too large to be hers, its hem halting mid-thigh. Her legs are bare beneath it.

Cheeks flaming, Anakin turns his gaze resolutely away.

“—this absolute vision is Liv Viventoly. If Preia is my right hand, Liv is my left.”

“What does that mean,” Anakin blurts, and everyone looks at him. Though Obi-Wan never rolls his eyes, the expression on his face is about as close as he gets to it. It’s a very particular brand of fatigue and mild annoyance entirely unique to his master, translated via a blank stare and slightly raised brows. He doesn’t even have to hear the “Honestly, Anakin,” aloud to know that’s exactly what he’s thinking.

“It means”—Liv straightens, smirking—“that I work in the shadows.” Anakin flinches back as she saunters past him and slides smoothly onto one of the tall stools at the well-stocked bar.

Like that answers anything. Why is everyone so cryptic all the time?

“What’s important is that while you’re here, know that you can trust them as I do,” Dua’primia Sarel says.

Obi-Wan nods, though Anakin senses apprehension through their bond. “We appreciate your hospitality, Dua’primia. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is—”

Anakin jolts forward. “Anakin Skywalker. We are at your service, my Lord.”

Sarel looks at his proffered hand with something like amusement and glides past Obi-Wan to clasp it with his. This close, he realizes the Dua’vian is an inch or two taller than himself—being somewhat tall for a human, it’s not an experience Anakin has often—and his eyes are a vibrant peridot green, accentuated by the black markings curving elegantly around the angles of his face that remind Anakin a bit of a Zabrak’s. A vicious scar bisects one eye from brow to cheek, long healed but still pink against his fair complexion, and Anakin spares a second to wonder if he got it during the war.

“Please,” he says, and is it just Anakin’s imagination, or did his voice lower in timbre? “Let us do away with such formalities. Call me Da’riel.” 

Anakin swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Oh—okay. Da’riel,” he repeats stiffly, hoping he isn’t completely butchering the pronunciation. By the way the man beams, he thinks he did alright. Da’riel releases his hand slowly, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist before Anakin withdraws it behind his poncho. He glances sidelong at Obi-Wan, but his master’s expression is as inscrutable as ever.

“Well then,” Da’riel declares with a brisk clap, making his way to the bar, “drinks?”

“Can we get down to business, please?” Preia says, rolling her eyes. 

“Such a spoilsport. Would it surprise you to know she isn’t always this uptight?” Chuckling, Da’riel uncaps a sapphire-blue crystal decanter and waves it beneath his nose. “Normally my dear Captain is the one pouring the liquor.”

“And I’ll drink you under the table like always once this threat is dealt with.”

“I shall hold you to that, my friend. And you, Jedi?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replies, a little too quick to be casual. “Thank you.” Anakin shoots him an inquisitive glance. 

“Ah.” Da’riel nods sagely. “So the rumors are true.”

“Da’riel—” Preia hisses.

“What?” Da’riel looks around at everyone, not contrite in the least. 

And his master was concerned that Anakin would be the one to say or do something culturally insensitive. He hides a quiet snicker behind his hand, pretending to rub his nose, and Obi-Wan gives him an unamused look before schooling his expression back to its artificial serenity. 

“Please excuse him,” Preia says, hip cocked, a finger rubbing against her temple. “He’s very—”

Liv butts in, “Reckless, blunt, uncouth?” 

Da’riel merely laughs, and Anakin can feel that it’s genuine. This is not at all the fearsome war General, leader of a revolution, and ruler of an entire planet that Anakin imagined. He seems close to these people, treats them more as equals and friends than subordinates or subjects, yet there’s still an aura about him that commands attention and respect as power or royalty would. 

Preia smirks. “Too honest for his own good.”

Whatever it is, Anakin doesn’t sense cruel intent coming from the Dua’primia, just honest curiosity. Despite the glare his master is drilling into the side of his head like he knows what Anakin is going to do, he can’t help asking, “What rumors?” 

“That you’re, er, monks,” Preia says, chuckling to mask embarrassment on behalf of her comrade and her own curiosity. 

“You know.” Liv sips at the drink Da’riel just poured her, not looking at them as she speaks, and Anakin leaks a pulse of unease into the Force. There’s something about her he simply can’t put his finger on. “No drinking, no fu—”

“Fun!” Preia hastily interjects, staring daggers at the other redhead. 

The corners of Anakin’s mouth twitch into a partial frown. They aren’t entirely wrong. He has his own… issues with the Order, with following rules that often either don’t make sense to him or directly conflict with his own ingrained beliefs. But it rankles for some reason, like he’s being judged, like they’re being judged. Mocked, even, though he doesn’t quite discern their meaning. Jedi are guardians of peace and justice within the galaxy. Maybe he doesn’t agree with the way the Order does things sometimes, but without them, without Anakin and Obi-Wan, the world would fall to disorder. To the dark side. People should be grateful—

“We are simply tired from our journey,” Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, sidling close enough that their shoulders graze, and Anakin exhales.

“My apologies, Jedi,” Da’riel says sincerely. “I am merely intrigued by your culture, as I’m sure you are of ours.” Obi-Wan bows his head in acceptance. “The hour is late. Preia?”

She hands Obi-Wan a datapad. “This contains an updated blueprint of the palace and map of the city, including the hidden exits and underground tunnels. I’ve marked the positions of my officers for each shift rotation as well as their schedules.”

Obi-Wan hums, stroking his beard as his eyes flit over the information on the screen. “And the evening of the festival?” 

“We’re tripling security, pulling from both the palace guard and local law enforcement.”

“How many of them know we’re here?” Anakin says.

There’s a knock at the door before she can answer, and Bull moves to open it, standing back to allow someone entry. It's a man Anakin recognizes. Tall and broad, with neatly-combed dark hair, deep-set brown eyes, and a kind yet serious face. His attire perfectly matches the regal demeanor flowing off him in waves, fine tailored robes of pewter-blue that swish around matching trousers as he walks. When his eyes land on Obi-Wan, a fond grin meets Obi-Wan’s public, Jedi-persona equivalent; a small, polite smile, though his eyes twinkle with equally affectionate mirth as Senator Bail Organa bends to his height to trade light kisses upon each cheek. 

Anakin knows from experience that it’s just a traditional Alderaanian greeting; it doesn’t mean anything. The Senator is a happily married man. And he’s pretty sure Obi-Wan hasn’t been involved with anyone in years, if ever. Whatever illicit affair he’d thought his master had with Vos was obviously just fueled by his own overactive imagination. He knows this because Obi-Wan never did meet the Kiffar before he shipped out for his next mission, and he hasn’t been alone with Vos since. Obi-Wan even stopped going to bars and clubs; stopped going out much at all, in fact, aside from diplomatic dinners and stuff they do on missions. Otherwise, he mostly stays with Anakin, and that’s exactly how Anakin likes it. 

None of that prevents the irritation boiling within his veins or the tormenting memory of a kiss that’s burrowed its way into his very soul, a kiss that should have never been, and the hollow, bitter pang that always follows in its wake.

Goosebumps prickling the flesh at his nape, he glances around and finds Da’riel leaning back lazily against the front of the bar on one elbow, sipping his drink and watching Anakin intently. Face flushing with heat, he plops into one of the plush chairs and out of the Dua’primia's view.

“Obi-Wan. As always, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“And you as well, Bail.”

“Now that everyone is here,” Preia says, “shall we get started?”

This is Da'riel btw:

"But there are no elves in Star Wars," one might say. Well guess what: there are now. 😌

Preia and Liv belong to @jacklyn-flynn & @charlatron respectively.

As for other WIPs; there's one I started before Troubled Water, though my focus was drawn to TW instead so it's been put on the backburner for now. The original idea was some kind of canon-divergent time-travel fix-it, but in the sense that Vaderkin's consciousness from the end of RoTJ returns to his body around the end of the Mortis arc in The Clone Wars. Can't say why that inspired me but it did lol, it felt like a pivotal moment (one of the shatterpoints I like to theorize about, change one thing and they're all altered via butterfly effect etc).

Like, what if he lived the future shown to him in that vision that the Father erased, and how would he react differently afterward, how would he talk to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka about what they went through on Mortis and the implications if he actually, finally understood and believed that he was indeed the Chosen One, how would they approach the Sith situation and the war from that point on... yeah I just have a lot of thoughts idk. I know that arc isn't a fan favorite but I personally loved the metaphor and the entire Prophetic Greek Tragedy vibe.

Excerpt:

“General Skywalker, come in.”

He feels… strange. Heavy yet impossibly lighter. Awareness presses down around him, suffocating, and a sharp pain lances through his skull as he draws the first shuddering breath in what feels simultaneously like mere minutes and several millennia. His mouth is dry, his throat sore, and his eyes burn as he slowly blinks into wakefulness. The crust of sleep clings to his long lashes, the salt-stained skin upon his cheeks pulling uncomfortably as he moves. He rubs them with a gloved hand and groans at the bright flashing lights of a console as they sharpen into focus. 

Wait—

He has a body. 

Moments ago he was formless and adrift, yet he is once again whole. And before that, he was… he was…

Kriff, he has hands. Hands he sees unfiltered, rather than through a tinted transparisteel visor protecting damaged retinas. And he’s breathing. Unassisted by a mechanical apparatus, by endless tubes and wires, no longer submerged under the ceaselessly distracting harsh rasp of a ventilator. Fingers flexing inches before his face, he blinks again, stunned. Not only does he have a body, but it’s his body. His limbs—well, with the exception of one. His gaze drifts slowly down to his long legs, toes curling experimentally in his boots. The sheer relief of it sends him reeling. 

Red light glints off his leather tabards and he looks up, expecting that any moment now, this will all prove another dream, a nightmare; a life free of that shell dangled temptingly before him only to be snatched away again. But the scene does not change. Dazed, he assesses his surroundings. A ship. He's on a ship? Familiar, Republic make. And there is a presence in the Force, a presence he has not felt in—

Hours. Years. An eternity.

Breath held, he turns. Only his head; as though any attempt to move this foreign yet thrillingly familiar youthful body will snap him out of this vision, send him back to that… that hell. And as he does, he sees him, a shining beacon of pure light, warm and bright and soothing. A man in beige robes, slumped in the co-pilot’s chair beside him, just beyond arm’s reach. Legs akimbo, elbows perched upon the armrests, hands dangling limply over his lap. His bearded chin is tucked to his chest which rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of unconsciousness. Auburn hair spills across his forehead, obscuring his eyes. But he would know this man anywhere.

Obi-Wan.

The desperate beat of his heart and rough, relieved exhale that escapes his lips seems thunderously loud in the otherwise silent cockpit. Fresh tears springing to his eyes, he attempts to stand—to go to him, to sweep Obi-Wan into his arms and feel his warmth, to surround himself with his scent and know for certain that he’s here, he's real, he’s alive—only to wobble and collapse back into the seat like a fawn testing new legs for the first time. 

How is this happening?

He feels himself, and not himself. As though he took a nap and awoke with another lifetime sliced into his brain, a vision he can't shake, an overwrite of his programming, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between it and the reality he's presented with the more he struggles to process it—

A flicker of blue dances in his periphery, repeating a question, and it is only with great reluctance that he tears his eyes away from his former Master. The holo-projection of another man stands at attention in the center console, brow furrowed with worry. Fondness and guilt and confusion flood him with equal measure as he takes in his Captain’s, his friend’s, appearance. 

“General Skywalker, do you read me?”

Skywalker.

The voice of the last person to call him by that name, in that other life, echoes in his mind. It is the name of your true self, you have only forgotten. The son he tried to kill, to corrupt, to save. The son who saved him, and in the end, returned him to the light. Luke.

Clearing his parched throat, he responds, “I—we read you, Rex,” and marvels at the sound of his own voice, so crisp and clear and young, without the distortion of that burdensome helmet. “You—you’re a sight for sore eyes. Can you hear me?”

Fabric rustles behind him and he instinctively reaches for the lightsaber at his hip before the sleepy, curious brush of another Force signature meets his own. Gasping, he whips around in the flight chair.

“Ahsoka!”

She winces, rubbing her tired eyes. “Not so loud, Skyguy,” she says on the back end of a yawn, glancing around the cockpit. “What happened? We were—-mmphh!” Her surprised grunt is muffled against his shoulder as he all but falls out of his seat to the floor at her feet and drags her into his arms, then his lap, cradling her like a child. 

Face buried in her soft lekku, he squeezes her close to his chest, body wracked with silent sobs. All he’d wanted was to protect Ahsoka. To mentor her, as his master before him, and give her the tools she needed to protect herself and innocents across the galaxy. Brilliant, kind, stubborn and strong, and so, so wise beyond her time, she became one of the most talented Jedi he had ever met. Though they’d gotten off to a rocky start, she made him proud, made him feel honored to be her master. Watching her leave the Order tore his heart in two. Watching her leave him destroyed him. Already he’d been questioning the Council, questioning the Order as a whole and their damn inflexible code. But more than that, he questioned himself. He’d failed as her master, failed as a Jedi. 

The memories haunt him. For months he examined the shatterpoints of their lives together, in hindsight—every lesson taught, every battle fought, wondering where he went wrong, what he could have done differently, how he could have fixed things, helped her, kept her close—spiraling down, down into the depths of his own torment and self-loathing. Without Ahsoka, Obi-Wan had been his only remaining tether to the Jedi. To the light. A tether broken, in the end, by his selfishness. By jealousy and hatred and greed, by the fear of abandonment, loss, and… deep, shameful, unrequited feelings. 

But here she is, right here in the secure circle of his arms. His beloved young padawan, the girl he’s come to cherish like a friend, a sister, who he’d met lightsaber for lightsaber in that dark future but even then, corrupted as he was, could not bring himself to kill because he loved her so. Loves her still.

“Master?” Ahsoka murmurs, hands hanging limp at her sides for several seconds before hesitantly returning his embrace with equal strength. Too often preoccupied with and separated by the war, the opportunities to shown her such open affection were far and few between, usually coming after particularly difficult missions, brief brushes with death, and how kriffed up is that? Filled with regret, he promises himself here and now that will change. 

“Are you…” Trailing off, she reaches up to slowly pet his hair and he releases a quiet sigh, finally pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are wide and worried and so very, terrifically, blue. “Master, what’s wrong?”

Letting out a soft chuckle, he shakes his head. “Nothing, Snips.” The old nickname rolls off his tongue without even thinking and his heart clenches, this time with both pain and joy. “Nothing at all. Everything is perfect.”

There’s a crackle of static behind them, then, “Ah, General Kenobi. It’s good to see you, sir. Are you three alright? General Skywalker seems—”

He lifts his gaze to the co-pilot’s chair. Obi-Wan is awake and perched upright in front of the holo, staring silently at them with a frown so achingly familiar a tangled web of affection, longing, pain, betrayal swells within his chest. It hurts, it hurts so much to look at Obi-Wan like this, yet now that those eyes are open and trained so intently on him, he can’t tear his own away. And Obi-Wan’s just as beautiful as ever, just as heart-wrenchingly perfect and good. 

Too late, he remembers that their bond, while not as strong as it had once been, remains. Unlike most master and padawan pairs after the apprentice reaches knighthood, neither he nor Obi-Wan could bring themselves to sever it. They were at war, their connection was vital. It made them a better team. Until— 

His mental shields slam into place but not before Obi-Wan arches a single brow, lips parting as if to repeat Rex’s inquiry. 

“I’m fine,” he rushes to cut Obi-Wan off, “we’re all fine. Just, uh—where are you?” 

He can only beg the Force that his former master and current padawan did not feel too much, did not see the torment buried within him. By the way they appear to be communicating with one another like whispers behind closed doors, however, he’s sure they will have questions. Questions he doesn’t know how to answer. Letting go of Ahsoka, he clambers to his feet, limbs still trembling, and drops heavily back into the pilot’s chair.

“Standing by, sir. We were worried. You were,” Rex hesitates, “off the scopes there for a moment.”

Memories hit him in a rush. Chaotic, lacking order. He's in a dark room with his dead mother whispering poison in his ear. On a balcony overlooking a pristine lake, flowers scenting the air, one hand rising to touch soft skin. In a junkyard, fingers covered in mech oil, the ever-present grit of sand between his molars. At an opera listening to the viper beside him spit lies, lies, lies. The sky above shifts rapidly from day to night, and he's lost in a spinning whirlpool of stars and the obscene rush of power he feels as he brings gods to their knees. Then he's watching the silhouette of a robed man against the backdrop of sunset thinking look at me, look at me, please look at me, I need you—

Sifting through them is a struggle. Everything blurs together, and he can't control what comes or when, skull throbbing from the effort. His thoughts, his feelings, are an amalgamation of eras he can't quite reconcile; the slave boy, the padawan learner, the Jedi Knight, the General, the Sith Lord. It's too much, it's too much and he doesn't know who or what he is anymore and the panic is rising— 

A comforting hand settles upon his shoulder and he opens his eyes. Ahsoka.

“A moment?” Obi-Wan says, still staring at him. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable under that all-too perceptive gaze. At length, his master turns to the holo. “We’ve been gone far longer than a moment.”

Rex’s eyes flit between them. “Sir, I don’t understand. You’ll need to explain.”

Ahsoka snorts. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Still have a lot of mental fleshing out to do before it goes anywhere but there ya have it.

May the Force be with you, always!

As for the first part of your comment, really, thank you. It's not that I don't love my writing so much as the process can be difficult at times. 😅 I'm a perfectionist, and not by choice so much as my brain simply won't let things go until they feel right. Even after publishing something I have a very bad habit of going back in and editing it a dozen more times. It's very annoying! 😂

Sometimes that single-minded focus gets me stuck in a huge rut because I'm too zoned in on trivialities to navigate back to the big picture. Basically writer's block is the worst feeling ever and sometimes I get down about not being as productive as I should be. But I do love writing, and making people happy with my work gives me a lot of joy and motivation to keep at it. Well, I should probably get back to work on TW but I hope you enjoyed the excerpts! All your kind words made me smile and I'm gonna try to carry that positivity with me. 🥰

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 12: Dirty Dreams

…in which Harry and Ezi kiss again…and again…and again… (THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT)

Word count: 4.6k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

.

.

.

Harry didn’t understand dreams. How did dreams even work? Because sometimes he would see someone he hadn’t seen in years in his dreams, even though he had completely forgotten about the person’s existence up to that point. Then there were these super violent and bloody dreams that woke him in the middle of the night in cold sweats. Then, there were some other more inappropriate dreams that made him so disappointed when the alarm rang.

Listen, Harry wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t think about sex 24/7; well, not usually. But lately, he’d been having dirty dreams more often than he would enjoy. He would wake up with his dick rock hard and end up late for work because he had to stroke one out in the shower. And he blamed it on…

“Ezi! Where are your pants? And why are you wearing my shirt?”

Ezi stopped in the kitchen doorway with a bowl of ice cream in one hand, the other holding a spoon in her mouth. “This is my new ‘at home’ look,” she said, while leaning against the door in nothing but his button-up shirt that fell just past her bum. As if the sight wasn’t torturing enough, she had to be licking ice cream from the fucking spoon. It was eight in the fucking morning! And Harry would not go back to the bathroom to wank again.

“But where are your shirts? Why don’t you wear them?” he asked and slipped past her into the kitchen. He would make himself a cup of coffee so he wouldn’t have to watch her being effortlessly sexy in the kitchen doorway.

“They said on the internet that you should borrow your boyfriend’s shirt, and you’re my fake boyfriend.”

“Fair enough,” Harry chuckled.

She gave him a shy smile and left without saying another word. That was the longest conversation they’d had since that night she went out on a date with Dawson. Ezi was always a little bit weird. Okay, well, very weird. But her weirdness had been different lately, in a bad way. She was still doing weird things, but keeping a distance from him.

Harry knew he couldn’t really complain, since he’d specifically told her to her face that he preferred it when it was just him and the cat. Having his own space had been nice for a day or two, then he’d started missing how annoying she’d been. And of course, he blamed this all on Dawson.

Harry had been second to Dawson his whole life. Ever since he’d been a kid and found out that he’d had a cousin, Dawson had been nothing but a burden for Harry. Harry was the only child, but to his parents, Dawson had been their favourite son. His father used to love sports, but Harry had never been a fan of those. Dawson, on the other hand, had been the captain of the school’s football team and was excellent at marathons as well. So if Harry’s father was still alive, Dawson would be the one making him proud by taking over the family business Harry didn’t want.

Now, just as Harry had finally gained his own spotlight as a singer, becoming great at something Dawson wasn’t good at, Dawson swept in and stole Ezi.

Harry had spent a lot of time wondering why it had mattered so much to him that Ezi had gone on one date with his cousin. He didn’t even like her like that, and the house was always peaceful without her, which he enjoyed very much. But why did the idea of her becoming something with Dawson bother him so much? He hadn’t been sleeping well for the last couple of days. Not to mention that Ezi had started keeping distance from him. Well, he’d done it first because of the kiss, but it was weird when she did it because she had always been so fucking clingy. And he’d hated that. Until now!

Ding dong!

“What do you want?” Harry asked in the least annoyed tone he could pull off, while fighting the urge to slam the door in Dawson’s good-looking face.

“Is Ezi home?” Dawson asked.

“Ezi? You mean Ezili? Because I’m the only one who calls her Ezi.”

“Y-Yeah, Ezili,” Dawson said with an awkward smile. This guy was a tool. What did Ezi see in him?

“No, she’s at work,” Harry said, and quickly added, “but don’t think about going there. They’re having a book club meeting; she’d be mad if you showed up and distracted her.”

That was a lie. Harry didn’t even know if people actually hosted book club meetings at random book shops, but did it matter? If he was going to be petty, he must go all the way.

“What do you wanna meet her for?” he asked before Dawson could leave. He didn’t want to have a long conversation with Dawson about Ezi, but it was the only way to learn more about their date. “Did you do something that you wanna apologise for?”

“No. Of course not,” Dawson chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “She bought some books and forgot them in my car.”

“I could give them to her when she gets back from work,” Harry said.

Dawson looked hesitant. “Well, she told me not to give them to you.”

“Oh.” Harry kept a straight face, but he was very offended that she’d made that request. Did she really hate him so much for what he’d said that night?

“So,” he ventured, averting his eyes. “Guess the date went well?”

“I suppose,” Dawson said.

Harry had hoped for a different response. This one didn’t really hurt him but it didn’t make him happy, either. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “So are you looking forward to the second date?”

“I don’t think there’s gonna be one,” Dawson said, to Harry’s surprise. “I don’t think she likes me like that?”

Okay, this was the response Harry had been waiting for. He tried to suppress a grin as he patted his cousin’s shoulder sympathetically, while he was far from sympathetic. “Oh, don’t be so pessimistic. I know she’s a bit out of your league, but dare to dream a little.”

“Very funny,” Dawson snorted and brushed off Harry’s hand. “But I think she has a crush on you.”

“Really? I mean, no!” Harry faked a laugh, crossing his arm and leaning against the door in an unnatural pose. “No way.” Now he sounded like a commercial guy who had never attended a single acting class. “She doesn’t...she doesn’t have a crush on me,” he stuttered. “W-Why do you think so?”

Dawson pressed his lips into an understanding smile that made Harry’s face grow red. “All she talked about for the entire night was you.”

Harry thought Dawson was just teasing him at first. Then he remembered that this was Dawson, not him. So it was true. Ezi had talked about him for the whole night when she was with Dawson.

“What did she say?” Harry asked, trying to seem more curious than excited.

“She told me you were a good cook, and then complained about your bad habits. Then it was all ‘Harry said that’ and ‘Harry said this’. It seemed like she was really into you.”

“Oh, wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Harry shrugged, trying to act cool and all that. “I’m just surprised. I thought she hated me.”

“I mean, she can still hate you if she has a crush on you,” said Dawson. “Also, why is she staying with you? Where’s her family?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Why didn’t you ask her?”

“She kept mentioning her mother but nothing more than that, and she’d just change the subject whenever I tried to ask.”

Harry didn’t have enough time to think of a lie, so he blurted, “Her family was abusive.”

Dawson looked horrified, but he completely bought that. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. “She’s a lovely girl, though. I know that you don’t like her, but don’t break her heart. Turn her down nicely.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You don’t like Ezili, right?” Dawson asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughed, uneasily. “I mean no, I don’t.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t wanna be in a relationship.”

Harry didn’t want to be in a relationship, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel things. He guessed most people would just assume he had no heart because it was easier for them to make sense of why he wouldn’t settle down. In reality it was more complicated than that. He had had feelings for some people in the past, and he’d shut them down before he got to the point of no return. Ezi might be a dangerous creature, but he’d probably hurt more people than she had, mostly himself.

So did he like Ezi? Yes. He’d just realised that when his heart blossomed to the thought of her thinking about him on a date with his cousin. There was no denying that, as he only felt this way about his own songs. But was he happy about it? Well, yeah, of course he was happy about it. He was over the moon even. Still, that didn’t mean he should do something about it. He would just keep it to himself and wait–No, hope for it to pass.

Later that night, when Ezi came home from work, she went straight into the kitchen to eat from the fridge, and Harry came downstairs to find her sitting on the floor, munching off a sandwich in the fridge light glow. He watched her for a moment from the door before deciding to break the silence.

She flinched when hearing her name. She turned around, sandwich still in her mouth. “Did Dawson stop by?” she asked. “He said he would bring me my books.”

“Yeah, he did. I put them in your room,” Harry said, trying his best not to roll his eyes at the mention of his cousin. But then he remembered what Dawson had told him and came to sit beside her on the floor.

She ignored him and continued eating. She looked nothing like someone who had a crush on him, so what if Dawson had lied to him? He had never heard a lie from Dawson, but it didn’t mean Dawson was incapable of lying.

“Ezi, I wanna ask you something,” he said.

She finished her sandwich and reached into the fridge of ice cream. “Go ahead,” she said.

Harry started fidgeting with his shirt. “Why won’t you tell me about that date with Dawson?”

Ezi didn’t look at him as she said, “Do I have to tell you? It was personal.”

“Well, your sister was there,” he reasoned, “and she’s tried to kill me several times so I think I deserve to know some details about that night.”

Yes, Harry was curious about Ezi’s sister as well, but was it bad to say that he wanted to know more about what Ezi thought of him? Was it bad that Ezi’s feelings for him mattered more than his stupid life?

“My sister wasn’t there the whole time,” Ezi sighed and dipped her spoon into the ice cream. “I got rid of her at the fair then went for dinner with Dawson.”

“Oh,” Harry said, watching her intently as she ate. “So—”

“My sister wanted me to go back home.”

Harry froze. “Why?” he blurted, suddenly anxious. “I mean…does your mother want you back? Not that I think she won’t ever want you back—”

“No.” Ezi rolled her eyes. “My sister wants me to go back in return of the throne, so she can be Queen and allow me back into the Queendom.”

“But you wanna Queen?”

“I’m going to be Queen!” Ezi snapped. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, she softened her voice, “I’m the firstborn. I’m going to be Queen. I have a year to…” Her voice trailed off and she spaced out for a second.

“To what?”

Ezi pressed her lips into a tight smile then said, “To stay here. My sister told me that my mother would take me back in a year.”

“That’s the punishment?” Harry chuckled. “Make you stay in this world where a handsome man takes care of you and buys you stuff?” Maybe siren mums weren’t as bad as he’d thought.

“And also bullies me 24/7,” Ezi said.

“Hey!” Harry put up his hands. “You bully me, too.”

“You literally told me you didn’t want to see me around the house.”

“Yeah, well, I like seeing you around the house now.”

“Liar,” Ezi said and took a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Harry tried not to pay attention to the way she licked the spoon or think about licking ice cream from her lips, but he knew he was going to see a lot of that in his dreams tonight.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ezi held his gaze for two seconds, squinting her eyes. “Fine,” she said at last. “I forgive you.”

“Well, that was easy.”

“For now,” she added, putting the ice cream back into the fridge. “I’ll hate you again when I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry eighty percent of the time!”

“Yeah.”

Harry chuckled as he watched her amber to the kitchen door. Clenching his fingers, he asked, “When’s your birthday?”

Ezi turned her head. “March 12. Why?”

“So I can say happy birthday to you on March 12.”

“Oh, thanks. Not looking forward to it, though.”

“Also,” Harry said fast before she left. “Do you wanna go to a party with me?”

.

.

.

Niall had just reached one million followers on TikTok, so he’d thrown a huge party at his mansion and invited his friends who had brought their friends and their friends’ friends. So the most influential people in the entertainment industry were at the party tonight.

Jeff had suggested that Harry bring Ezi so they could do some PDA stuff at the party to make headlines for the next few days. At first, Harry had planned to make up some excuses so he could go alone.

He and Ezi hadn’t kissed since that day in his mother’s closet. Well, actually, they had had a few pecks on the lips in public, but it’d only been for the paparazzi. It was hard to think about romance when there were at least ten cameras pointing at you.

Their first kiss, however, had been real and…hot. Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t know how Ezi felt since she never talked about it, but he had the impression that she had enjoyed it as much as he had. He couldn’t stop thinking about her flushed cheeks and plum lips as she pulled back, confused yet wanting more. In his dreams last night, they had been in that closet, but their clothes had been discarded, and he’d been pounding her against the wall. It was so hot. He’d had to wank twice when he woke up and he couldn’t make eye contact with Ezi in the kitchen during breakfast. Now he couldn’t get those images out of his mind.

“Harry.”

Harry jumped when his name was called. Ezi gave him a questioning look. She was wearing a little pink strap dress and her hair was in a high bun. She looked so cute tonight; his stylist had done a great job.

“You okay?” she asked, slipping her fingers into his. He knew it didn’t mean anything and she was only doing what Jeff had told her to. But he couldn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach from acting up. “It seemed like your soul left your body for a second.”

“Sorry, this loud music gives me a headache,” he said and finished his glass of wine. Ezi didn’t drink. “You wanna dance?”

Her gaze shot up in surprise. “Do you wanna dance?”

“What do you mean? I’m a fantastic dance partner.”

“But I’ve never danced before. I just got these legs a few weeks ago.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll be good at it, I’m sure. We’ll wait for a slow song.”

Niall walked by just in time to overhear the conversation, so he shouted, “Slow song for my besties Harry and Ezili!”

Harry tried to stop Niall, but it was too late. Everyone in Niall’s living room was staring at him and Ezi. Jeff would be happy about this, but Harry didn’t think Ezi was. Her fingers tightened around his as she stepped closer, apparently uncomfortable with the intrusive glances they were receiving.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her close. “We’ll show them how great we are.”

“But I’m not—”

He didn’t let her finish and drag her out on the dance floor. There were a few couples slow-dancing around them, but Harry knew he and Ezi were the attention of tonight. In these people’s eyes, they were in love, completely infatuated with each other.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered in Ezi's ear while fixing her posture. “It’s easy.”

For a human who had been to too many of these dances, it was. But Ezi was barely good at walking. And so she ended up stepping on his feet repeatedly. The giggles of some women in the room made her even more anxious, so she almost stopped. But he reassured her by pulling her closer and lifting her chin so she was looking at him instead of them.

“Don’t be nervous. This is your little mermaid moment. Embrace it,” he said, making her smile.

“Ariel was a terrible dancer.”

“True. But she looked pretty stepping on the Prince’s feet.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow, amused. “Are you calling yourself the Prince?”

“I almost got casted for the role of Eric, by the way.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.

He acted offended. “No, it’s real.”

“As real as Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus is real,” Harry argued. “Not you saying he isn’t when you’re literally a mythical creature.”

“Shut up,” she chuckled.

“Make me,” he replied.

Harry didn’t know who had initiated it. Maybe they had both leaned in at the same time. But this time as they shared a kiss in a crowded room, it felt like they were all alone in his mother’s closet once again. Of course he had to keep his hands respectfully on her lower back, but the kiss was still hot. He could feel himself being unravelled right there on the dance floor, and he liked the way her fingers twirled the hair at the back of his neck as they melted into one. But then people had to ruin the moment for them by filming it. Jeff would be happy; Harry wasn’t.

He had developed a special talent over the years as a celebrity and could always sense when someone was taking pictures of him. It made him uneasy and distracted, so he had to pull back. He supposed his twisted expression might have given Ezi the wrong idea. She thought it was her that made him uncomfortable. And for some stupid reason, Harry let her think that.

They left the party early because Ezi didn’t seem to enjoy it anymore. On the drive home, Harry tried to find a way to apologise for ruining the moment, but he didn’t know how to not make it awkward. She didn’t say a single word to him in the car, and he knew she wasn’t going to unless he started the conversation. But then he didn’t. And so she went to bed angry at him.

Harry felt really bad about it. He knew it wouldn’t be this way if he had communicated like a normal human being. But it wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to admit to her that he’d enjoyed kissing her, and he would’ve made out with her in front of all those people had it not been for who he was. He had wanted that moment to be real, but then he remembered it wasn’t, and he felt like he was taking advantage of her.

Maybe she felt that way, too. He wasn’t sure. Or she was just tired and didn’t really care about the kiss, and he was the one making a fuss out of it because he assumed he meant more to her than he really did. Again, Dawson could’ve lied. Ezi might not even have feelings for him. She might think he was a bad kisser even.

As Harry fell asleep that night, he dreamed about her again. They were alone in Niall’s mansion. The music was playing as they slow-danced but nobody was watching. She started kissing him, and he kissed her back. His hands reached around her to unzip her little pink dress and let it pool around her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was rock hard when they went in for more kissing. Her tongue slid between his lips, her hands reaching for his belt as he fumbled on the buttons of his own shirt. Then he woke up with a tent on his crotch. It was three in the fucking morning, and he was having the worst erection in his life.

Harry slipped his hand under the duvet and started playing with it to relieve some tension, but just as he was about to cum, he heard a loud crash downstairs. Instant boner killer.

“Ezi!” he shouted in frustration, slipped on his boxers and marched out of the room.

“I’m sorry!” Ezi’s voice echoed from downstairs. Harry groaned and headed down to the kitchen where he found her collecting broken pieces of a vase she’d knocked over.

“Just leave it,” he said, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up and away from the glass. “You’d hurt yourself, idiot.”

“I’m sorry. It was dark. I couldn’t see.”

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

She shrugged, which made him laugh, because that was very Ezi of her. “You’re a dumbass,” he said.

“I’m not,” she pouted.

“You are. This only happens to dumbasses.”

“Gosh, you’re an asshole,” she mumbled, arms crossed. She was standing with her back to the counter, and he was blocking her way from the door. Of course she could always sidestep him to leave, but instead, she stayed there, just awkwardly chewing on her nail. She was wearing nothing but a loose white shirt of his. And this time, Harry wasn’t complaining.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.

“I’m not even looking at you,” he said, yet staring right at her face.

“You are.”

“How would you know? Unless you’re also looking at me.”

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“No, you—” Ezi’s voice cut off; her gaze dropped to his mouth as if she hadn’t realised how close they were until now. Harry knew that look so well, and usually it would be a sign for him to make a move. But this was Ezi.

“I should go back to bed,” she said, eyes meeting his again.

He nodded, but didn’t get out of the way.

Again, he didn’t know who leaned in first. The moment their mouths collided, all his thoughts evaporated; his walls crumbled, and he was powerless, unable to pull back. There was a kind of power in the way she kissed that he could not resist. He was all hers.

He tightened his arms around her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her onto the counter. He could feel his erection growing again in his pants. It didn’t take too long for it to turn fully hard, and she obviously felt it, so she pulled back from their kiss, panting. “It’s…”

“Ignore it,” he breathed, kissing her again, making his way down to her neck and chest. She was squirming now, and he wondered if she was also feeling things down there. “Are you wet?” he asked breathlessly against her lips.

She blinked, confused. “No, I’m dry.”

“No, Ezi,” Harry chuckled, face buried in her neck. “I mean, are you wet between your legs?”

“Oh.” She licked her perfect lips and nodded once. “Yeah. Like most of the time.”

Harry’s whole body went stiff. “What?”

“Like...whenever I think of us kissing,” Ezi admitted innocently.

Harry didn’t know which was hotter. The fact that they were both half-naked and horny right now, or the fact that she got turned on just from thinking of kissing him.

“What do you usually do when it happens?” he asked, adding soft kisses to her lips.

Her fists tightened on his back, her eyelids fluttering. “I r-rub my thighs together.”

Harry smiled as his cock twitched to the thought of it. “Does that feel good?”

Ezi nodded.

“Want me to help you feel even better?”

“You can?”

Harry nodded. He knew it wasn’t right to have sex with her when she didn’t even know what it was, so he wouldn’t rush it. He was just going to help her.

He kissed her once more and got down on his knees between her legs. She looked so hot all spread out in front of him with just his shirt and panties on. She wasn’t lying when she said she was wet. Her panties were completely soaked as he slid them off. She shivered a little yet didn’t protest. She wanted him to help.

He started by kissing her inner thigh. She had the prettiest pussy he had ever seen. He could just cum to the thought of licking her, and he swore he almost did when he took the first try. Her hips jolted, and he glanced up to meet her confused stare.

“If you want me to stop, just say it, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, biting her nail.

He held her eye contact as he started licking. She tasted as sweet as he’d imagined in those dreams. He still couldn’t believe this was real, but god, the sounds she made sent him to heaven. He dipped his tongue into her and her hands flew to the back of his neck. For a moment she forgot everything and started moving her hips against his face. Fuck. It turned him on so much. He slipped his hand into his boxers and gave himself a few strokes. Then she started to moan, and he worked his hand faster while flicking his tongue into her. He fucked himself until she cummed and made a mess inside his pants, cum dripping onto the floor.

“Is that milk?” Her question got him cackling as he got back to his feet, holding onto the counter on either side of her so he wouldn’t fall. He had never cummed so much; it had literally drained him out.

“No, it’s not milk,” he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked so fucked out as well, which made him feel so proud. “Did you like that?”

“Yes,” she said shyly. “Did you?”

“Very much,” he said. “I would kiss you again if I hadn’t just eaten you out. Not sure how you’d like it.”

A look of horror crossed Ezi’s face as she quickly checked between her legs.

“No!” Harry laughed. “I didn’t literally eat you. It’s what it’s called.”

“Oh.”

“Dummy.”

“Is it like...sex stuff?”

“Not really sex, just part of the sex. So yeah, sex stuff,” Harry explained, not sure how to feel about this situation. Now that post-nut clarity had hit, he started to feel a bit guilty, but it didn’t he wasn’t proud of himself for making her cum so hard her legs were shaking.

“I still want to kiss, though,” Ezi said shyly. “I don’t care.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry smiled. He liked seeing her blush because of him.

With a nod, she pulled him back in.

[toxiic-wastee]

hi fellow Hazamada appreciator, may I have some hcs for him as a friend? I just think he’s neat 👉👈

Anon, marry me. /hj /p OFC OFC OFC!! :D... a Hazamada request... thank you anon! I'll try my best. I don't know if you wanted head canons + scenarios and Idk how to FUCKING WRITE. But thats not important. I hope this suffices? If not thats my bad lol. (These are just personal head canons on how I view the character sorry if you disagree) Warnings: Cursing, Hazamada

If you're his friend you probably like anime or manga. If not you're probably a fellow stand user or some other alternative.

If you don't like anime nor manga be prepared for him to either yell and hiss at you (/hj) or end up recommending a lot of shows. Probably wants to have a sleepover with you because "We're friends now!" and to not force you to watch anime

He's pretty much down to talk about whatever you want to but if you let him rant about manga he'll be so happy. He's sharing his theories with you and favorite characters.

Depending on how close the two of you are Hazamada likes to sneak out with reader to just hang out at a park and talk,, at like 3am while he's tired,,, (Sits on the swing while at the park while swinging, falls asleep sometimes and falls off)

(modern AU thingy) He likes looking at cosplays and fucking SPAMS THEM TO YOU. it's unhealthy tbh. /j

If you make fun of his forehead I can't guarantee that you'll survive, or have two eyes. (/hj) He might yell at you. or hiss

He's a little weird, well maybe not a little, we've all seen that mf. Anyways, don't be surprised if you walk into the room and see a cutesy and girly manga.

Doesn't know how respond to you venting.

Don't get me wrong, he'll comfort you and all but it makes him feel awkward. Like "Am I doing this righT-"

Is very polite to your parents. Yk when your friend comes over and your parents are like "Yes my other son/daughter!" and see said friend as innocent even tho when your parents aren't looking they're just as chaotic and dumb as you? Thats Hazamada. And Okuyasu and Josuke and ya you get it

Refuses to explain the mannequin in his closet/room unless you have a stand of your own or bribe him.

If you're just as much as an incel and bitch as him you might fight a lot, BUT ITS ONLY ABOUT STUPID SHIT LIKE "COLORED MANGA IS BETTER THAN UNCOLORED MANGA DUMB BITCH"

After the whole not defeating Josuke and Rohan thing he probably complains about how sexualized Misty is.

brags about skipping tennis a lot /hj

Another shitty thing bc Im in a Hazamada mood lol

You had been waiting in front of your porch for Hazamada, you were wearing a T shirt, sweat pants, slippers and jacket around your waist. It was around 2:40AM.

You looked up from the ground to see Hazamada slightly smiling at you, "Uhm, are your parents asleep?" Hazamada queried looking at your house, "Don't know, don't care. Let's just go." Hazamada giggled silently after you said that gesturing for you to follow him.

Hazamada and you had been walking to a nearby park, the walk was a bit silent. The cold air of Morioh caused Hazamada to shiver.

Once you both arrived Hazamada booked it to the swings, "You still like Junko?" you asked lifting your eyebrows slightly, "Uhm, I haven't really been focusing on her." Hazamada answered as he went back and forth. "Can I push you?" "Hell no! You'll push off the fuckin' swing!" the small boy jokingly snapped at you. "I told you, I did that by accident." You defended yourself with a smile remembering when Hazamada fell face forward off the swing.

[king-maven-calore]

prompt #25 “your hair is really soft” for marecal please 😙

I did this and "10 cal and mare please. idc who says it lol"👀 in a single drabble, I hope you guys don't mind. It's a modern AU I guess

Cal had been volunteering at the Scarlet Guard summer camp for two seasons now, this would be his third. The first time he’d been here as moral support for Ptolemus, who’d been sent here for his community service sentence. Ptolemus had signed up again for the following summers for Wren, a med student in charge of the infirmary, and Cal kept signing up because he found out he loved working with children.

He always had a great time helping the kids, training them in archery and other sports, patting their backs when they got homesick, leading them on walks through the woods belting out marching songs, sitting with them at lunch, and making good use of his excellent puns arsenal. The kids had a blast, and he did too.

In this part of the Greatwoods Region, he found paradise. His dad disapproved and Maven did not understand but was he too happy to mind.

It would have been a shame if he’d proven them right on his third year here when he almost died out of sheer stupidity. But could he be blamed? Could he be blamed when the five new counselors got down from one of the early buses and one of them looked like that?

Among the newbies, there was a petite girl with golden skin that seemed to sparkle under the early morning sun. She jumped down from the bus and a cloud of dirt exploded around her already dirty Vans, her toned legs were generously exposed under her jean shorts, and the lines of her abdomen peeking out from under the camp’s counselor reglementary red polo shirt as she stretched and arched her back to tie her dyed brown and purple hair in a bun, scowling at her surroundings with something akin to distrust. She was the loveliest girl he’d ever seen in such a violent way... was it really his fault he didn’t pay attention to the lightbulbs he’d been changing at the side of the dining hall, perched atop a rickety ladder 10 feet above the ground? It wasn’t. Electricity didn’t give a shit about whose fault was it though when he blindly stuck his hand in the exposed wires next to the light socket.

A white explosion, sparkles, and a sensation of being pulled away at 1000 miles per hour.

Next thing he knew, he was on his back and there was a warm mouth against his. Warm, soft, insistent— on breathing air into him. And good god, this person smelled like heaven; jasmine and rain. Much to his dismay, the scent and the mouth left him and his chest started getting crushed in rhythmic, urgent motions.

Cal gulped air and shot upright. He was surrounded by 20 consternated young faces and one barely inches away from his face. Beautiful, wide brown eyes, thick long eyelashes that brushed against high cheekbones when the girl who’d just saved his life blinked twice.

“Dude.” Kneeling next to him, the girl with the purple hair knitted her brow. “What the fuck?”

And Cal couldn’t help but smile at her. A reflex. She was even prettier up close.

“I think we should check for brain damage,” a blond with bottle green eyes muttered.

Oh, but his brain was fine. It was his heart he should get checked, for he’d just been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

And electricity, of course. The smell of burnt hair, clothes, and flesh reminded him.

The result of that encounter turned out to be quite positive. Yes, he got a second-degree burn on his right hand and a dislocated shoulder from the fall but he refused to be sent home, it had been worth it to get to meet Mare Barrow.

She was 18, from Albanus, only here for the money, best friends with the blondie jokester and— as he learned after a dubiously moral social media stalking session —single and interested in men.

The only thing he regretted from that “meet cute” was that he’d been mostly unconscious (technically dead) for 99% of the time her lips were on his.

He lived for the moments they crossed paths during their daily activities around the camp. His heart grew in size about five times when she teased him and lightly punched his stomach or ruffled his hair.

Ptolemus cocked a brow but kept his mouth thankfully shut when Cal decided to start sitting on the counselor’s table during dinner instead of with the kids, as he had grown accustomed to.

It was miserable and extraordinary how he even found the way she ate her food endearing. More often than not, miserable because he couldn’t A: get her to like him, for she was too laser-focused on doing her job efficiently and getting the hell out of the camp; B: touch her as casually as she did with him because his hand was bandaged, and C: relationships between counselors were strictly forbidden.

By the time his hand was healthy enough to be of any use, three weeks had passed and he was head over heels, neck-deep (to not use other body parts for reference), stupidly in love with the sarcastic girl who had put her own breath into his lungs, challenged him every time they got the chance and looked at him like she wanted to sink her hand into his ribcage to take a bite out of his heart. Needless to say, he wanted to touch her. Badly. Ok, maybe do a bit more than 'touch', but you get the idea.

His excuse was handed on a silver platter by one of his favorite campers, Luther Carver. The kid who was usually off-standish and grim— just misunderstood, in Cal’s opinion – had signed up for the braiding lessons that Mare was unhappily in charge of.

On his way back from the lake, his crew of kids trailing behind him, he passed along the group of girls and Luther taking their lesson, sitting in a circle on the grass between the pine trees. An idyllic image of children focused on their task, and Mare’s poorly concealed discomfort as she sat on a log bench and supervised the activities, biting the inside of her cheek, elbows on her knees. It should be illegal to be that beautiful without meaning to.

“Hi, Cal!” Luther chirped as a girl behind him stared with furious determination at her handiwork. “How does my hair look?”

Cal signaled for his group to keep walking back to the camp and approached the small clearing.

“It looks amazing, buddy!” Cal gave him a thumb up. To be honest, his braid of long black hair was slightly (very) crooked to the left, and Mare noticed. She hid her laugh behind cough and a fist. “It is very original.”

Luther beamed and turned slightly to wink in his fellow camper’s direction. The girl blushed and giggled and Cal wanted nothing more than to give them a bear hug and tell them how smart and kind they were. Kids were the best thing in this world. Especially when they said things like...

“Mare’s hair is still the same,” Luther sighed wearily. “Someone should do something about it.”

All the girls hummed and nodded in agreement and Mare closed her eyes and Cal could read her thoughts as she counted to ten.

“Fine, you guys win.” Ah, so her untouched hair had been a recurring topic. “Cal can braid my hair!” she said with fake excitement that went over the kids’ heads, thankfully. “If he knows how to, that is.” Her brown eyes locked with his in camaraderie, fully expecting him to turn down the task with some excuse to appease their audience.

“Ok,” he shrugged happily as he walked over to her and her smug face dissolved into a confused frown and the kids cheered.

He made a shooing motion with his hand and she moved to sit on the grass awkwardly while he took her place on the log bench, sitting with his feet placed on either side of her body.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered through gritted teeth so only he could hear her, craning her neck up to glare at him, when he started cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect.

Were this any other context, he would savor the warmth her body radiated to the inside of his legs. Not this context. Absolutely not.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he smirked down at her. “Now stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

With one last suspicious look, she heaved a breath and stared ahead as he tugged the scrunchie off her hair and let the brown and purple waves spill down her back.

Cal had no fucking clue how to do braid but how hard could it be? It was like a knot with hair. Right? He looked at what the girls sitting on the grass were doing. Ok, that seemed doable. He combed his long fingers through Mare’s hair to loosen any knots and... Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He successfully hid a shudder while Mare uninterestedly hugged her knees to her chest.

He was choking on his own breath. Her hair was so soft and the scent of it was so amazing it pierced his fingertips, reached his bloodstream, and shot to his head. Jasmine and rain like that first day. Cal stilled for a moment and blinked forcefully to regain some semblance of rational thought.

“What is it?” Mare muttered curtly. Was it his imagination or did it sound more like a gasp than scolding?

“Nothing,” he said and started imitating the nearest girl’s technique. No point in lying, he bent down to whisper in her ear. “Your hair is really soft.” It wasn’t meant to come out so raspy and needy, and still...

Mare turned to the side and they were face to face. She seemed offended, but not really, with a confused glare darkening her burning gaze, a lovely red tint spreading all over her cheeks and neck, slightly parted plush lips.

She looked on the verge of kissing him or punching him. Cal prayed and ached it was the former because she licked her lips, leaving a glossy sheen and he wanted nothing more than to...

“OHHH Mare and Cal sitting in a tree!” A girl squealed, pointing at them from across the clearing and suddenly 10 pairs of devilish eyes were on them and chanting. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

They jumped away from each other so fast one might think they had been electrocuted again as they rushed to explain that “No, they were NOT doing anything of the sort!”

[johaerys-writes]

Hi! I had an idea for a one shot about Achilles and Patroclus. You don't have to if you don't want to, I totally get it lol. But there's this one scene in the book where Patroclus cuts his wrist to take a blood oath, and tells Agamemnon Achilles' plan. When Patroclus comes back bleeding Achilles says "Will you tell me who hurt you?" --- I would like to request a fanfiction where someone hurts Pat and Achilles gets angry at them. Okay, thank you for your time lol. Love your writing btw. -Sienna

Awww thank you! When I first saw this, my brain instantly went: Modern AU!! I just couldn’t resist writing angry and frustrated teenage Achilles, and this quickly took on a life of its own. So have a one shot where Patroclus is bullied at school and Achilles goes on a rampage. 

I hope you like!! Only part of it here, the rest is up on AO3 because of length. 

CW: graphic depictions of violence, explicit language 

********

Patroclus is hiding something from him. Achilles has had his suspicions for a while.

First, there’s that day after spring break. Achilles is waiting for him outside the school gates after the classes are over, and Patroclus shows up late with his hair dishevelled and his glasses a little askew. When Achilles asks him what happened, Patroclus just tells him that it is nothing, that he dropped his glasses on his way out of class and they got bent out of shape. There's no reason not to believe him — Patroclus would never lie to him— but there's something in the way he says it that gives Achilles pause.

Patroclus insists that it’s nothing when Achilles asks him again, and gives the same answer when Achilles keeps asking him all the way back to the house, and then some, until Patroclus’ gaze takes on that resigned and detached look it usually does when Achilles presses him too much.

Achilles lets him be, just this once.

It is only a few days later that Achilles notices something else. It is a warm Sunday afternoon, and the hot and humid southern winds that blow through the oval stellated globes of the flowering lilacs send the white-purple petals cascading around them like snow. Achilles is lying on the warm grass with his arm curled under his head, and watches the dappled light that filters through the leaves overhead play languidly across Patroclus’ bare back. It is still a little damp from their swim in the stream beyond the olive grove, the drops of water on it shimmering in the sun, and there’s something about the way his tan skin prickles when the breeze blows that’s so captivating.

It is then that Achilles notices a bruise on his left shoulder, yellow bleeding at the edges of the dark purple of its core.

“What’s this?” he asks, and reaches out instinctively to touch it. “Where did you get it?”

Patroclus jolts slightly, recoils from his touch. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles.

“It’s something.”

Patroclus just shrugs and reaches for his shirt that’s lying beside him. He makes as if to pull it on over his head when Achilles catches him by the arm. Patroclus gasps when Achilles rolls over him and pins him to the grass, holding him down by the shoulders.

“What is it?” he asks. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s nothing, Achilles,” Patroclus says again. His eyes dart away, but then they quickly snap back to him, wide and panicked when Achilles leans down close enough that their noses touch. He fixes him with a hard look, unblinking.

“Tell me what it is. Tell me where you got it.”

Achilles can feel Patroclus’ shaky breath on his lips and the heat emanating from his skin, the cold tip of his nose pressing against his own, and he doesn’t know why that sends a shiver down his spine. Patroclus inhales slowly.  

“It’s from a wall,” he whispers. “I tripped and fell.”

“On a wall?”

Patroclus swallows, nods. His gaze slides away from Achilles' again, and Achilles can see the flush that creeps up his cheeks, the embarrassment. There’s no reason why Achilles shouldn’t believe him. Patroclus is rather clumsy after all, daydreaming and walking about with his nose stuck in his books. It could well be that he fell on a wall, though there’s something, something that's not sitting quite right.

“You’re hurting me,” Patroclus says quietly when Achilles tightens his grip on his shoulder without realising it.

“Oh. Sorry.” He lets him go and rolls off of him, and then simply watches as Patroclus hurriedly pulls on his shirt and stands up.

They don't talk much on the way back home, but Achilles knows there’s something wrong, something Patroclus isn't telling him. But Patroclus is silent and closed up like a clam now, and he blushes and averts his gaze whenever their eyes meet, like Achilles has done something to offend him.

Achilles doesn't press him anymore, after this.

~

It is late spring, and school usually finishes early. No one wants to stay in class for too long, not when the sun hangs hot and bright over the flat plains and rolling hills of Phthia, and elderly Mr. Phoenix is always getting terrible allergies from the pollen, so he lets them go early more often than not. Patroclus has extra classes in the afternoons, so Achilles hangs out with the lads from the football team behind the school gym until he’s done. Agamemnon sometimes brings beers, and Menelaus often carries weed with him, and Ajax just tags along.

Achilles finds them all a little dull, but he indulges them every so often because they all look up to him and want him around. All save for Agamemnon, that is; they’ve always had a bit of competition going on the two of them, and Agamemnon has been giving Achilles the side eye ever since he learned that both Clytemnestra and Helen fancy him, but what fault is it of his? Achilles can’t help that he’s the best in the track team and the captain of the football team and that the cheerleaders like him, or that Agamemnon looks like a cave troll and smells worse than one. That, least of all.

The conversation today is the usual — they talk about football, about the team, about Helen and Clytemnestra and their new cheerleader outfits, and Achilles listens with half an ear— until it isn’t.

It is Patroclus that steers it away. Agamemnon and the others see him crossing the yard with Briseis by his side, and that’s when the whispers start. First, they comment on the fact that he’s older than them but they’re all still in the same year. It’s old news now, but Achilles gets why it would still seem odd to them. He is the only one that knows that, when Patroclus first moved to Phthia, he was going through stuff and wasn’t studying much, so Mr. Chiron, the headmaster, insisted he repeat the whole year. Then they comment on his appearance, his quiet demeanour, his glasses, or the fact that when he’s not with Achilles he only hangs out with girls. And Achilles gets that too, because Patroclus isn’t like them, he’s not like any of them, he’s different and has always been. They could never hope to understand him or know him; they're not worthy.

That doesn't stop Achilles from speaking up and telling them all to shut it or else. No one speaks like this about Patroclus when he’s around, no one, get it?

Agamemnon is stunned only for a brief moment by his outburst, blinks up at him when he sees him looming threateningly over him. Then, he smiles.

“Why? Do you fancy him, Pellides?” He grins as the others start snickering. “Do you fancy Patroclus?”

The question gives Achilles pause. No, he doesn’t fancy Patroclus, that would be absurd. Patroclus is his friend. He likes spending time with him, yes, much more than he does with anyone else in the world, but that’s to be expected, considering that they’ve practically grown up together and all. And Patroclus is not like them, he’s not like Achilles either, he’s his own person and has his own thoughts that are too big and unusual for this sort of place, and he makes Achilles feel at home. He has this way of knowing exactly what to say, when to say it, and he knows Achilles better than anyone, better than his mother, his father, himself, even. And yeah, maybe, sometimes, when he goes to bed and deft hands slide under covers and layers of fabric as if on their own, it’s Patroclus he thinks about, and the soft sound of his laugh and the contemplative curl of his lip, his large doe-like eyes that seem to know too much, and the way the dappled light plays across his bare back when they go swimming together, but what of it? Friends do that.

Right?

Agamemnon’s knowing smile grates at him. Achilles punches him in the face and breaks his nose, for good measure.

He gets detention for it, of course. He knows they’ll tell his father, but he doesn’t care. It’s not like he’ll tell him anything, Achilles knows he will understand. To insult Patroclus would be to insult him (because Patroclus is part of the family and an extension of himself, and they’re together, together always) and no one insults a Pellides lightly, not around these parts. So Achilles grins when Mr. Chiron sternly orders him to sit in class for an extra two hours and write essays that no one has need for, then proceeds to glance at the papers before him with disdain and prop his feet on the desk like a punk because he feels like it.

Time glide by slowly, really slowly, and Achilles is bored. For two hours, Agamemnon’s question plays in his mind in a loop.

Do you fancy him, Pellides?

Achilles scoffs to himself, rolls his eyes. No, of course he doesn’t, of course. That’s not what this is about. Patroclus is his mate, right, his best mate. He’s more than a friend, actually, he’s more like a brother, he’s—

Look. It’s complicated, alright?

It all started that summer after first form. It was the worst summer of his life, by many accounts, not because it was the rainiest summer in the history of Phthian summers, nor because they hadn’t gone to Skyros like they always used to as a family, not even because his mother had packed her bags and finally left the house and Phthia for good. It wasn’t because of that. Achilles had expected that to happen at some point, perhaps not as soon or as abruptly, but she always used to tell him about her family up north and how she wanted to go back to them, and how little the warm and humid climate of Phthia agreed with her, and how much of a waste of air his father was.

Those weren’t the reasons why he had disliked that summer so much. It was because of the silence.

It was steady and deep, permeating every inch of the space, slithering under the door cracks and the half open windows. It wasn’t the tense and icy sort of quiet like before, when it felt like his parents were only a breath away from tearing at each other’s throats. It was more of a lull, a bubble of stillness, the calm before the storm. Achilles had expected it to break, had waited for the bubble to pop, but it never did. His father had disappeared into his work, and even when he was at home he would retreat to his office for ‘phone calls’ that would last hours, but Achilles could smell the whisky and cigar smoke that drifted down the long corridor.

And that was fine. Achilles didn’t need him anyway. He had his friends at school, Agamemnon and Menelaus and the others. They would all take their bikes and roam the town and the endless cotton fields beyond, miles upon miles of fluffy, snow white blooms; they even rode down to the beach once or twice. He had always found their company dull and Agamemnon had been loud and annoying even then, but Achilles hung out with them because to go back home would be to return to that silence and solitude, and he didn’t want to do that.

So he stayed out, for most of the summer. He continued staying out long after the summer had gone and passed, after the school had started and most of his friends, even Ajax and his brother, would go back home early to study. Achilles would stay out and just wander, wander.

He was failing classes. He was wasting away, and he knew it.

And then in his life wandered... him.

Well, not technically. His father had taken the car one day, and then he’d come back, and there Patroclus was, sitting in the passenger seat. He had only brought a single suitcase, which apparently held all of his belongings, and a small and peculiar guitar that used to belong to his mother, as Achilles learnt afterwards. Standing next to his father, who was tall and blonde and broad of shoulder, with his bronzed brow and his jade green eyes, Patroclus seemed like a lost child Peleus had picked up from the side of the road. He was small in stature, his dark curls falling over his eyes. He hadn’t looked Achilles in the eye, not even when Achilles had stood right before him.  

“Patroclus will be staying with us from now on,” his father had informed him merrily, then picked up Patroclus’ luggage to bring it up to the upstairs bedroom he would be staying in, next to Achilles’. “You two be good now, you hear?” he’d said before he left, and ruffled both of their hair.

And that had been it. Not much of an explanation, but Achilles hadn’t bothered looking for one. There was finally someone in the house besides himself and his father, who wasn’t there at all, really, and that was enough for him.

“Can you ride a bike?” Achilles had asked him.

Patroclus had looked up at him then for the first time, his round and dark eyes somewhat fearful, before he had given him a slow nod.

They didn’t spend much time apart, after this.

Read the rest on AO3!

[lofi-tophat]

Let’s talk about the 70s punk scene and HWS England

I sometimes feel that the fandom doesn’t give England’s love for punk/rock music much justice. Some authors usually write about this human AU in which Arthur wants to be a rockstar and some others plainly avoid the topic whatsoever. Which is a pity because I actually believe the whole character has a deep punk reference, specially regarding appearence (might expand on this in another post but basically, for me, England seems like some random bushy browed anime 70s punk guy who suddenly has to put on a suit and attend world meetings, which is both fascinating and hilarious).

So I thought maybe we could dive a bit into very general punk history and then I’d like to share with you some hc regarding England’s involvement with punk culture in general (if you just want to read the hcs just scroll down to the last paragraph with the bullet ponts).

My experience in punk stuff is actually that I’m kind of a metalhead lol. Metalheads and punks had and probably still have a deeply-rooted rivalry. However, punk influenced metal a lot, and metal also influenced punk. So I stumbled upon many punk facts while browsing about my favorite metal bands. 

Take this as historical hetalia... but counterculture historical hetalia :D (which is something we need more in the fandom, btw, I know military history is cool but its also cool how humans expressed themselves through art, fashion and music when they felt the pressure of authority and the frustration of society).

Historical context

Let’s return a bit in time and remember the 60s. The 60s were this blessed time in which people tried to defeat the establishment with peace and love. The hippie movement is from this decade and it influenced a lot on how people thought and behaved. In terms of counterculture, I must say this is a fascinating time in history (I recently discovered psychodelic science and its so incredible what was being talked back then).

Anyways, although a lot of young people were into this discourse of love and peace, some weren’t really that happy about it. In Europe, the post-war situation was sad and a lot of young people either were jobless or had the shittiest jobs you could imagine. Politics were also depressing. This was the origin not only for punk but also for other genres of heavy music, such as metal: People who didn’t want to be all happy and peaceful and had the need to express their frustration and anger, shouting about how society was fucked up. They needed an outlet.

Origins of punk

The origins of punk music are actually not quite clear. In fact, the US and the UK both claim that punk music was born in their country. Funnily enough, my country also claims to be the origin of punk (I’ll leave this mini-doc for you. Sadly, I don’t think this is a correct claim, mainly because their music was in spanish and I doubt that major punk bands took them as reference. Its a cool band tho).

I have to side with americans on this: The arguments for the american origins of punk are quite solid. The Ramones were the first actual punk band out there. They were active since 1974. Their music had all the elements of punk and, chronologically, they were the first ones performing this type of sound.

However, they didn’t have the aesthetic. That actually was a british invention. American punk had still leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. British punk? Well, remember all those ripped pants and shirts you commonly associate with punk? Yes, those were the Sex Pistols all along. They were the ones introducing the attitude and the style. The Pistols had some insane performances and a huge shock-value that can’t be found in early american punk. So you can safely say that your image of what a punk is is based mainly on the Pistols (also, for singing anti-authoritarian lyrics, they actually were managed by some dude who had a fashion shop. So yeah...).

Punk attitude or philosophy or whatever

The reason why I addressed the rockstar thing at the start of the post is because I find it curious. Punk is characterized by the whole Do It Yourself attitude and breaking with the establishment. Anarchism in punk is scandalizing people since there is no authority whatsoever. There wasn’t really any deep philosophy behind all of this, nor any political movement. Punk has nothing to do with a formal anarchist philosophy (which actually exists and has nothing to do with disorder). However, punk is characterized by the anti-establihsment lyrics. Remember, this is all about scandalizing people (which sometimes took great lengths). Presentations from british punk bands were also quite wild those days. They involved a lot of insults, spitting and, of course, pogo.

So, it is obvious that there is this deep concern about turning into a sellout, a pretty common fear in any underground scene. Authenticity was encouraged. Aspiring rockstars really didn’t have much mercy in the community so to speak, at least in this specific period. 

I would also like to add how punk had other aspects beside the music. For example, fanzines were pretty popular in the punk scene in the 70s and a great way to engage with what was going on with bands and music. I remember also this interview of this band in which they remembered how a very high guy decided to recite his poem while the band was playing. So, yeah, literature, illustration, fashion and other stuff were involved in the punk scene too.

British punk was also characterized by a very nihilistic attitude and a total disregard for previous influences. 1977, a song by The Clash, stated:

No Elvis, Beatles, or the Rolling Stones!

Now, for the important stuff: The music. Punk music is all about being simple. Punk musicians aren’t really known for their virtuosity in their instruments, something that actually inspired musicians from a lot of heavy bands later. In fact, the famous Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols never could learn how to play the bass. So the band disconnected his instrument from the amplifier and he only had to pretend to play. The guy actually tried to learn how to play bass but music wasn’t exactly his talent. He had tons of punk attitude though, and that was the reason why his band didn’t kick him out. 

Vocals are usually shouted, the rythm is fast and the riffs are quite simple. In fact, there is this famous publication on a 1976 british fanzine that stated:

This is a chord

This is another

This is a third

Now form a band

HWS England and the 70s punk scene and onwards 

Thanks to his immortality, it is obvious that England had to experience the 70s in all their glory (what a lucky bastard). Was he there? Hell yes. As I explained before in some of my hc posts, nations represent the population more than their Government, so I really believe that England felt the frustration from that post-wwii decade and he probably also felt pissed about this. Working for the Government must have felt really frustrating during those years. 

In the past, he probably would have tried to take his ship and sail the seas or whatever, but that was not possible in the modern era. I guess that’s how he discovered punk. 

Now, rock existed in England before punk. I mean, the Beatles, duh. So Arthur wouldn’t have been completely ignorant about rock music in general. Contrary to popular belief I don’t imagine him being that much of a beatlemaniac though. Sure he likes them, but the music didn’t resonated with him as much. But boy, that first time he heard the Pink Fairies in 1971 (Yes, this was an actual band, a proto-punk band)? Yeah, he could relate more to that.

More detailed stuff here:

Pubs were crucial for the development of punk music. They were these spaces in which bands could play, a venue to discover new music. Yes, Arthur must have been a regular in a lot of these pubs.

Fanzines probably fascinated Arthur as an outlet for his own writings and silly drawings. He probably created a cringey pseudonym and collaborated with a lot of them. 

Its canon that England likes to critic american movies, and, taking from there, I think he’s the type of guy that has an opinion for everything. So I can imagine him also writing about what bands he enjoyed and what bands sucked.

Yeah, I can also see him being drunk and just reciting a poem while some rock band played behind.

With some ability, and a lil bit of tricks, Arthur could escape normal Government activities and perform with punk bands at nights. People were so into the music that he had no problem passing by.

Some cover art in CDs show Enlgland with a guitar and a bass (yes, not many people remember the bass cover art). So he probably plays both guitar and bass. He also probably plays the drums. Of course, he’s no virtuoso and he only knows the most basic stuff in those three instruments. I can see him being into songwriting tho.

Music equipment:

Guitar: Definetely a Telecaster

Bass: Fender P-bass and I can also see him having a Rickenbacker 4001

All these instruments are full with stickers. Punk instruments look really cool btw. (I wish my bass could look like those I see in certain punk bands)

England’s probably the kind of guy that doesn’t cut his strings at the head of his guitar.

He can actually play guitar/bass and sing at the same time.

England plays bass with a pick (what an asshole, we bassists know picks are not allowed)

Contrary to popular belief, I can see England appreciating good rock music from other countries and supporting them. He probably insists that punk music was born in the UK though.

1977: The Queen was going to celebrate her silver jubilee. And England had no problem with this. He really had none... but he HAD to be in that boat trip with the Sex Pistols. There’s no way he was going to miss that. He later had to explain his abscence that day to his Government officials (Btw, my hc for England’s relationship with his monarchy is “It’s complicated”. I can explain this later. Just remember that he was really pissed those days)

I can see Arthur in general being really involved with the scene. A lot of the stuff they were making actually matches with his canon interests and even personality. So he probably enjoyed those days and felt quite at home. I can even say that, for a long time, he hadn’t felt that kind of connection with his own people.

Although I can see England being attracted by the nihilism in the scene, I think his romanticism protects him from embracing it fully.

England had to live a double-life during this era. Not that it was new for him.

Arthur was pierced several times by some random, drunk teenagers. He doesn’t remember who tho. He was also drunk. Obviously his piercings close really fast, unless he has a permanent jewel in there.

I can actually see England expanding his music taste. Although punk is in his heart, it wouldn’t be strange for me that he’s overall a rock nerd and enjoys other genres, specially those with fast drum beats and heavy riffs. So I can see him having some metal favorites too, having a certain taste for prog rock and even digging into hardcore.

I’m still unsure if England would have been a massive Pistols fan as fanfics usually portray him. I mean, maybe? I would say he is definetely into acts such as the Pink Fairies (I mean, c’mon, its perfect). The Clash and the Damned probably also have a place in his heart.

After the punk scene dried out (the 80s weren’t that great for punk music although it was the birth of even heavier forms of music based on punk), England also was eager about the new genres flourishing during these times based on punk. Acts like folk punk might have had an appeal for him. He’s also fond of the punk-ish bands from the 90s like Green Day.

“Punk will never die!” shouted England while stage diving in some random small concert. He likes to support new bands these days.

The most fascinating thing, maybe in a more poetic sense, is that England’s immortality probably also helps him to keep up a punk spirit as much as his nationhood allows him, instead of aging poorly and angry like a lot of punk musicians... I mean, he aged poorly, but for other reasons lmao.

[lesbianlotties]

(i swear) i thought i dreamed her

Andromaquynh Secret Santa gift for @aw-hawkeye-no​ Merry Christmas!!! 🎄❤⚔

(you suggested AUs, "modern, fake dating," and i just ignored the comma and did both lol i really hope you like it!!)

and a lot of love to @thirst-teenth for organizing this event and just being great ❤

Do I know about "fashion stuff"? nope. Do I know about "CIA stuff"? not really. did i completely ignore both just to bring you fake dating fluff and humor, quynh bullying andy, and andy being a complete mess for her? absolutely!!! so here it goes

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 5975

“Did you hire me to play the part of your fucking bodyguard?”

“No… I’m a humble fashion designer, I’m not meant to know the very best secret agent the world has to offer... I hired you to play the part of my fucking wife.”

Quynh is an Intelligence agent suddenly on the receiving end of some serious threats that demand the presence of one particular special agent. Andy isn't thrilled to play bodyguard, but soon she will find out it might be the very best job of her entire life.

Most times, when Andy had to visit James Copley’s office, she found it amusing. She would tease him for the walls covered in what she called conspiracy theories, and she’d think he looked so small behind his big desk. This time, however, she found the space suffocating, and his presence was nothing short of annoying.

“I don’t work like this, Copley,” she shook her head at him, “I don’t work with Intelligence, I don’t do undercover missions, and especially, I don’t play bodyguard for the rich ones.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he tried to insist. Copley was pretty much squirming in his seat. Andy was sitting on a chair on the other side of the desk, tense and angry, but she was as confident as he was uncomfortable. “Listen, Andy,” he tried again, “This is the kind of job you need after… you know. It’ll be good for you to stay out of high-risk missions for a while. And, anyway, it’s all I can get for you for the time being.”

She scowled at him, “Is it CIA?”

“Not exactly. Outside work. We call it freelance now.”

“Sure,” Andy rolled her eyes, “What exactly will it be then?”

“I think it’s best if she tells you in person,” Copley had the nerve to smile at her, as if Andy wasn’t going through one of the worst moments of her career and settling for a job she didn’t even want in the first place. Her frown must have conveyed that exact emotion, because the man in front of her had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, if only to cover his amusement. “She asked for you specifically.”

Andy frowned all the way back to her apartment, and her expression only eased when she settled down on her couch, ready to skim through the pages of her new employer’s file. However, she found herself completely engrossed in every bit of confidential information she managed to learn about Quynh. An agent of International Intelligence, linked to every major organization but not committed to any, with an interesting and impressive cover job as a fashion designer turned CEO of her own company with headquarters in Vietnam. The woman was a lethal weapon in designer clothes, designed by herself also, and just the thought of her threatened to drive Andy crazy. Thinking of how she could possibly hold a meeting with the head of the CIA right before a fashion show, and why exactly would she need Andy, a special agent with war experience who rarely wore clothes that weren’t some type of uniform.

Andy could admit she was intrigued by this job and maybe even Quynh in specific. What she wouldn’t ever admit to anybody, was the way that night her mind decided to craft a beautiful, breathtaking, completely unexpected, and detailed dream about Quynh.

--

Andy wasn’t nervous, she would have strongly denied that to anybody who asked. As she stood alone in the elevator that would take her to Quynh’s office at the top of a building that surveyed everything about the woman’s fashion company, Andy swore she was feeling just… uneasy. She wasn’t used to working without a team. She wasn’t used to working in any way that wasn’t direct action against a threat. Worst of all, Copley hadn’t explained much more to her before she left her office. The conversation she was about to have could change everything.

When Andy entered the office, she noticed two things. One, the space was beautiful, elegant, but surprisingly welcoming. Two, she was all alone.

“Hello?” she said, and cleared her throat.

Suddenly, a door at the side of the room opened and from it came out the most beautiful woman Andy had ever seen and wouldn’t admit to that very fact. Quynh was wearing a perfectly tailored white suit and she looked nothing short of magnificent.

“Welcome,” Quynh stepped forward and offered her hand in greeting, “Andromache, right?”

“You can call me Andy,” the taller woman replied, feeling a sense of pride at the way Quynh stared at their joined hands, held for a moment longer than necessary, and took a deep breath when she finally stepped back.

“Andromache, please sit.”

Although she did as asked, Andy had to hold back a frown. “What’s through there?” she nodded at the door from which the other woman had come out of.

“You’re not meant to know,” Quynh replied, sitting down on her own chair. She leaned in forward and rested her elbows on the desk in front of her, then rested her chin on her folded hands.

Andy met her eyes, dark and beautiful, and took a deep breath herself. “Okay. What sort of Intelligence you work for?” she asked.

“Also not meant to know.”

The answer made Andy grit her teeth, but she refused to look away from the other woman’s smug smile. “Fine. What’s my mission then?”

Quynh leaned back on her chest and smiled, “Your goal would be to fall madly in love with me.”

“Okay, you know what-”

“Hey, no, no, I’m sorry!” Quynh allowed herself one chuckle but then trained her face to seriousness when she noticed the other woman’s hand on the chair’s armrests, ready to flee the building. She stood up and walked around her desk to lean against it and stare at Andy. “I’m sorry. Listen, do you… did Copley tell you I asked for you specifically?” she tilted her head in wonder.

“Yes,” Andy nodded, and attempted to relax again on her seat, “Why is that?”

“Because I saw you in a dream,” Quynh grinned.

“Fucking…” Andy mumbled to herself and jumped out of her seat, determined to escape before she said something she could get in trouble for.

“Okay! No! Please… listen,” Quynh reached out and wrapped her fingers around Andy’s wrist, stopping her in place and soothing her temper. They were both standing up then, leaning against Quynh’s desk. Quynh took a deep breath, and talked to Andy with sincerity in her voice for what looked like the first time in the entire conversation. “I heard what happened to you. Betrayal. I can relate,” she met Andy’s eyes, and saw at once how guarded the other woman was, and how intently she was listening, “I got a death threat. A dozen of them, whatever. I believe it comes from someone in my inner circle. Someone that wants me to stop playing with the big names of the CIA and friends. But someone close enough to know where to follow me during my day job.”

When she was done, Quynh had allowed only a hint of fear to show on her eyes, but it had been enough to ease the tension from Andy’s shoulders. She knew, at once, that she couldn’t have refused the job, not even if she had actually wanted to say no.

“Did you hire me to play the part of your fucking bodyguard?” Andy said, calmly, amusement just barely there, but enough for Quynh to notice and relax too.

“No… I’m a humble fashion designer, I’m not meant to know the very best secret agent the world has to offer,” Quynh replied, sending a smile in Andy’s way. Then she sat down on one of the chairs on that side of the desk, nodding her head, inviting Andy to take the other chair. Quynh added, imitating Andy’s words back to her with a teasing grin she couldn’t hold back, “I hired you to play the part of my fucking wife.”

--

“Why can’t I wear my own suit?” Andy called out from inside the bathroom of Quynh’s bedroom. She had silently marveled at absolutely everything about the other woman’s home. Quynh didn’t hold back on elegance and comfort but, just as her office, it surprised Andy with how genuinely serene and practical most of it felt, nothing exaggerated but just a very beautiful place to live. Quynh might play the part of a wealthy CEO, and she might have more power than Andy could imagine, but she remained an intriguing woman.

“Because your suit makes you look like a waiter, Andromache!”

Quynh was also, by Andy’s standards, a little shit.

In response, Andy made it a point to kick the bathroom door. “I said you can call me Andy,” she grumbled, fixing the collar of the very expensive, very unique suit Quynh had chosen for her to wear to whatever event the woman was dragging her to as a grand introduction to the woman she had secretly married during a romantic spur of the moment kind of situation, as they would tell the press.

“You are playing the role of my wife, Andromache, you will have to wear the best of the best I’ve ever designed!”

Sighing in defeat, Andy walked out of the bathroom, feeling personally attacked by the number of buttons her shirt simply didn’t have for her to cover the better part of her torso. However, she stopped in her tracks, a victim of a much more aggressive attack, the sight of Quynh’s exposed back as the woman just finished pulling up her backless red dress. There was a tattoo there that all at once made Andy thankful for her mostly open shirt since she started to feel a little too warm in her clothes.

“Oh,” Quynh sighed when she turned around and stared at Andy. Andy, who made herself believe Quynh was looking her up and down so intently just because she was studying the clothes she had created and already knew perfectly, except for how well they’d fit a tall, irritable, professional, and unfairly gorgeous type of soldier with earnest green eyes that made Quynh feel just a little unsteady on her feet. “You look good,” she finally added, purposefully looking away, very professionally.

“You too,” Andy nodded, looking the opposite way, very seriously too.

It would have been easy for any kind of onlooker to determine that both women were thinking the exact same thing. This job would be entirely much more difficult than they had anticipated.

--

There was a red carpet and a small army of photographers ahead of them. The unfamiliar territory made Andy uneasy, that’s why she was standing so goddamned tense, and not at all for the way Quynh was holding her arm and standing so close, getting ready to step into the spotlight.

“Why a movie?” Andy whispered, genuinely curious and also trying to distract the other woman from the big event ahead of them.

Quynh sighed and turned to look at her with a smile, “I’m a woman of many talents.”

“You produced this?” Andy frowned.

“I did,” Quynh grinned, stood taller, and tugged Andy forward, “Now hush, we are about to go out. Look pretty for the cameras, alright? Do you think you can smile?”

“No.”

Her blunt answer made Quynh laugh wholeheartedly. The result was both women stepping on the red carpet smiling much more genuinely than they would have expected.

All things considered, Andy thought she did a decent enough job playing a fake wife. Although she also tried to play undercover bodyguard and kept an eye out for any remote threat to Quynh’s safety, she could hardly keep her eyes off her own fake wife. She listened intently when Quynh talked about her job, and she smiled when Quynh talked about them. It was difficult to complain about any of it when Quynh looked at her with that perfect smile of hers. She held Quynh’s hand as often as possible too, for safety reasons, obviously.

--

Back in Quynh’s apartment, as both women got ready to sleep, they reflected on the events of the night. The premiere of a movie was an event completely new and strange for Andy, who entertained herself by sharing a constant commentary about everything around her. The cameras captured about a dozen shots of Andy whispering in Quynh's ear, while she laughed happily at whatever the taller woman was criticizing. Even during the movie, they talked to each other enough to be shushed by a stranger halfway through.

Sitting on her bed, Quynh wanted to be embarrassed by how easily she had grown comfortable with Andy, of how much she had enjoyed a little company. But her thoughts were interrupted by the same women they were filled with. Andy came out of Quynh’s bathroom looking almost completely normal, with sweatpants, a t-shirt, and holding her suit folded on her hands, but there was a gun lying on top of the suit. The sight of it was an unpleasant reminder of the one and only reason Andy had been there with Quynh the entire night.

“That was a nice first date,” Quynh smirked, trying to shove down the feeling of disappointment upon remembering she was paying Andy for all of this.

“It was fun,” Andy replied softly, a little distracted by the sight of Quynh sitting on her bed, wearing silk pajamas, and her hair a little messy. The reminder that they had failed to discuss sleeping arrangements startled Andy like a bucket of cold water falling on top of her. “I’ll take the couch,” she blurted out.

“Are you sure?” Quynh sent a small frown her way.

Andy, already starting to walk away, granted her a smile, “Yes, your couch is unnecessarily large, it’s almost a bed for two.”

“Andromache, is that an invitation?”

“Uh,” Andy turned hastily away from Quynh’s teasing smile, making a beeline for the couch and stumbling a little on her way, enough to drop her gun and whisper “Fuck,” while the beautiful woman making a mess of her thoughts only laughed at her a short distance away.

--

Andy had traveled in the best and worst planes the world had to offer, anything to get to a mission, even if it was at the end of the world. That didn’t mean she liked planes though. The private plane flying Quynh, her fake wife, and her team overseas was impressive, but wasn’t the exception. And, apparently, Andy wasn’t the only one that disliked it.

After Andy took her time making sure the plane and its staff were completely safe, they were getting ready for taking off when Quynh stood in front of Andy’s seat, pointed at the window seat beside her, and asked, “Can I sit there?”

Andy looked at her very seriously for a moment that would have been longer if she wanted to tease the woman that had been teasing her nonstop since they first met but, she noticed the genuine and unusual apprehension in the other woman’s face.

“Haven’t we been married for a full week already?” she answered with a playful smirk, “You don’t have to ask.” She nodded to the place beside her in invitation. There was a part of Andy’s brain overthinking why Quynh, who had known her only a week, would sit beside her, instead of literally next to anybody else in the entire plane filled with people she knew and trusted and had worked with for years. A matter of safety, purely logical and professional reasons, Andy’s mind decided, shutting off the insistent little questions that her mind had about every little thing Quynh did. The problem was, now Quynh’s hand was gripping the armrest between them, and it took everything in Andy not to reach out to her.

“I hate planes,” Quynh confessed, breaking the silence, “I mean, I’m a little fascinated by them but, it just doesn’t feel right to be so far away from the ground, you know?”

“I know,” Andy replied, doing an almost inhumane effort to keep her voice steady even though the plane was starting to move, “If it were up to me we’d still travel on horses.”

That got her a laugh from Quynh. “Okay, that might be going too far,” Quynh said, meeting her eyes for the briefest of moments. She looked down at her lap quickly though, afraid that the other woman would be able to read in her eyes the answer to the question Quynh couldn’t stop asking herself, Why did she feel the need to sit beside Andy?

However, then the plane was leaving the ground behind, and Andy was as tense as Quynh, her chest tight and her logical thoughts nowhere to be found. She reached out in instinct and, without any of them acknowledging it, they held hands tightly the entire time until they were well past the worst of it.

The rest of the trip ended up being uneventful, technically, even if Andy’s heart got little to no rest. She got to witness Quynh glued to her laptop and talking to members of her team, as busy as if the whole world depended on her, and as confident as if she could fit all of it in the palm of her hand. If that wasn’t enough to make Andy’s chest tighten in a whole new way, then she got to watch the adorable way in which Quynh fell asleep for the second half of the trip. Nose wrinkled and little sighs escaping her now and then. The only thing Andy was sure of was that she was in some serious trouble if Quynh didn’t stop being so perfect at everything she did.

When they arrived at their destination, Andy was taken by surprise when Quynh approached her with a shy smile. “I’m sorry, I must be terrible company,” she said, looking up at Andy.

“Not at all,” the taller woman replied sincerely. She was delighted to see Quynh’s smile grow but, when she took a step forward to leave the plane, Andy had to reach out and carefully grab her wrist, stopping her. “I should go first,” she said as an explanation.

“But the cameras,” Quynh frowned, apparently an expert at walking down from planes while being a famous woman, because of fashion, surely not because of her involvement with the CIA and company.

“I always go first,” Andy insisted, but managed a reassuring smile, “for your safety.”

Quynh sighed, accepting the logic. But then, the least she could do was help a little. She reached out and stole Andy’s sunglasses from where they hung by the collar of her black t-shirt. Then she gently put them on Andy’s face, smiling at the result and holding back from moving Andy’s hair off her forehead. Except, she failed at holding back, and her fingers did brush Andy’s hair away, sending electricity up both their bodies.

“Okay,” Andy mumbled, turning away and putting all her effort in not shaking as she walked to the door of the plane, where she was ambushed by flashing lights. She scowled at them, and surveyed the scene, careless of how odd she might look up there, until she remembered she did this for Quynh’s safety. Quynh. Quynh, who had an image to keep. So, Andy turned around and offered her hand to her wife, putting on a smile for her. Quynh was surprised, but didn’t hesitate with the offer and, as she descended from the plane, her smile was more than a little effortless.

--

The next days passed by flying. They were in America, and Andy expected their days to be filled with all the interviews and movies and fashion shows that are included with one half of Quynh’s life. And they were, all of those things happened, but there was so much more too.

In the most random of moments, without consulting anyone but Andy, Quynh would pull the two of them into a different room of the hotel they had checked into, or into a fancy restaurant as often as into an unassuming cafe. There, men in suits would be waiting for them, with questions, answers, new instructions, orders, apologies, or gratitude and respect for whatever Quynh had succeeded at pulling off secretly and while keeping up a whole different life too. A few times, they were men that had actually given jobs to Andy before, even Copley showed up at one point. Once, it was a man Andy had fought against, and it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable meeting any of them had experienced in their lives.

Surprisingly, the other things were more difficult. It was Andy’s job to make sure that movies’ premiers were safe and that no one dangerous could sneak into one of Quynh’s fashion shows. The death threats continued to come just as often, and Andy was getting closer to figuring them out, but she wasn’t there yet. In the meantime, she had to dress up following Quynhs instructions, she had to hold her hand in public, and she didn’t have to put too much effort in smiling whenever their eyes met.

It was mesmerizing, to say the least, watching Quynh work. She was professional, and passionate, a little too honest, but fun and caring and charismatic. She was talented and challenging and so outstandingly beautiful that it was getting increasingly difficult for Andy to deny she may or may not have accidentally caught feelings for her. The soldier attempted to cope by reminding Quynh, at every chance she got, that she didn’t want to be there, hated the fancy clothes, the cameras, and the pretending. The problem was, not all of it was pretending, and the few times Quynh let a little bit of hurt show because of Andy’s words, then Andy had to pretend she didn’t notice it.

There were some things Andy genuinely didn’t notice though. She hadn’t yet learned to see past Quynh’s teasing and humor and find the sincerity hiding under the surface. She still called her Andromache, not so much because she had asked to be called Andy, but because it was an excuse to say her name, to watch her reaction, to be the only one who called her that. When they were in public she called her “wife” as often as possible, not to play some part for the cameras, just because she loved to watch Andy blush. Andy, who was supposed to be an intimidating special soldier but lighted up like a kid whenever Quynh surprised her with the best pastries each city had to offer. Andy was hilariously uncomfortable with the fancy clothes, and adorably clumsy when talking to Quynh’s acquaintances, it never failed to make Quynh’s eyes go soft with endearment. And Andy had no way of knowing some of her clothes were things Quynh had stayed up late to design especially thinking of her.

Two moments stood out from the rest. Two times both women got maddingly close to absolute honesty, to crossing a beautiful line they were both dying to cross but stupidly waiting for the other one to take the final step.

First, there was one special interview in Vietnamese where Quynh felt so comfortable it was a little too easy for her to let down her guard. The interviewer, unsurprisingly, asked her about her unexpected marriage and her mysterious wife. Quynh gave the usual, prepared answer but, with a little bit more prompting, she kept talking.

“What I love about her? Everything of course. Um, the unexpected things, mostly. She makes me laugh like nobody else, mostly without even trying, I just like making fun of her,” Quynh laughed, and her eyes moved around the room for a moment, searching. She found Andy’s face, mostly inexpressive at the moment but still breathtaking, and the language barrier was enough to kick down the last of Quynh’s hesitation. “There’s more too. There’s no one like her, really. She… she’s beautiful, intelligent, so thoughtful, and inspiring, and… she makes me feel safe.”

The interviewer then asked her what she’d like to say to her wife, but Quynh almost didn’t hear him. She was too preoccupied with sudden panic burning inside her because, right at the last sentence she spoke, she stared again at Andy’s face, no longer expressionless, but quite the opposite. Eyes big, lips slightly parted, too many emotions, too much understanding. Quynh wanted to scream at herself for not thinking about the chances that the world’s best special agent would obviously happen to be fluent in a dozen languages that happened to include Vietnamese.

“I’d want to tell her, um,” Quynh stuttered, looking for the right words, the perfect fake smile and laugh to hide behind, “that I don’t completely regret our marriage.” She chuckled along with the interviewer, she went on with the interview, and not once she dared to look back at Andy again.

Then there was the second big moment, save for a hundred little moments, when Andy and Quynh’s little act of pretending was almost brought to a sudden ending. It was a special night after an extremely long and busy day, not just for Quynh, but also Andy, who was closer than ever to uncovering the source threatening Quynh. The result was Andy looking about ten times more exhausted than Quynh had ever seen her, dragging her feet across the hotel suite with her hair messy and bags under her eyes.

“Andromache,” Quynh called her from her place already in bed, “We can share the bed, you know?” She suggested, willing her voice to remain steady even under the stare of Andy’s green eyes filled with surprise. “I can tell you’re exhausted,” she managed a chuckle to lighten the situation, downplay her suggestion, hide her hope, “It’s not a big deal, come on.”

To her surprise and delight, Andy nodded once. The taller woman walked to the bed and nearly let herself fall face first on it, groaning in pleasure at the comfort of the bed and making Quynh laugh adoringly.

They got comfortable in the bed that was luckily big enough to not make it too difficult to keep their distance from each other. Andy was pretty much asleep already, her eyes closed, her features relaxed, and the filter in her mind basically nonexistent. When Quynh wished her a good night, she simply blurted out, “This has been my favorite mission ever.”

Andy’s voice was slurred and deep with sleep, making Quynh’s heart flutter pleasantly. “Why?” she asked with a smile, staring at the gorgeous woman on the other side of the bed. There was a great spark of excitement, adrenaline, and expectation for whatever Andy’s answer might reveal. But she couldn’t deny a sense of comfort, and peace, that covered them both at the moment. Andy could fall asleep without saying anything else at all, and still, it would be a moment Quynh would treasure forever.

“You know, being-” Andy was interrupted by a yawn, which she took as an opportunity to turn around in bed, giving her back to Quynh and finding the courage to finish her sentence before falling asleep. “Pretending to be madly in love with you, that’s easy enough to accomplish.”

Andy was asleep before she got to hear Quynh whisper her name a few moments later. She didn’t say anything else, but just by the way she pronounced her name, so tenderly, adoringly, softly, it would have been enough for anyone to figure out what her real feelings were.

--

Andy hated London. She’d had mostly bad experiences there and still, her dislike for the city was far from her biggest problems at the moment. She was backstage on one of Quynh’s fashion shows and she was scowling at everyone that dared look her way. Quynh was busy, and the models demanded a lot of her time, and Andy, who was totally not jealous of the way that a young and beautiful Nile Freeman who would be the star of the evening stole Quynh’s attention, was getting restless.

It was nearly time to begin the show when Andy managed to drag Quynh to an empty hallway and whisper, with possibly too much force, “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, she’s tall and pretty but she’s been scaring my models with her angry frown.”

In response, the aforementioned frown on Andy’s face deepened. “I told you. I’m almost there with figuring out who’s after you. If something happens tonight, which might happen, I’ll know for sure.”

“Well… great. Can I go now?”

“Quynh,” Andy insisted, “I mean it. Tonight’s dangerous.”

“There have been death threats on almost every city, tonight’s not different,” Quynh sighed gravely, didn’t roll her eyes, but her expression of boredom was enough to set off Andy’s temper.

Worst of all, Quynh tried to step away, which prompted Andy to reach out and hold her wrist to stop her. “I’m saying, I’m not letting you go out there,” Andy said with finality. She was still gentle as always, but there was a new urgency in her hold, it was just proof of Andy’s genuine worry but, at the moment, to Quynh, it looked just a little too aggressive. She frowned when she looked up at Andy.

“You cannot decide that for me, Andromache,” Quynh seethed, “You’re here to protect me if something goes wrong, and I expect you’ll do your job correctly. That’s it, that’s the only reason you’re here, and not to tell me what to do.”

After a short moment that felt like an eternity, Andy replied coldly, “You’re right. That’s the only reason I’m here. Just doing my job.”

It wasn’t until somebody else walked into the hallway to let Quynh know it was time to go, that both women realized how close they had been standing, how hard they were both breathing, how badly they had just hurt each other. Quynh glanced at her assistant and nodded, then she turned back quickly to look at Andy, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t get a chance. Andy had a perfectly cold expression on her face, the worst part being the fake smile on her lips.

“Good luck,” Andy whispered to her, then leaned in and kissed Quynh’s cheek. It was, by far, the worst thing she could have done to her right then. It was the first time she did it, and the fact that the small kiss was so cold, almost carrying venom with it, it broke Quynh’s heart more than she could have put into words.

Quynh had to leave Andy there, and she had to pretend she wasn’t on the verge of tears as the show started. It proved to be a good enough distraction, but it never quite took her mind off the hurt in Andy’s precious green eyes when she had brought up the purely-work-related argument on their discussion. Quynh thought it couldn’t have been worse, and then came the ending of the show. There she was standing alone on the runway, the models walking away, she was trying to smile for the cameras while the seat reserved for her wife on the first row was devastatingly empty. Andy had left, Quynh blamed herself and, for an instant, she didn’t think it could get worse.

Maybe it was the light, maybe there were tears in her eyes, but everything was a little bit blurry, and Quynh was completely caught off guard when a strong arm came around her shoulders, quickly pushed her down and away from where she had been standing. Then, there were shots. Quickly, one after another, loud, frightening. People started screaming, jumping out of their seats, and running, it was all chaos. However, from her safe place on the floor of the runaway and out of danger, Quynh couldn’t focus on any of it. How could she, when standing in front of her was Andy in all her glory, still holding a gun and staring a little too proudly at the lifeless body of the person that had been hired to kill Quynh, hired by someone Andy had already tracked down and ordered to take down while this all played out.

“Let’s go,” Andy said, offering her hand out to Quynh, and it all felt a little like a familiar dream.

The world was still going mad around them, but once again Andy was able to hold her hand firmly and pull her away from it all, pull her right back to the empty hallway where they almost broke each other’s hearts beyond mending. As soon as they were safe and alone, Quynh threw her arms around Andy, who eagerly reciprocated, holding her as closely as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Quynh mumbled again and again against Andy’s neck until they finally pulled back enough to look at each other like they were dying to do. Quynh still looked worried, but Andy’s face was a perfect reflection of joy.

“Don’t be,” Andy answered softly, daring to touch Quynh again, this time, placing her hand delicately against her cheek, and smiling when she felt the shorter woman lean into her touch. “We got him. Everything is fine now. You’re safe.”

Quynh sighed, “I said some things I regret.”

“It’s okay,” Andy promised, “I was paranoid, and overprotective. I’ve lost people I care about during missions before, but I can’t lose you…”

The earnest look in Andy’s eyes, her sweet words, her tender touch, it was all too much. Quynh didn’t trust words to express what she was feeling for the incredible woman standing right in front of her. As naturally as if she had done it for years and years, she leaned in, and she kissed Andromache, pouring all her feelings, everything she had been holding back for weeks, into that kiss.

Andy kissed her back with matching emotions, and when she pulled back, a small sigh escaped her. She glanced quickly at the chaos still going on beyond the end of the hallway and promptly ignored it all. She rested her forehead against Quynh’s and whispered, “There’s no one watching.” There was no need to act, to pretend, to do anything, or be anything beyond their truest selves.

“I know,” was all Quynh answered before pulling Andy down for another kiss.

--

After all the acting and all the pretending was done, letting down their guard and being honest with each other came really easily for Andy and Quynh. After her safety was restored, Quynh decided to take a small break. One of her jobs, under the spotlight, often required small breaks in some beautiful place. Her other job, under the weight of the entire world, often required her to maybe disappear for a little while. That’s how she found herself in a remote place, in a mostly isolated charming little house, sharing her bed, her life, and her heart, with Andy. They were starting to lose count of the days, just focused on enjoying and getting to know each other.

They were in bed, sitting side by side, their arms intertwined. Andy was finishing off whatever dessert she had brought from the kitchen back to bed with her. Quynh was teasing her for her sweet-tooth, complaining about leaving crumbs on their bed, and leaving little kisses on Andy’s shoulder.

After a while of silently holding each other, Andy broke the silence, humor obvious in her tone as she asked, “So, do I get to keep the job?”

Quynh laughed wholeheartedly and cuddled even closer. “My heart, I am not paying you for this,” she answered.

“Why not?” Andy scoffed, bringing them both to laughs, that eventually turned into kisses, that they wished would never stop.

Eventually though, Quynh pulled back, she looked lovingly at Andy and smiled. “Andromache, I did dream of you,” she confessed, “The day we met, I said-”

Andy couldn’t help but interrupt her with a kiss. She meant to say I know, I was there, I had the same dream, I was yours since before we met, I’ll be yours forever. She might say the words someday, but for the moment, she kissed her. She might confess she looked forward to maybe calling Quynh her wife again some day soon, for real, but, for the moment, she kissed Quynh with all the love she had in her, all the love she had for her.

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 4: Royal Ball

…in which Ezi causes trouble at the Styles' manor.

Word count: 6.1k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES, ASSAULT.

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: Please let me know what you think. I need feedback to feel motivated. Also, what do you expect to happen in the next chapter?

.

.

.

When Harry came to the guest room this morning and couldn’t find Ezi, he had hoped that something had happened overnight, and she’d magically returned to where she’d come from, and he, at last, could have his old life back. But no. He was immensely disappointed to find her sitting cross-legged on the edge of his pool, just staring blankly at the water like she was in a sad music video. What did he expect? It wasn’t like she could grow some wings to fly all the way home.

“Good morning!”

Ezi flinched at the sound of his voice. She pulled her feet out of the water and frantically stood up as Harry approached.

He held out his hand to ask her to stay. “It’s okay. You can use the pool. I rarely go swimming anyway.”

Ezi’s brows furrowed slightly as she tucked a strand behind her ear and stared anxiously at the blue water. “How can you swim in this pond? It smells funny.”

“It’s not a pond. It’s a swimming pool. There’s chemicals in it; that’s why it smells like that.”

Ezi cocked her head, seemingly confused. “Why you gotta make your own pond and put chemicals in it? Why do humans have to make their own versions of everything that’s already available in nature?”

“It’s cleaner and safer to swim in pools,” Harry pointed out.

Ezi couldn’t look more offended by his remark. “The ocean was clean before you trashed it with your chemicals.”

“I didn’t trash the ocean,” Harry corrected, pointing to his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not responsible for environmental pollution?”

Ezi folded her arms and glared at him. “Why are you afraid of the ocean?”

“You’re literally a killing machine.”

“You people make machines that shoot fire and blow up each other’s ships, and yet we’re the killing machines.”

“Well, the ocean is scary anyway. It’s deep and dark.”

“It’s literally water,” argued Ezi. “Water is the driving force of all nature, and you’re afraid of it.”

“Forget it.” Harry exhaled as he tossed his hands in the air. “I can never win an argument with you.”

“Good,” Ezi said with a slight shrug.

“Anyway.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Come inside for breakfast. I have something to discuss with you while you eat.”

“Your maid brought you something this morning,” Ezi said when Harry was about to walk away.

Slowly, he turned back to face her with his eyebrows raised. “Who?”

“Your maid,” she said with a straight face. “The girl with green hair. I think she brought you some clothes and put them in the room next to mine.”

“That’s Amy, my assistant!” cried Harry as he gripped his own hair. “You two didn’t have a conversation, right? Please tell me you didn’t call her a maid to her face!”

Ezi looked rather amused when she saw how distressed Harry was. How could she be smiling? He wouldn’t be the only one who’d be in trouble if her identity was revealed. Fuck that. What if the government found out that he was keeping her here and locked him up, too? Was it a crime to keep a mythical creature in your house? Could he be executed for that?

“No,” Ezi calmly said while Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. “She just brought you some clothes and left. Though I could barely see her face, she didn’t seem very friendly.”

Harry pressed a palm to his chest, feeling his heart thundering as he let out a sigh of half-formed relief. Once he’d regained his composure, he told Ezi, “Amy is friendly to everyone. Maybe it’s just you.”

Ezi didn’t look at all bothered by that. She shrugged. “I’m not here to make friends. I don’t care if Amy likes me.”

Harry found it funny that one moment she could look and talk like a human girl with human feelings, and the next she acted as cold as the ocean she’d come from. But she was right. They weren’t friends, and there was no reason for them to be more than just civilised to one another.

“You sure you didn’t talk to Amy?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good,” Harry nodded. “Come inside. The food’s getting cold.”

It seemed like Ezi got hungry very quickly. She finished the hard scrambled eggs Harry had made for her and even asked him for more. Harry didn’t mind feeding her. It was better to keep her full. After all, she had shown him her predator side, and he’d prefer to never see it again.

“So what’s something you want to tell me?” she asked with her mouth full while stuffing it more with another big bite.

Chilli was sitting at Ezi’s feet, staring up at her as a way of asking for a taste, but Ezi just ignored the cat and continued to enjoy her breakfast.

Harry knitted his hands on the table and straightened his back as he began, “Well, I actually wanted to ask you for a favour.”

Ezi stopped chewing immediately. She swallowed hard, her face contorted. “I’m not doing you a favour.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“But I already know that I don’t want to do it.”

“Of course you want to do it.”

“No, I don’t!”

Harry sucked in a breath and held up a finger to stop her from interrupting him again. “I promise you’ll like this. Just hear me out.”

Ezi folded her arms in front of her chest and pouted like an angry little girl as she sank into her chair.

Harry’s lips curled into a smile. “You like those Disney movies, right?”

Ezi nodded, and Harry watched in content as the line between her brows eased.

“Good. So what if I tell you that you can be a Disney princess for one night.”

“What do you mean?” Ezi frowned again as she sat up straight. “Are you messing with me?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m being dead serious. I’ll take you to a ball.”

“A ball?”

“Yeah. I’m invited to a royal ball that’s held in a real ballroom, like the one in Beauty and the Beast.”

He would’ve said Cinderella, but she hadn’t watched it yet. It would’ve been a better reference. Still, Ezi’s eyes lit up when she heard about the ball. “Like...in a castle?”

“Y-Yeah.” Harry worked up a bright smile as he nodded fast. “A castle.” To be fair, his mother’s manor was as huge as a castle. It was twice the size of his house, so that’d be more than enough to convince the naive siren.

“Do I get to wear a pretty dress?”

“Yeah. Who do you think the clothes Amy brought here are for?”

The realisation washed over Ezi’s face, and her mouth fell open in shock as she slammed her hands on the table, rattling the silverware and startling Chilli. “You’re not messing with me?”

“No.”

She bit her lip and arched an eyebrow. “What’s the favour then?”

“That’s the favour -- You going to the ball with me,” Harry said. “It’s tomorrow night.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing, to be honest,” Harry said with a weak shrug. “Maybe getting back in my mother’s good graces. She’s hosting the ball, and so many people are invited.”

“Is she the Queen?”

“No, but she thinks she is.”

“So she’s like my sister Koa.”

Harry chuckled at how serious Ezi looked when she said that. “Well, maybe not as bad as your sister. My mother loves me.”

Ezi pursed her lips as she focused on fidgeting with the fork in her hand. Harry leaned forward on the table. “So?” he asked. “Can you help me?”

Ezi blew out her cheeks as she locked eyes with him again. “Fine,” she said. “Not because I want to help you, though. I just want to go to a ball.”

“Good enough for me.” Harry smiled.

While Ezi continued eating, Harry gave her a few rules that she would have to follow when they arrived at his family’s event. He could not risk having her interact with anyone without his supervision. He’d nearly had a heart attack when he heard that she’d met his assistant when he wasn’t there. He was sure that Amy had only assumed Ezi was another girl Harry regularly hooked up with. Money didn’t really matter to him, so he usually spoiled his friends and the girls he fucked. However, he couldn’t risk having anyone find out that Ezi was actually living here.

When Ezi finished eating, Harry went upstairs to get the bath ready. He’d have to figure out a way to give Ezi a bath without having to touch her. How would she feel about hot water, though? His cat Chilli always left at least one or two scratches on his legs and his shirt whenever he tried to give her a bath. He could imagine Ezi doing the same.

“Hey.”

Harry whipped his head to the bathroom door and found Ezi standing there in his joggers and Mickey Mouse t-shirt that flowed down to her thighs. He must admit that she looked cute when she wasn’t frowning or roasting him. If only she’d lost her voice like Ariel did in the movie.

“Stop staring at me, human!”

Exactly his point.

Sighing, Harry got up from the edge of the bathtub. “We’ll let the water run,” he told her. “In the meantime, I’ll show you your new clothes.”

Ezi said nothing and followed him down the hall to his walk-in closet. It was actually a room with big windows, a shiny tiled floor, and white-cushioned sofas. Harry took a deep breath of the comforting perfumed air only to see Ezi covering her mouth and nose with her palm.

“It smells weird in here,” she complained.

“Just like living with my mum,” Harry whispered to himself. To her, he said, “Speaking of smells.”

Ezi looked horrified as Harry leaned in and started sniffing her.

“Why don’t you smell?” he asked, stepping back.

Her eyes went wide. “Am I supposed to?”

“Well, yeah.” He nodded. “You literally came from the ocean. No offence but...you’re supposed to smell fishy.”

“Do humans say no offence before they offend you?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Or maybe I’m just blunt because I’m British. Anyway,” Harry sucked in a breath, “it’s weird that you don’t smell. You don’t have a smell at all. When you first came on land, I could still smell a bit of the ocean on you, but now you don’t smell, and you haven’t showered.”

Ezi shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I could ask my mother why her curse didn’t give me a smell.”

“True.” Harry sighed. “Anyway. That’s good. Don’t want no fishy-smelling girl walking around my house.”

“I will scoop out your eyeballs right now.”

“Just kidding.” Harry chuckled. “But please don’t do that.”

“I’ll try.” Ezi put her hands on her hips and swept her eyes around the room. “Why do you have so many clothes?”

“They make me look good. I’m a public figure, so I care about my appearance.”

“Maybe you should focus on fixing what’s inside you and not your appearance.”

“I like you better when you don’t talk,” Harry said, then brushed past her to grab the Chanel shopping bag Amy had left on the white marble counter. He pulled out a sparkling silver slip dress and held it up to show Ezi. “This is for you. It comes with a pair of high heels. I’ll definitely have to teach you to walk in them, but baby steps.”

Ezi took the dress with both hands and was being as careful as possible as if she was afraid she might rip it. Although she didn’t let it show, he could make out the excitement in the way her eyes twinkled. He’d made sure to ask for a dress that looked similar to the one Ariel had worn in The Little Mermaid when she’d come from the ocean.

“Before you try this on,” he said when Ezi lifted her bright blue eyes up to him. “Repeat what I told you earlier.”

Ezi clutched the dress to her chest and glanced up at the ceiling. A line appeared between her brows as she recited Harry’s words, “Do not talk to anyone there unless you ask me to. Never leave your side. If I have questions, ask you in private. Um...what else? Oh! Avoid your mother at all costs.”

Harry nodded. “My mother and Dawson.”

“Who’s Dawson?”

“You’ll know.” With a sigh, Harry thrust his hands into his pockets. “Now, I’ll leave you here to change. I could only guess your measurements, so if it doesn’t fit, we can have it fixed as soon as possible.”

“Measurements?” Ezi looked down at her body, confused.

Harry cleared his throat and waved his hand at her. “Just hurry up and change. Let me know when you’re done.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

With a cute little pout, she asked, “Can you put it on me?”

Harry was shocked for a second when he heard that, but then he remembered that Ezi had never worn a dress before, let alone one with so many...strings.

“Here.” He took the dress from her and tried his best to demonstrate. “So this is the front. This is the back. This string goes over your right shoulder–No, wait, your left. Wait, is it? Hold on. Fuck.”

Ezi breathed out a laugh and covered her mouth with her hands, making Harry glare at her. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll help you put it on.”

“Good.”

Before Harry could even say a word, Ezi pulled his oversized t-shirt that she was wearing over her head, and Harry let out the most inhuman scream as he looked away and covered his eyes. She was naked underneath his shirt. Completely naked.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted into his palm when he heard the sound of the shirt falling to the floor.

“What is it?” Ezi asked.

“Oh, God.” Harry shrugged her hand away as she tried to take his.

“Why are you being weird?” She giggled as if she wasn’t standing fully naked in front of him. “You’ve seen me without clothes, and I’ve seen you,” she said.

“Fuck. I know that.” He exhaled. “But…” Harry stopped and took a deep breath. With one hand over his eyes, he calmly told her, “You need lingerie.”

“Ooooh. I learned this word today from a movie,” Ezi said with confidence. “Laundry means–”

“No, not laundry.” Harry sighed. “Lingerie.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, you know what? Put the shirt back on. I’ll return with more clothes for you.”

“More clothes?” Ezi cried with frustration as Harry turned his back to her. He heard her put the shirt on, and she tapped him on the shoulder when she was done. “I hate being humans,” she complained, looking cross. “Clothes are so uncomfortable.”

“I know, right?” Harry chuckled and patted her on the head. He liked seeing her face scrunch up whenever he did that, because he knew that she couldn’t harm him. “Be a good siren and stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“And help me put on clothes?”

He sighed and turned away. “I will.”

“And launderey?”

The question stopped Harry at the door. He pinched his eyes shut and pressed a fist to his forehead. “Yes.” He let go of a defeated long breath. “That, too.”

.

.

.

Harry managed to find a brand new pair of underwear in his bedroom drawer. It was an embarrassing story, but he’d bought it as a gift for a girl he used to sleep with, then he found out she’d been lying to him about not having a boyfriend when she’d already been engaged. So now he just happened to have a set of new lingerie lying in his drawer.

“I don’t know if this would fit, but I’ll get you new ones tomorrow.” Harry froze in the doorway when he found his closet empty. “Chili, where’s the crazy girl?” he asked his black cat, who didn’t even bother to reply as she kept licking her little paw. Ugh, lucky for her, she was cute.

“Ezi! Where are you?!” Harry shouted as he padded down the hall.

“I’m here!” Ezi shouted back, her voice echoing from the bathroom.

It was only then that Harry remembered he’d left the water running, but when he got there, he found Ezi sitting in the bubble bath with a bright smile on her face; his joggers and Mickey Mouse t-shirt had been discarded on the floor.

He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling at her.

“I love this room!” she exclaimed, gathered bubbled in her palms and blew at them.

So, Harry was wrong. She liked warm baths.

“Water was spilling out, so I turned it off and gave myself a bath,” she told him.

“You know how?”

“I saw Ariel take a bath in the movie.”

Her response made him laugh. “Wow, you learn so much from Disney films.”

Ezi folded her arms on the edge of the tub as Harry sat down on it beside her. She glanced up at him, chin on her arm. It would be a lie to say Harry didn’t feel anything watching her covered in soap and naked in his bathtub. The steam made him sweat, dampening his shirt as it stuck to his skin. He wasn’t a sex addict or anything, but he’d been so stressed out lately and hadn’t been able to find a release with his unpaid babysitting job. It wouldn’t be a problem if Ezi’s human form wasn’t so attractive.

“Stop doing that,” Ezi’s voice pulled him back to reality.

He blinked at her. “Doing what?”

“You sometimes stare at me without saying anything.”

He pressed his lips into a smirk. “Aren’t you a clever girl? Just read my mind.”

“Can’t.” She shrugged while unconsciously spreading the bubbles across the edge of the tub. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to know what’s going on in that dirty little head of yours?”

The way she’d said it without the intention of making it flirty was so funny to Harry.

“Your head is dirty and little,” he teased.

“No. Yours.”

“Yours.”

“Yours.”

“Your head can literally fit between my palms,” said Harry as he cupped the sides of her heads to demonstrate. For the first time, Ezi burst out laughing and tried to shove him off. He didn’t let go of her, and they kept pushing back and forth until Harry lost his balance and fell headfirst into the tub.

The water splashed all over. When Harry realised what had happened, he found himself kneeling in the water between Ezi’s legs. Frantically, he pushed away, but the tub was so slippery that he landed back down on his butt. Laughter crackled out of Ezi as Harry managed to escape from the sticky situation and grabbed a towel to cover himself with. Most of the water had spilt outside the tub, revealing Ezi’s soapy breasts, which gave Harry an instant boner.

He grabbed another towel and held it up and open as he ordered. “Bathtime’s over. Get out.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Ezi said, still laughing as she stood up and let him wrap the towel around her body.

Harry frowned at her playful grin. “You’re the idiot,” he said, but his face was red. “Rinse yourself. I’ll wait.”

Then he waddled out of the bathroom, quietly cursing himself.

.

.

.

To not make the same mistake, Harry taught Ezi how to put on underwear by having her put it on over her clothes first, then letting her do it herself when he wasn’t there. She was a fast learner, so it didn’t take long until she’d learned how to put on clothes and tie her shoes. He could now imagine how hard it must be for single parents to raise a kid all by themselves. He was lucky that he didn’t have to work this week and could stay home to take care of Ezi. But starting from next week, he would have to go back to his busy celebrity life, and Ezi living with him would become a bigger problem than he’d expected. He could only hope that her mother would just take her back before the following Monday. It didn’t seem possible, though. He should never have brought her to London.

Anyway, first things first.

He’d have to get through his mother’s event without anyone suspecting a thing, and then he’d try to figure out what he should do next.

This was why he didn’t want kids. At least Ezi had common sense.

“Hey, there will be so many humans tonight at the ball. What if one of them triggers me? I can’t even threaten them?”

Forget what he’d just said.

“No, you’re not allowed to threaten anyone,” he told her from outside her room and blew out his cheeks as he checked his watch. “Hurry up. Our ride is almost here.”

The door was pulled open. Ezi emerged in her sparkling silver dress with her hair in a messy bun and subtle makeup but enough to accentuate her unique features. Harry didn’t know he was gawking until she gave him a playful smack on the cheek to bring him back to Earth. He blinked and caught her big round eyes. The silvery glitter on her eyelids made the blue in her eyes stand out even more. A sudden chill rushed down his spine as he squared his shoulders and fixed his black tie. “Y-You did your hair and makeup?”

Ezi nodded enthusiastically. “The girl in the magic board taught me!”

“You were watching those makeup tutorials?”

Harry swore he had never seen her so happy. She smiled so big that her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you for that board, by the way.”

“It’s an iPad. But you’re welcome.”

Yes, he’d got her an iPad so she could watch YouTube videos and play dumb games and not be all up in his business. He was a single dad now. First to Chilli. Now to Ezi.

“An iPad,” Ezi mumbled to herself. He thought it was cute how her eyebrows would furrow every time she learned a new word and tried to memorise it.

Realising that he was about to simp, Harry shook off those pleasant thoughts about the fish girl and put on a nonchalant expression as he looked down at her white ballerina flats. He’d got her a nice pair of high heels to wear with this dress, but she’d kept falling and broken a vase in the living room, so he’d given up and got her these flats instead. Well, as long as she was comfortable and still looked cute and appropriate.

“Ready?” he asked her.

She took a deep breath; determination lit up her eyes. “Ready.”

“Hold on.” He held her shoulder, took a nice look at her, then let down two strands from her bun, so they nicely framed her face. “Better.” He smiled and pinched her cheek. “You look like someone I would date.”

As expected, Ezi responded to his compliment with a frown and smacked his hand away. “Touch my face again, and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to touch anything again.” Then she shoved past him and hurried down the stairs.

.

.

.

Ezili felt ashamed.

She had been looking forward to the ball tonight. She’d been so excited that she’d stayed up to watch those...what did Harry call them again? Oh, makeup tutorials. Just to look like those human girls with sparkling eyelids. The mermaids back home would be so impressed, but her mother certainly wouldn’t. She didn’t even want to imagine her mother’s reaction to her look tonight.

Harry had pointed out that human Ezili didn’t have a smell. In an animal kingdom, the signature smell set those animals apart from the other kinds and acted as proof that they were a part of a community, that they belonged. Human Ezili not having a smell was a reminder from her mother that she was not a siren right now, but she was not human either, and so she should finish her mission as soon as possible to return to the sea and be with her kind.

Ezili could not be distracted from her mission anymore. Harry had invited her to the ball, which meant there was no competition for her at this point. She was already making progress being the only female in his radar. Tonight, she hoped the romantic atmosphere of the ball would make him fall in love with her.

With her arm around his, they ascended the red-carpeted stairs of the castle leading to the ballroom. Ezili was amazed by the guests in fancy attires and expensive decorations sparkling silver and gold. The ballroom was impressive, with crystal chandeliers spiralling down from the arching sky-blue ceiling, illuminating the glimmering walls and a floor so polished it looked like a frozen winter lake.

Harry said their names to a servant at the door, and he bowed to Harry and Ezili as if they were royalty. Ezili didn’t show it, but she enjoyed being treated like the princess she knew she was.

“Finally, someone showing respect to me,” she mumbled as they followed the other guests inside.

Harry laughed at her remark. “I respect you.”

“You don’t even respect yourself,” she said, glaring at him.

“Can you just not insult me tonight? You’re pretending to be my date.”

“What’s a date?”

“Like...lovers,” Harry said, flicking his eyes around like the prey trying to spot a predator.

She thought she should calm him down, so she squeezed his forearm and said, “Do you wanna dance?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not the time.”

Confused, Ezili’s eyes followed Harry’s worried gaze to the lady in a seaweed coloured dress that fanned out at her feet. She was beautiful, with features resembling Harry's. That must be Harry’s mother -- the host of the ball.

“Remember what I told you,” Harry said, squeezing Ezili’s cold hands. “Do not say a word to my--Mother!”

“Oh, my darling son, you came!”

Harry let go of Ezili to hug his mother. The woman pulled away and turned to Ezili with the same dimpled smile as her son’s. “Ahh, this must be Ezili,” she said, and Ezili shook her hands like how humans did in movies.

“Yes.” Harry cleared his throat as he laced his fingers with Ezili’s. “This is my date -- Ezili Hans.”

His mother smiled at him. “I was afraid you were gonna bring Niall with a wig.”

“Didn’t work the last time,” Harry said. “Never do it again.”

Harry’s mother laughed before turning back to Ezili. “It’s so nice to meet you. You may call me Mrs Styles, or Annalise. What do you think about this event?”

Ezili flicked her helpless gaze to Harry, who quickly spoke on her behalf, “She thinks it’s great. Very s-shiny.” Seeing Annalise’s smile vanished, Harry added, “Sore throat. The doctor says she has to stay silent for a week. Also, do you mind if I show her around and introduce her to the other guests?”

“Wait, but we haven’t--”

“Love you, Mum.”

Harry pecked his mother on the cheek, grabbed Ezili’s hand and pulled her with him. They finally made it outside to the garden’s fountain, where the guests were chatting in groups and sipping on wine. Harry released Ezili’s hand and exhaled through his mouth. “That was scary.”

“That was awful!” She hit him on the arm. “You almost blew our covers.”

“I know. I’m always anxious around my mum,” he said, looking distressed. “When I was little, she could always tell when I was lying.”

“Maybe you’re not a good liar.”

“Not as good as you,” he chuckled, putting his hands on his hips. “You know what? Changing plans. You’re allowed to talk, but just say simple things like ‘hello’, ‘how are you?’, ‘it’s wonderful’, bla bla.”

Ezili nodded. “Got it.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something else but suddenly froze; his eyes went wide. “Shit, that’s Aunt Beatrice.” Ezili looked over her shoulder to see a chubby late laughing with a group of people and being the loudest. “Super annoying,” Harry said. “Everyone in my family hates her.” He turned to Ezili and patted her on the shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Let me come with you.”

“Not when I’m talking to Satan. I mean, Aunt Beatrice. Just stay here and don’t talk to anyone.”

“But--”

Harry already left.

Ezili muttered curses at him under her breath. She had no choice but to sit by the fountain and wait for him to return. She saw him approaching the woman he hated with just a happy attitude as he’d had when talking to his mother. Fake. Humans were all pretentious and fake. They disgusted her. All these people.

“Hey, may I sit here?”

Ezili’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she heard the voice. She looked up and went stiff when she locked eyes with a tall handsome man. The black frame of glasses sat nicely on his high nose. His high cheekbones raised as he offered a polite smile. “Sorry. Am I bothering you?”

Ezili was thinking of what to say to him when she saw what was in his hand.

“An iPad!” she exclaimed. “I got one! Harry gave me one yesterday!”

The man looked at the iPad in his hand and chuckled. “Oh yeah, I brought it with me to read because I don’t really like these events.”

Ezili nodded fast. “I don’t, either. I’m so glad I’m not the only one.”

The man smiled again; his dark eyes twinkled with the fairy lights above their heads. “May I sit with you.”

“Sure!” Ezili hurriedly scooted over for the man to sit. Forget Harry. He’d told her never to leave his side then left her here all on her own, so who cared if she talked to one stranger? At least this one didn’t want to be here, either.

“What do you read on your iPad?” she asked him.

“I’d say books to impress you, but I’m actually reading a manga,” he said and chuckled. “Attack on Titan. Have you heard of it?”

Ezili shook her head. “Do they have something like this for The Little Mermaid?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure they have a manga for everything these days, so you might find one about mermaids, too,” the man said and put the iPad down on his lap. “What’s your name?”

“Ezili...Hans. Ezili Hans,” said Ezili as she offered her hand.

The man shook it with another warm smile. “I’m Dawson Styles.”

It took Ezili a second to recognise that name. “Harry told me not to talk to you,” she mumbled, frowning.

However, Dawson didn’t look bothered by it. “Oh, right, you came here with Harry,” he said. “He gave you an iPad, right?”

“Yeah. He’s my...date.”

“So why are you here all by yourself?”

Ezili crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “He needed to talk to that loud lady over there. He said she was evil.”

Dawson leaned forward to look past her, and when he spotted Harry with his aunt, his mouth curled slightly. “Yup, that lady is scary. We’re all scared of her.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, she’s my mum.”

Ezili flinched, her eyes shot open. “Oh...sorry.”

Dawson just laughed. “Well, Harry wasn’t wrong. My mother could be scary sometimes.”

“All mothers are,” muttered Ezili, but she wasn’t sure if Dawson had heard her.

“You’re from the States?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“Your accent.”

“Oh. Y-Yeah.”

“How long have you been in London?”

“Just three days.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s...grey.”

The answer made Dawson cackle. “Yeah, it is.” He lowered his head and adjusted his glasses. “Bet it’s way more sunnier where you’re from.”

Ezili lifted her shoulders. “I don’t like the sun that much either, so it’s all good.”

Dawson nodded. They sat in silence for two seconds, then he said, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, not knowing what else to respond.

“How did you know Harry?”

Ezili was about to answer when she realised that Harry hadn’t taught her what to answer for this question. He’d probably assumed that they would be together all night, so he wouldn’t have to prepare her to lie about such basic information. Helplessly, she looked back to find Harry, but he wasn’t there anymore. Both he and Dawson’s mother had disappeared.

Ezili jumped to her feet. “Sorry, I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Dawson.” Without paying him a second look, she ran off to look for Harry.

He couldn’t have abandoned her, right? At least not here at his family’s ball. But how could she be so sure? She’d witnessed him being courteous to his enemy. That man could not be trusted.

Why were there so many people?

Where was she?

Ezili was too busy cursing Harry in her head that she hadn’t paid attention to where she was going. Now she found herself standing in an empty hall. She could hear the muffled sound of the ballroom behind her, so she intended to return to it.

“Hey, baby,” said a blond-haired man she ran into at a turn. She tried to sidestep him, but he was in her way. She blocked her nose with a finger and took a step back to keep a distance from him. He smelled funny. Why were his eyes red?

“H-Have you seen Harry?” she asked the man with the buzzcut. “Tall. Curly hair. Walks and talks slowly. Acts like he’s better than you when he’s not.”

“Harry?” The man snorted, his eyelids fluttered as if he might pass out any moment. He put a hand on the wall to keep his balance. “Damn, that motherfucker always lands the hotties.”

Ezili guessed that this man was not in his right mind to tell her where Harry was, so she pushed him aside to go. Suddenly, he caught her by the wrist and yanked her into him. “Hey, where are you going, baby?”

“Let me go!” she screamed and tried to shove him off. It seemed like all of her strength had disappeared with her tail. She felt helpless against this man. He managed to take both her wrists and pinned them above her head and her against the wall.

“Leave Harry,” he whispered into her ear, his breath hot and foul-smelling. She felt like she might throw up. “He’s trash anyway. The rat of the family. Can’t believe he’s getting all this when his mother dies.”

Ezili was trapped between the man’s stinky body and the wall. She knew she’d promised Harry not to attack anyone tonight, but she needed to fight for herself. Without hesitation, her teeth went straight for the man’s neck. He screamed and jumped back, losing his balance and dropping to the floor. Ezili could taste blood on her tongue as she licked her lip and gazed down at the terrified man. The bite mark on his neck was bleeding, staining the white collar of his suit.

“You bitch!”

“Ezi!”

Ezili whipped her head and found Harry, so she ran to him as the evil man clumsily got to his feet.

“What happened?” he asked her, his face pallid with fright.

“This bitch bit me!” the man shouted, pointing the finger at Ezili.

Harry turned back to her with rage in his eyes. “You bit my cousin?! I told you not to hurt anyone! What’s wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she yelled back, angry that he’d believed the words of this bastard. “He was touching me! I don’t like being touched!”

The realisation flashed across Harry’s face. He put his hands on her shoulders; his eyebrows sloped as he swept his eyes from her head to toes. “Where did he touch you?”

“I didn’t do anything to your whore.”

Before Ezili could even react to those words, Harry went straight to him with his foot in his cousin’s stomach and again when his cousin tried to say something. Ezili had to grab his arm and pulled him away before he murdered someone. She didn’t care if he did, though. She just didn’t want to draw more attention to herself and get exposed in front of all the other guests.

Panting, Harry adjusted his tie and stabbed a finger at the man on the floor. “If I see you put your hands on a woman again, I’ll beat your ass and make sure you’ll never get to set foot back into this family again. You hear me?”

The man couldn’t speak, only whimper.

Ezili opened her mouth to question, but Harry stopped her by taking her hand. “Come with me.”