#and its not even something that i hope in the distance to achieve even

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

by no means have we gotten rid of fatphobia or making beauty standards actually somewhat “normal”

but body standards for masc presenting ppl. like even cis guys. absolutely wild

[millerscoffee]

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals.  It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it.  So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.  His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

[its-avalon-08]

do u write for logan? im sorry if not but if yes can u please write a fic where he’s training and focused on not losing his seat so much that he’s neglecting y/n a little and she tries to understand but ends up felling sad and hurt anyways so he notices she’s distance and tries to fix things?

she's fading (ls2)

✦ pairing - logan sargeant x female!reader

✦ genre - neglecting, logan is stupid, comfort, tears, angst

Logan Sargeant was entrenched in his training, pushing himself to the limit every single day. The pressure to keep his seat was mounting, and his dedication was unwavering. Unfortunately, this dedication often came at the expense of his relationship with Y/N.

One evening, Y/N sat alone at the dining table, a small, decorated cake in front of her. The candle's flickering flame cast shadows across the room. She glanced at the clock, its hands marking another hour that Logan was late. Today was their anniversary, but it seemed Logan had forgotten.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message with a heavy heart.

Y/N: Hey, are you coming home soon?

She hit send and waited. Minutes turned into an hour with no response. Her disappointment deepened, but she knew this was becoming the norm.

Logan finally walked in, drenched in sweat and looking exhausted. He barely glanced at the table before heading to the kitchen.

"Hey, can you get me a coffee? I'm wiped out," he called out, oblivious to the cake and Y/N's somber expression.

"Logan…" Y/N began, her voice trembling.

"Just a coffee, Y/N," Logan repeated, not looking at her.

Y/N bit her lip, fighting back tears, and went to the kitchen. She prepared the coffee with shaking hands, feeling a fever starting to burn within her. As she handed him the mug, Logan finally noticed her pale face.

"Thanks," he said, taking the coffee without a second glance.

"Logan, can we talk?" she asked weakly.

"Can it wait, Y/N? I'm really tired," Logan replied, already heading towards the shower.

Y/N watched him go, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. She knew he was under immense pressure, but his constant neglect was taking a toll on her.

A few days later, Y/N lay in bed, shivering under a thick blanket. Her fever had spiked, and she felt too weak to move. She had called in sick from work, something she rarely did, and had hoped Logan would notice her absence.

Logan, however, was too absorbed in his training schedule. He came home briefly during lunch, rummaging through the kitchen for something quick to eat.

"Hey, Y/N, where's the protein shake powder?" he called out.

"It's… in the pantry," Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan found the powder and quickly made his shake. As he was about to leave, he noticed Y/N's flushed face.

"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "Are you sick?"

"Yeah, I have a fever," she admitted, her eyes pleading for some acknowledgment.

"Oh, that sucks," Logan said, checking his watch. "I’ve got to head back to the track. Take some medicine, okay?"

Y/N stared at him in disbelief as he rushed out the door. She felt a tear slip down her cheek as the door closed behind him. She had never felt so alone.

Days later, Y/N's fever has reduced. She managed to get out of bed to attend an award ceremony for her work, where she was being recognized for a significant achievement. She had hoped Logan would come, but as the evening progressed, it became clear he wouldn't.

Standing on the stage, holding her award, Y/N scanned the audience for any sign of Logan. He was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank, and she forced a smile for the cameras, feeling the weight of his absence acutely.

That night, Logan came home late again, his mind still on his training sessions. Y/N sat on the couch, the award placed prominently on the table.

"Hey," she said softly as he walked in.

"Hey," Logan replied, barely glancing at her. "How was your day?"

Y/N gestured to the award. "I won this today."

Logan finally looked at it, his expression showing brief recognition. "Oh, wow. That's great, Y/N. Sorry I couldn't make it. Busy day."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears. "Logan, I needed you there. I need you now."

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, Y/N. I'm sorry. I just… I have so much on my plate right now."

Y/N scoffed and walked away.

time skip

One weekend, Oscar and Lily stopped by for a visit. They all sat in the living room, catching up on life. Lily turned to Y/N with a bright smile.

"Congratulations on your award, Y/N! That’s amazing! I am so so so proud of you! I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed.

Y/N smiled, grateful for the acknowledgment. "Thank you, Lily."

Logan, sitting beside her, nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, congrats."

Oscar shot Logan a look. "Mate, don’t you think you should be a bit more excited for Y/N?"

Logan glanced up, confused. "Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Great job, Y/N."

Y/N’s smile faltered, the hollowness of his words cutting deeper than any outright neglect. She excused herself, retreating to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter, trying to hold back her tears.

Lily followed her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Y/N shook her head, the tears finally spilling over. "I just… I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Lily."

Lily hugged her, offering silent support. "You deserve better, Y/N. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re not important."

Y/N nodded, wiping her eyes. She knew Lily was right, but her heart ached with the weight of loving someone who seemed to be slipping away. Her silent sobs shook her gentle frame and Lily hugged her.

Back in the living room, Oscar nudged Logan. "You really need to step up, Logan. You’re going to lose her if you keep this up. Look at her Lo. Her spark, it's gone."

Logan frowned, glancing towards the kitchen where he could hear Y/N’s muffled sobs. A wave of guilt washed over him, but the realization of what he needed to do came too late. The damage was done, and he could only hope it wasn’t irreversible.

After Oscar and Lily left, Logan sat on the couch, his mind racing. He couldn't shake off Oscar's words or the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face. He decided to observe her behavior, needing to understand just how much his neglect had affected her.

Y/N moved around the apartment with a practiced grace, tidying up after their guests. She brought Logan a plate of dinner without a word, a habit formed from countless evenings eating alone. Logan watched her, noticing the way she quietly went about her routine, her eyes distant and sad.

"Thanks," he said, his voice breaking the silence.

"You're welcome," Y/N replied softly, sitting down at the other end of the table, her plate already half-eaten.

They ate in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. Logan's heart ached as he realized how accustomed she had become to his absence. She no longer looked at him with anticipation, no longer waited for him to initiate conversation. She was used to being alone, even when he was physically present.

After dinner, Y/N washed the dishes while Logan sat at the table, his mind spinning. When she finished, she walked past him to the bedroom, pausing at the door.

"Goodnight, Logan," she said, her voice void of the warmth it once held.

He watched her go, a lump forming in his throat. He followed her to the bedroom, standing in the doorway as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Logan took a deep breath, stepping inside. "Y/N?"

She turned towards him, barely visible in the dim light. "Yes?"

Logan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he sat beside Y/N. The weight of his neglect and the pain he'd caused her pressed heavily on his chest, making it difficult to find the right words. But he knew this was his moment to lay everything bare, to show her just how much she meant to him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice trembling. "I don't even know where to start. I’ve been so caught up in my own world, in my career, that I’ve completely neglected the most important person in my life. You. And for that, I am so deeply sorry."

He looked into her eyes, seeing the hurt and the longing there. "You’ve been so patient with me, so understanding, and I took that for granted. I thought that just because you were always there, I didn’t need to make an effort. But I was wrong. So very wrong."

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. "Every time I missed an important moment in your life, every time I put my career before you, I was chipping away at the foundation of our relationship. I see that now. I see how much I’ve hurt you, and it tears me apart. I see that now. I see how you’ve had to get used to eating alone, how you’ve stopped waiting for me to kiss you goodnight. And it breaks my heart.""

Logan took her hands in his, his grip firm yet gentle. "You are everything to me, Y/N. You are the reason I push myself so hard, the reason I want to succeed. But I lost sight of what truly matters. I thought that by focusing on my career, I was doing it for us, for our future. But what good is a future if I lose you in the process?"

He paused, his voice breaking with emotion. "I miss you, Y/N. I miss your smile, your laughter, the way you light up a room just by being in it. I miss the way we used to talk for hours, sharing our dreams and fears. I miss holding you close, feeling your heartbeat against mine. I miss us."

Logan's tears flowed freely now, his heart laid bare. "You are my rock, my anchor, the person who keeps me grounded. Without you, none of this means anything. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was too blind to see it."

He tightened his grip on her hands, his voice filled with desperation and love. "I promise you, Y/N, I will change. I will make more time for us, for you. I will be there for every important moment, every small victory, and every tough day. I will show you every single day how much you mean to me, how much I love you."

Logan took a deep breath, his voice steadying. "I know it won’t be easy, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Because you are worth it, Y/N. Our love is worth it. And I will never, ever take you for granted again."

He looked into her eyes, his own filled with sincerity and devotion. "I love you more than words can ever express. Please, give me the chance to prove it to you, to show you that I can be the man you deserve. I promise you, with all my heart, that I will never let you down again."

Logan held her gaze, his heart pounding with the hope that she could see the depth of his love and the truth in his words. This was his moment of redemption, his chance to make things right, and he vowed to never let her slip away again.

Y/N couldn't hold back her emotions any longer. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Logan, burying her face in his chest as tears streamed down her cheeks. Logan held her close, his own tears mingling with hers, relieved and overwhelmed by her response.

"I love you, Logan," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Logan held her even tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you so much, Y/N. I’m so sorry."

They stayed embraced for a long moment, finding solace in each other’s arms. Finally pulling back slightly, Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face.

"I believe you," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips through the tears. "Let’s make this work, Logan. Together."

Logan nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude and determination. "Together," he repeated, brushing a stray tear from her cheek before kissing her gently.

In that moment, surrounded by their shared love and the promise of a renewed commitment, Logan knew that their relationship was stronger than ever. They had weathered a storm together and emerged with a deeper understanding of each other’s needs and a renewed sense of purpose.

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[thelovehypothesis]

Part 2.2 : Between the Pit Walls and the Heartbreak - 43

part 1

Franco Colapinto x fem-engineer!reader x friend!Max Verstappen

+2k words

a/n’s: lastly! full credit to @afterglowsainz go read their fic “don't smile” its amazing, and this is the long awaited part 2 on my take of their fic! BUT here is and alternate ending... Part 2.1, I really enjoyed wiriting this, hope you like it!

warnings: angst-fluff

Summary: Two hearts, one racetrack, and a love that no team can control. When love collides with ambition, can they find a way back to each and if they can, can they learn to forgive?

Start line, finish line, at the end it's the same 

It had been nearly four since you walked away from Franco, since you’d chosen your career and dreams over the love you once thought would last forever. Life had changed in ways you could never have imagined. The moment you accepted the position at Red Bull, everything shifted. The high-intensity world of being Max Verstappen’s race engineer consumed you, leaving little room for reflection, which was how you preferred it.

You were good at your job—great, even. From the very first race weekend with Max, you felt the rush of adrenaline, the electric tension of every decision you made behind the mic, and the weight of contributing to a world championship. It was thrilling, everything you’d ever worked for, and yet, there were quiet moments when your mind drifted back to what you had left behind.

But you didn’t have time for what-ifs. You stood in the garage, headphones around your neck, watching the pit crew scramble as they prepared the car for qualifying. Max was a machine—focused, relentless—and the two of you had developed an easy rapport. He trusted you with critical decisions, and you trusted him to deliver on the track. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and shared ambition.

As you stood there, watching the screens, you felt a familiar tug of emotion—memories of race weekends with Franco, late-night strategy talks, and the way he used to smile when he nailed a lap. But you pushed those thoughts away. That chapter of your life was over.

“Y/N, we’re ready,” Max’s voice crackled through your headset, pulling you back to the present.

“Copy that,” you replied, all business again. “Let’s nail this one, Max.”

The next few minutes were a blur of data, radio calls, and fast decisions. Max was flying, setting the fastest times in each sector. By the time the session ended, he had secured pole position, and the garage erupted in cheers. You smiled, proud of the work you’d done and of what the team had achieved together. This was where you belonged now—at the heart of the action, right on the edge of greatness.

But as the celebration in the garage began to die down, you caught sight of a familiar figure across the paddock—Franco. He was there, leaning against the railing, watching you. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, everything around you seemed to blur, the noise of the team fading into the background.

He looked different—older, somehow, more serious. But that same magnetic energy was still there, the pull between you undeniable, even from a distance.

Franco was back in the paddock as a reset driver for Williams and Mercedes in the 2025 season. It was bittersweet seeing him there, a constant reminder of the past and what you had left behind. His presence felt heavy, especially for him when he started to believe Max had feelings for you. Franco noticed every subtle interaction—the way Max’s eyes would linger on you during quick debriefs or the soft smirk on his lips after a race. Franco was convinced there was something more, but you didn’t see it. To you, Max was just being friendly, and you never thought to question it. Yet, Franco couldn’t shake the feeling, and each time you were near, the tension seemed to grow.

You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. It had been so long since you’d seen him. You didn’t know what to feel—anger, sadness, or relief. You had moved on—or at least, you convinced yourself you had. But seeing him here, now, was like reopening a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

Later, after the garage had emptied out and the team had retreated to prepare for the race, you found yourself wandering the paddock, lost in thought. You didn’t expect to bump into Franco, but as fate would have it, there he was, standing by the entrance to the hospitality suite, waiting for you.

Y/N," he called out, his voice soft but urgent.

You froze, torn between walking away and confronting the emotions you had buried. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"Franco," you said, your voice steady though your heart was racing.

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. "I work here now. This is my job."

"I know," he said quietly. "I’ve been following you this season. You’re doing incredible things."

There was a brief silence, filled with unsaid words and memories. Finally, Franco spoke again, his tone softer, less guarded. “I’ve thought about you a lot. About us.”

You swallowed hard but kept your emotions in check. "Franco, that part of my life is over. I made my choice."

"I know you did," he said, his voice strained. "I’ve made mine too. But I don’t want us to keep being strangers. We shared too much to walk away from each other like this."

You hesitated, not expecting this direction. "What are you saying?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration mixed with something softer. “I don’t want us to end on bad terms. We were friends once, Y/N. I don’t want to lose that, too.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of the past heavy on your shoulders, but his words reached you. "You hurt me, Franco. We can't just pretend like none of that happened."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with regret. "And I’ll carry that. But maybe we could start again. Not like before, but as friends. You’ve moved on, and I need to accept that."

You studied him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was the boy you had once cared for, now standing before you, trying to make amends.

"Friends," you repeated, testing the word.

He nodded, hopeful but cautious. "Yeah, friends."

A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips. "I think I’d like that."

Franco’s shoulders relaxed as if a weight had been lifted. "I’d like that too."

For the first time in a long while, the air between you felt lighter. You knew it wouldn’t erase the past, but maybe it was a step toward healing it.

"I’ll see you around, then?" you asked, taking a step back toward the paddock.

He smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I’ll see you around."

As you turned and walked away, the knot in your chest loosened. Maybe this wasn’t about choosing the past or the present—it was about allowing both to coexist in their own space.

Heading back toward the Red Bull hospitality, you felt a sense of closure. You were ready to move forward, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

For the next few races, something began to shift between you and Franco. Slowly but surely, your interactions felt less heavy, less tied to the past. You started to talk more during race weekends, sharing little jokes or catching up between sessions. It wasn’t forced, and for the first time in a long while, it felt easy.

As the weeks went on, your friendship began to mend. The conversations that were once filled with tension now carried a lightness, and the lingering pain of what had happened between you both faded. You found yourself laughing with him again, and before long, you were falling back into the familiar rhythm of being really good friends—just friends this time you promised yourself. There was no pressure, no unspoken feelings. It was just you and Franco, rebuilding something new.

The next  race,  you once again crossed paths with Franco again. 

“Hey,” he called out, taking a step closer. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “What’s up?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “I think Max likes you,” he teased, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s like you’ve got him all flustered.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on, Franco. Max and I? It’s nothing like that.”

Franco crossed his arms, still smirking. “Sure, sure. But I’m telling you, he’s definitely interested. You just don’t see it.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling at his playful tone. “Trust me, it’s all professional. Max and I work well together, but that’s as far as it goes.”

He raised an eyebrow, not quite convinced. “Really? Because he seems to hang around a lot when you’re around.”

You nudged him lightly, amused by his teasing. “Don’t worry, Franco. I’d never see Max that way. He’s my driver. That’s it.”

Franco chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Alright, alright. Just don’t be surprised if he starts asking you out for coffee or something.”

You laughed again, feeling the tension between you both ease with each joke. “I’ll keep that in mind, but seriously, it’s nothing to worry about.”

He smiled, and for the first time in a while, it felt light between you two. “Good to know. Just looking out for you.”

You nodded, grateful for the lighter moment. “Thanks, Franco. I appreciate it.”

As you turned to leave, Franco called after you, still with that teasing tone. “But if he does ask you out, you owe me an update!”

You laughed over your shoulder. “Deal!”

After the race, as you and Max walked toward the team hospitality, he glanced at you with a grin. “Hey,at this point I just need to tell someone, when I head back to Monaco, I’ve got a date lined up,” he said, his tone casual but playful.

You blinked in surprise, then smiled. “A date, huh? Good for you,” you replied, nudging him lightly. “I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Whatever tension had been there between you two, it seemed Max was focusing elsewhere. It was a reminder that everything between you was purely professional.

Later that night, back at the hotel, you found yourself thinking about the past few weeks and Franco’s teasing remarks about Max. Pulling out your phone, you shot Franco a quick text: "You were wrong. I was right 😏 Max has a date, so nothing to worry about!"

Moments later, your phone buzzed with his reply: "Told you I wasn’t worried 😉 Wanna grab ice cream and celebrate your victory?"

You hesitated for only a moment before responding with a quick, "Sure, see you in a bit"

It didn't take long for the two of you to find a cosy, well-known ice cream shop nestled in the heart of town, far enough from the hustle of the paddock to feel peaceful. The shop had a retro charm, with colourful decor and the scent of freshly made waffle cones filling the air. You both grabbed your favourite flavours and found a quiet corner by the window, the soft hum of chatter around you.

Sitting across from each other, you fell into easy conversation—old memories, upcoming races, and life outside the paddock. The laughter came naturally, and it was as if the tension of the past had melted away. The familiarity between you felt comforting, like slipping back into something that had never really been lost.

As you looked over at Franco, you realised something you hadn’t expected. Despite everything, despite moving on, there was still a part of you that loved him. It was buried deep, hidden beneath layers of time and distance, but it was there, undeniable and real.

The finish line?

A week later, when the F1 circus rolled into the summer break, you found yourself spending a few days together with Franco. It wasn’t planned, but it felt natural, falling back into a familiar rhythm. You wandered through small towns, shared meals at local cafes, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. The past no longer felt like an anchor, pulling you back; instead, it was something you both acknowledged but didn’t dwell on.

The moment you sat down during one of those quiet afternoons, Franco reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. There was no pressure, no unspoken expectations—just the comfort of being together.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice calm, yet filled with concern.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

The weight of the past no longer held you down. You were moving forward, and maybe, just maybe, there was still something between you and Franco worth exploring.

(abu dhabi grand prix)

The Grand Prix was electric,charged with tension, adrenaline, and the weight of the championship. Max was on the verge of winning his fifth world title, and every decision you made felt like it could either secure or break the season. The pressure was immense, and everyone in the paddock knew what was at stake. The intensity of it all was almost overwhelming, but you were laser-focused, guiding Max through the race.

On the final lap, a risky opportunity appeared—one that could win both the drivers' and constructors' championships in one brilliant stroke. You had mere seconds to make the call. Your heart raced as you pushed the radio button, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Box, box, Max. Trust me on this.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before Max’s calm voice responded, “Copy. I trust you.”

And that trust was everything. As Max executed the strategy perfectly, crossing the finish line first, the Red Bull garage erupted in celebration. The screams of the team echoed around you, but for a second, you were frozen—still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. Max had done it. You had done it. Together, you had clinched the championship, securing not just his fifth world title but the Constructors’ Championship for Red Bull as well.

The team started racing toward the barricade to greet Max as he pulled into the pit lane, his car surrounded by a sea of red and blue. As you ran alongside your teammates, you were suddenly jostled in the rush of bodies. The next thing you knew, you bumped into Franco—completely by accident—but before you could even apologise, his arms were around you.

He caught you easily, lifting you up, and in one fluid motion, he kissed you. The world seemed to stop, the noise around you fading into nothing as his lips met yours. Franco pulled back just slightly, his voice filled with emotion as he whispered, “Congratulations. That call was amazing.”

You were stunned, the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming you, but you smiled through the tears that suddenly welled up in your eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it was slower, more intentional, as if you were both grounding yourselves in the reality of the moment. The past, the pain, all of it seemed to fade away.

When you finally parted, Franco set you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist, and you gave him a soft smile. "I guess you owe me some ice cream later,” you joked, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Definitely."

With a quick glance at the roaring celebrations ahead, you squeezed his hand and ran toward the podium area, where the ceremony was about to begin. Max was already there, grinning ear to ear, waving to the ecstatic crowd. You stood beside him, watching as he was crowned world champion again, but all the while, your mind drifted to Franco.

From your place on the podium, you spotted Franco standing quietly off to the side, watching you with a look of pride and something deeper. And in that moment, as the confetti rained down and the world celebrated around you, you realised the truth that had been tugging at your heart all along—you still loved Franco.

You found yourself falling in love with him all over again.

---The end---

I'am really happy with the outcome! hope you are too.

Once again my request are open for all your request!

-lots of love, Em.

[venuszn]

☆ : Open When

Summary / In which Bada writes you letters to read whenever you miss her presence

Cw / Angst, Fluff, Smut, Dom!Bada, Fem!Reader, Phone sex, ummm probably missed some, MDNI

Wc / 5.3K words

Open when you’re sad

“Hi princess,

I’m sorry that you’re feeling this way right now and that I'm not there to hold you and tell you that everything will be okay. But I can and will tell you that with the words in this letter. You know that I love you and I will keep saying it till the words dry up my throat.

I wish nothing but happiness for you but I’m also aware that bad days are inevitable and that sadness is a human emotion, which like happiness, you should be allowed to feel in all its entirety. I know it's hard right now, but allow yourself to feel sad. You’re allowed to cry, you're allowed to scream and maybe even throw something (like a pillow or teddy - don't hurt yourself). You’re feeling down and that's ok, you’re human.

I know I always say that you're perfect (to me you are, you’re literally heaven sent you’re my angel) but to the rest of the cruel world perfection isn’t possible and so you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. I like to remind myself that sadness is an emotion. Its power is not absolute. It will come and it will go making room for other emotions such as relief, happiness, hope . . .

There will always be hope.

You are strong and you can take back control of your emotions. But allow yourself to feel them first, it doesn’t make you weak. It takes a lot of courage to face the raw and uncomfy feelings we have and I know you can do it. Go at your own pace and remember that your feelings are valid and that you are loved.

Especially by me, your loving and maybe a little bit obsessed girlfriend.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

A tear dropped onto the paper. You blinked and quickly wiped your eyes, not realising that your girlfriend's heartfelt expressions had triggered an earthquake of emotions within you. Bada knew that you had a tendency to repress your emotions. She knew that when you were sad you skillfully put on a facade, a mask, and played the ideal role of the happy easy going girlfriend. You didn't want to burden anyone with how you felt. You were used to dealing with it alone and so you always did.

But Bada showed you that it was ok to not always be ok. That you didn’t have to bear it all alone. You weren’t perfect, some days you fell back into old habits and distanced yourself from her as the exhaustion from faking happiness would overwhelm you. But she was always patient and waited for you.

She showed you that you could still be loved even on your bad days.

Sobs thundered in your chest. You gripped the letter as if the words themselves would slip between the cracks of your fingers and drift away into the night. Your face grew hot with tears and you allowed yourself to be. To simply be.

Bada wasn’t here with you right now but you knew her love was.

Open when you miss me

Gentle rays of sun shine through your curtains. It illuminates your skin as it kisses it with its warmth. You sit up and raise a tired hand, attempting to shield your eyes as a loud and unflattering yawn rolls from the back of your mouth. Your hazy eyes drift towards the empty space beside you. If you stare long enough you can still see the outline of her presence, hear the whispers of her slow words thick with sleep as she would pull you closer by the waist and join her lips to yours - the sweetest of good mornings.

But now those mornings were not a reality but a memory.

Mornings like this weren’t foreign to you. It had been a couple months now and you had grown used to waking up alone. You missed Bada and this was the first time you were both spending months apart from each other. You were caught between sadness and pride. Of course you were sad but at the same time you couldn’t help but admire the achievements of your girlfriend. Bada’s popularity had skyrocketed beyond the heavens themselves and many artists and idols were reaching out to her for collaborations and such alike. You had never seen Bada glow the way she did. Joy seemed to radiate from her and your chest could barely contain the swell of your heart as it pumped in pride for her.

That is why you smiled and swallowed the lump in your throat as Bada said she was leaving behind her favourite sweatshirt, “because I know it’s your favourite too”. It is why you insisted on driving Bada to the airport and it is why the both of you held each other a little tighter that day and allowed your lips to linger a second more. Bada knew you were trying to be brave for her but that wasn’t what she wanted.

“I’ll see you real soon. Four months will fly by.” Bada said as she gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb.

“I know it will. Have the best time won’t you ? I mean, you’re touring with an idol. That's amazing.” Your voice betrayed you as a slight quiver slipped through.

Bada’s gaze saddened. “I’ll try. You know I'll miss you right ?”

A sob threatened to rise from your throat and you tried to swallow it once more.

“I’ll miss - I’ll miss you more . . .” You choked out.

Bada wrapped her arms around you and brought you to her chest, your arms locked around her sides and you swore you would need to be pried away from her. Her head rested comfortably on top of yours and she squeezed you gently.

“I’ve left you something.”

You pull back and look up at her, confusion knitted your brows. “What do you mean you’ve left me something ?”

“It’s under the bed in a shoebox. And no, it's not shoes.” She smiled down at you.

When you got back to your shared apartment you searched under the bed and immediately found the shoebox. You scoff lightly with a small smile, not believing that you didn’t notice it earlier.

You remove the top and your breath catches in your throat.

A library of letters sat in two neat rows, filling the four walls of the box. You gently run your fingers over the edge of them, sneaking glimpses of the words written on the envelopes.

‘Open when you’re sad.’

‘Open when you need reassurance.’

‘Open when you want to punch your annoying coworker.’

You choke out a laugh mixed sob and tears threaten to spill. You wondered how you got so lucky to have someone like Bada in your life.

The morning sun had shifted slightly, its rays now painted your room walls a warm golden. Bada’s words stared back at you on the envelope as you traced the curves of her letters with your finger, following the path of ink as it journeyed into words.

‘Open when you miss me.’

And so you did.

“Hello my princess,

I miss you too. Very much. I know you’ll see me on social media smiling and dancing but just know that I'm always thinking of you. I wish I could be there with you right now, to hold you and kiss you. I’m writing this before I leave but I just know that I’ll miss your kisses. Of course I will. Kissing you feels like home and I’ll miss my home. Even now as I’m writing this I’m wishing that I was kissing you. But they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. My heart will probably explode from the overflow of fondness. However, I want to apologise in advance for how busy I might get. But I promise I will do my best to talk to you. I have no idea what to expect but I imagine there will be days where our communication is sparse. But always remember that I still love you and miss you.

Please take care of your health, make sure to eat your meals and go to sleep on time. I need you to be happy and healthy when I get back.

I love you and I am counting down the days till I see my baby again.

Lots of Love,

Bada.”

Open when you’re happy

The chime of the doorbell danced through the air and you perked up.

Your lips stretched into a smile as you bounced toward the front door, almost running. You were expecting this as it had become a weekly routine and truthfully, you were near enough befriending the delivery man who you were now seeing more frequently than some of your friends.

You swiftly swing open the door and your eager eyes meet the familiar smile of the old man but you couldn’t stop your gaze from jumping to the brightly coloured item that sat in his arms.

“Good afternoon to you.” He greeted warmly.

You smiled and returned his warmth, “Good afternoon to you too.”

He chuckled and outstretched the item toward you and you took it from his hold.

“Today's flowers are pink asters.” The man said with enthusiasm.

“They represent love and sensitivity. They're also the emblem of Venus - the goddess of love. Your girlfriend is putting all of us to shame.” The man chuckles and you watch as his crows feet deepen. You remember the way he praised Bada, saying that he has never seen such heartfelt dedication from a person.

Bada had scheduled flower deliveries each Monday because she knew that you loved flowers and also because she knew that you loathed Mondays - the man was slightly speechless. He called it young love and made a comment about how some people go through their entire lives unable to find love and that if you find it with someone - anyone - then that's a blessing you should cherish.

And you truly did. You now sit in front of the vase of flowers and you admire its beauty. If the stars themselves fell to the earth and sprouted seed this is what the result would be - vibrant hues and an explosion of petals. They were truly beautiful and your heart pulsed with love for Bada. She was your happiness.

Your gaze shifted back to the opened letter on the side and you read it once more.

“Hi baby :) Happiness looks beautiful on you.

You’re always beautiful but I love the way you gleam and radiate when you’re happy. I especially love your smile. I feel like everytime you smile a fairy is born. I hope to one day meet one of your many fairies.

But I digress, I’m happy that you’re happy. I wish I could see you and be happy right there with you. But feel free to send me pictures of your smile (many of them) and tell me in detail about what made you happy ! You know I'd love to hear all about it. I hope you continue smiling and I know that there are more happy days ahead for you. There definitely will be - you are an attractor of everything pure and joyful (and of me).

I love you lots my angel,

Bada.”

Open when you’re in the mood

You remember when you first saw those words on the envelope. You remember scoffing at your girlfriend, not taking it seriously. She was oceans apart from you, there’s not really much that she could do when you were feeling needy and missing her touches.

You thought wrong.

You also remember the way your brows twitched in curiosity and how you felt a subtle rise of intrigue within you at the two words written on the paper.

“Ring me.”

Though you never thought that you would find yourself in this position. The position being your legs spread apart, your two fingers stretching out your dripping cunt and Bada - on speaker phone listening to the entire thing.

“Keep touching yourself for me, princess.” Bada breathed through the phone. She had been instructing you on what to do, how fast and how slow, ordering you to not hold back your moans because she ‘wants to hear your pretty sounds’.

“Add a third finger.”

You’re not sure if its because of her words or because of how fucked out you were but you nearly come right then. You let out a shaky breath and slide your free hand down in between your legs, you spread yourself a little more, giving your third finger room to enter. The dull sting mixes with the sensitivity and pleasure and you hesitate.

“It only feels good when you do it.” You whine as you slowly push further, your tight hole sucking your fingers in.

“Imagine that those are my fingers. You like it when I finger fuck you, don’t you ? The way you cry out my name and grip onto me as I pound your hole.”

You grew wetter at Bada’s words.

Your fingers slide in and you begin thrusting in and out. A thin layer of sweat glistened your skin as you lay half naked on the bed with your eyes fluttering up at the ceiling. You did as Bada said. You shut your eyes and imagined that your girlfriend was there - above you with her slender fingers stroking your pussy walls. You imagined her kissing the side of your neck as she usually did, and then slowly making her way down to your chest. You imagined her taking your hardened nipple into her warm mouth, her tongue sliding against it as she licked and tasted your tits. Her free hand would then join, playing with your other mound of flesh as her mouth busied itself with the other. She would start off by teasing your nipple by ghosting over it with her thumb. She would then gently tug at it before rolling it between her fingers. You imagined her hushed words, saying something about how beautiful you were and about how good you were being for her before she would mercilessly thrust her three fingers into your cunt, her thumb teasingly brushing over your swollen clit ever so often.

The tightening of the knot in your stomach pulls you out of your fantasy and a loud moan falls from your lips. Your breaths pick up speed and a chorus of whines and whimpers flow from you as you begin to chase your climax. Your back arches and your fingers move faster, curling up as they rub against the top of your walls.

“Fuck - Fuck, Bada.” You cry out as you feel your legs begin to shake.

Bada lets out a breathless curse and you hear shuffling in the background and then a door shut.

“You coming, princess ? I wanna hear you moan my name.”

You nod your head, forgetting that she can't see you, coherent words fail to leave your mouth. Your body tenses and your walls contract around your fingers. Pleasure rushes through you and for a moment you swear you see stars. Your body trembles and your legs shake as cries and moans for your girlfriend fall from your tongue.

“You’re so hot. Fuck. I wanna see you, princess.” Bada says, voice dripping with want.

You lay breathless, fingers still nested in your aching hole as you slowly guide yourself down from your high with slow thrusts. “But you’re not - you're not in your hotel room.” You breathe out.

“I’m farther away from everyone now.” Bada said as she reassured you. “ I’m in an empty room. It's okay baby . . . Plus, this makes it hotter.”

You let out a light breathy laugh, “You’re such an exhibitionist.”

Bada chuckles, “So are you. Now let me see you, princess.”

You reach for your phone and accept the video call request. Bada emerges onto your screen and your heart flutters. You smile and bite your lip slightly. She was wearing her glasses and you had always had a thing for her in her specs. You gazed at her and the lazy smirk that sat on her pink lips.

“Hi baby.”

“Hey princess.”

Your cheeks grew warm and you looked away for a moment.

“Now don’t get shy on me. We’re just getting started.” Bada says with a slight raise of her brow.

“Prop your phone up against something. I wanna see you properly.”

You obeyed and you positioned your phone on top of the bedside table, angling it toward you as you sat with your knees together on the bed.

Bada drank in the sight of you, she licked her lips and you saw her gaze deepen.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my shirt. You fingered yourself in my clothes ?” Bada said as she leaned into the camera slightly. “You’re so dirty aren't you princess, such a slut for me.”

You nod and fiddle with your fingers in your lap. Your body burned with both desire and slight humiliation.

“Go and get my strap.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened. “What ?” You say, unsure of if you were now experiencing auditory hallucinations.

“I want you to fuck yourself with my strap. Go get it.” Bada stated coolly.

You now found yourself in another position. That position being your legs spread apart, once again, but now with Bada’s thick strap rubbing against your pussy lips, your wetness coating its length. And Bada sat watching through the camera as she once again instructed you on how she wanted you to touch yourself.

Bada stared at you hungrily with pupils blown.

“Keep rubbing your clit with it. Just like that princess. Don’t stop until you’re dripping and desperate, just how I like you.”

Your mouth hung open as you sang soft moans. You guided Bada’s strap against your clit, now swollen, as you rubbed yourself along the length of it in desperate motions.

“Bada - Bada, fuck.” You whine. “I’m close - gonna come . . .”

Bada’s smirk stretches. “Stop.”

Your eyes snap to the screen and you blink furiously. “Pleas-”

“I said stop, princess. Be a good girl for me, hm ?”

You reluctantly come to a stop, your hips slow its pace and you remove the strap from in between your legs.

“As much as I love seeing you touch yourself in my clothes, I want to see your pretty tits. Take your shirt off.”

You do as she says and pull the shirt over your head, your chest now on full display to Bada’s eager eyes.

Bada lets out a breathless curse as her eyes roam your body. “You’re heavenly.”

Your heart flutters at your girlfriend's words.

“Now spread your legs for me and fuck yourself with my strap.”

You moved closer to the camera and positioned yourself in front of Bada’s waiting gaze. You leaned back on one arm and parted your legs, your aching cunt now on show. You guided her strap along your pussy lips coating it with your juices. You hum slightly and a whimper leaves your lips as you gently push in the tip of the strap.

Your eyes flicker back to the screen and you swear you've never seen Bada’s gaze as intense as it was.

“Just like that. Stretch yourself out good for me.”

You sink onto Bada’s strap and your cunt clenches around it. You begin slow motions of gentle thrusting and then throw your head back as you feel the tip hit a particular spot within you walls - cries falling from your lips.

“Fuck. I wish I was there, baby. Gonna fuck you into the mattress when I get back.”

And you knew that was a promise she intended to keep.

Open when we fight

It had been nearly a week since your last proper conversation with Bada. You were both busy and had been adjusting to the constant changes of time zone differences. It was becoming a little draining for the both of you but the daily little check ups and good morning and night messages cushioned the pain. It was the little things that kept you going all this time but you were beginning to crave a little more attention from your girlfriend.

Bada, on the other hand, was becoming stressed. Rehearsals were tough and the jetlag exhausted her. Simultaneously, Bada was also worried about you. She was aware that the communication between the both of you had dwindled recently and she knew you did your best to work with her schedule but she also knew that deep down you were hurting because of it. Bada was beginning to feel inadequate and she carried the blame.

That is why she regretted it as intensely as she did when those harsh words flew from her mouth that one evening.

“You’re suffocating me. You know how busy I am and honestly right now I need some space.”

Bada’s words were like ice to your ears and you felt the frost of her tone bite and sting you. You shivered, slightly taken aback by her words.

“Oh . . . Okay then. No worries, see you.”

You hang up the phone.

You stared into space for a moment. Numbness spreading over you as you swallow your sorrow.

Your phone vibrates and you force your heavy eyes to look over to it. You see Bada’s contact flash on your screen. You scoff and deny the call before putting your phone on do not disturb.

The moon peers at you through your window and you only hope that she’s gazing at you with empathy. She too was worlds apart from her lover, unable to meet. Tears brim in your eyes and you blink them away.

The sun rises and you soon follow. You turn on your phone and then turn off do not disturb only to find countless missed calls and messages from Bada pleading for your forgiveness. Your heart pangs and you decide to respond.

“I just woke up. Went to bed early last night.” You type and hit send before tossing your phone onto the bed.

You were still a little sad. You felt dejected and you felt unwanted. Perhaps you were a little pushy, but all you wanted was to speak to your girlfriend. You sigh as you stare into the mirror at your deflated reflection. A small box under your bed then catches your attention and you find yourself kneeling to pick it up.

Bada’s letters.

You had gone though nearly half of them by now but you had yet to open this particular one.

“I’m sorry.

I don’t know what we fought about but that doesn’t matter because I apologise for making you upset. I would never intentionally hurt you but sometimes I can be a dummy and I make mistakes. So I'm sorry baby. I hate seeing you upset or angry and especially if I'm the cause. I want to thank you for still staying with me all this time regardless. Everyday I'm still learning and growing and everyday I'm thankful that I get to do that by your side. We are two imperfect people but we make a perfect pair if you ask me. I know sometimes you also make mistakes but I forgive you. I will always forgive you. When we fight we showcase our room for growth as a couple and as individuals. We disagree sometimes but that is normal. There’s nothing wrong with you and nothing wrong with us. I still love you baby. I always will.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

Just as you finish reading your phone vibrates and you look to see Bada's name on the screen.

“Good morning baby. I’m sorry about last night. You’re not suffocating. I'm just really stressed right now but I promise it’s not because of you. It will never be you.” Her message read.

Your lips pouted slightly and you typed back, “I'm sorry too. I know I can be extra clingy sometimes. But please don’t feel pressured to always respond. Take out time for yourself too, it’s okay. I’ll always be here.”

On the other end Bada let out a small breath of relief and finally allowed her body to relax. She read over your words and her heart yearned for you.

Another message pings through and Bada breaks out in the first genuine smile that week.

“Btw your letter was cute. I’ll always love you too.”

Open when it’s our anniversary

The chime of the doorbell rang through the apartment and your brows twitched in puzzlement. You double checked the day - it wasn’t a Monday - so weren't expecting any deliveries. You also were not expecting any visitors. Regardless, you make your way over to open the door.

Before you stood none other than the delivery man. Who boasted the widest of grins as he held out a wonderful arrangement of flowers toward you.

You stand, mouth slightly agape as you take in the beauty of the blossoms before you. The sweet aromas danced through the air.

Today was your anniversary with Bada and you had both planned to video call later that night. You knew Bada was busy and that she was gearing up for the finale of the tour later that week, so you were grateful that she cleared out a few hours of her schedule to spend with you. But you had not expected anything like this.

“Your girlfriend really outdid herself with this one.” He chuckled as you took the bouquet into your arms, its sheer size competed with the top half of your body. You poke your head around the bouquet and you smile back. “It’s our anniversary. I had no idea she scheduled flowers for today - and flowers this big. I’m so sorry you had to carry this.” You say with a meek laugh.

“Nonsense. It's my pleasure.” The old man waves his hand, swatting away your words. “You have grown to become me and my wife's favourite customers - both you and your girlfriend. We’re honoured that she chose our small flower store and made all those orders. So please, it’s not a problem my dear. I hope to see you both around sometime and feel free to stop by, my wife would love to meet the lovely lady that she picks flowers for.”

Your heart warms and you nod your head, “Of course. I’d love to stop by. But I'll see you on Monday won’t I ?”

The man shakes his head, “This is my last delivery dear.”

You frown slightly and you feel your mood dampen. “But why ?”

“Because I’m back.”

That voice.

You step out into the hallway and your head spins to the direction it came from.

Bada Lee.

Bada walked toward you. Your eyes scanned her tall frame, her oversized shirt that draped around her body, her grey baggy sweatpants that hung from her hips and her wide and comforting smile that plastered her face.

That was your girlfriend. And she was home.

You ran towards her and she met you halfway, scooping you and the large bouquet into her arms before spinning you around. You laugh and you cry. Trails of tears fall as happiness overtakes you.

“You’re back ?!” You exclaim as you hastily wipe your face.

Bada gazes down at you with the fondest of eyes. “For now, yes. Happy anniversary baby.”

She leans down to gently press her lips to yours.

The old man chuckles in delight, “Congratulations to the both of you. I expect to see you both at my shop very soon.”

You and Bada grin and you wish him well after agreeing to pay him and his wife a visit.

Your head remains in a daze and you squint your eyes at Bada, unsure of if you were now experiencing visual hallucinations.

Bada laughs as she puts down her suitcase, “What ?”

You fold your arms, “You’re really here ?”

“I am.”

“You said next week.”

“I might have told a little white lie . . .”

You whine and gently smack her arm causing her to laugh even more.

“And all those flowers you’ve been sending . . . and the letters ?” You pout slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Bada steps closer and takes your chin between her thumb and index. “You deserve everything and more. There was no way I wasn’t going to see you on our two year anniversary. I planned to be here from the very start.”

You look up at her and you hold her gaze. “You did ?”

Bada hums. “I did. However, I'll be catching a flight back tomorrow but by the end of the week I'll be home for good.”

You nod your head in understanding and Bada smiles down at you before leaning in to bridge the gap between your lips. Your arms rest around her shoulders and hers on your waist, her grip firm as she gently caresses your skin with her thumb. You part your lips and tilt your head, Bada hums against your mouth before slipping her tongue through your lips - deepening the kiss.

Moments pass and you are forced to come up for air. Bada then rests her forehead against yours.

“You read today's letter yet ?” She mutters softly.

You gently shake your head, “Not yet. I was about to but then the doorbell rang.”

Bada smiled and took your hand into hers.

“Perfect.”

Bada now sat beside you on the bed with the letter in hand.

She began to read.

“To my princess, my baby, my best friend and to the love of my life,

Happy Second Anniversary <3

Happy 730 days of us and of our love. These 730 days are just the beginning because I know that we have a lifetime ahead of us. Thank you for staying with me, for being with me despite my shortcomings. Thank you for being my best friend, my confidant and thank you for loving me back.

You truly are an angel walking this earth and I sometimes wonder if heaven misses you. I’m prepared to put up a fight because now that I have you - not even Zeus himself could pry me away from you. Nothing on earth nor in the heavens above could taint the love that I have for you. Know that my heart belongs to you and that I am ready to cross whatever seas that may lie between us.

I’ll see you soon my love.

Bada.”

You were at a loss for words and watched as Bada neatly folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. She then looked at you and gently took your hand intertwining your fingers.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, afraid that your voice would fail you.

“I love you more my princess.” Bada pulled you closer and then set you on her lap.

You gaze down at her and she peers up at you, her fingers ghost over your thigh, tracing lazy shapes over the fabric covering your skin. Sparks of electricity shoot through you and you lick your lips slightly. Bada’s gaze intensifies. Her hands now slowly creep up your shirt, your warm skin under her fingertips.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe out, gravity pulling you in.

“I’ve missed you too.” Bada’s hands lingered as they explored the familiar territory that was your curves.

You shudder and your breath picks up.

“Wanna show me how much ?” You say softly.

Bada’s lips stretched into a slight smirk but her eyes overflowed with love.

“Of course baby. I’m gonna take my time with you . . . Missed you so much.”

Bada kept her promise and she took her time with you, exploring the work of art that she swore had no price.

Your body, your soul - you.

Author’s note / Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed <3 Feel free to send me requests of letters that you’d like to see Bada write . . . Totally down to do more of those :3

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight , @nimxie , [Open]

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

02 Jealousy

Zhongli x Reader / SFW but suggestive at the end / Mentions of Childe / Set at the beginning of the Liyue archon quest / Reader is unaware that Zhongli is the Geo Archon

"My dear, is something on your mind?"

Perceptive as he was, Zhongli couldn't figure out what it was that was upsetting you. That pout on your lips had been plastered there for a while now and as many times as he had questioned you if anything was bothering you, you simply brushed it off.

"I'm fine." You were, or so you thought you should be.

Zhongli was a bit of an attention magnet, which was not surprising with the meticulous way he dressed, his exceptional knowledge, and the way he carried himself. He delighted in it, smiling and going about his day as if he were simply soaking in sunlight. You often found the consultant lost in long-winded conversations with random people on the streets. While you found the person's advances a bit pushy, Zhongli didn't seem to think much of it.

Suspicions prickled underneath your skin when Zhongli mentioned that the individual had paid him yet another visit at the funeral parlor, this time insisting on taking him out to dinner. Zhongli was certainly not giving the eyesore any reason to stop encroaching by entertaining their whims. There was definitely something going on between them, outside of whatever business dealings the funeral parlor had with the Fatui. The more you thought about it, the surer you became.

Zhongli could tell something was amiss with you. Perhaps you were worried for him, maybe even a little bit possessive of him. It was a silly sentiment to have when he was so devoted to you.

"Darling, please tell me what is bothering you. It worries me that it may be my doing." He asks yet again one afternoon.

The way he tenderly gazes at you should assure you enough that there was no space in his heart for another person. Every time he calls you his dear, his sweetheart, or darling, you can hear the sincerity spilling over in his voice. It'd be cruel of you to keep him guessing, wouldn't it?

"You know that pair of chopsticks you got Childe when he arrived in Liyue? The dragon and phoenix one..." You brought up something that seemed irrelevant save for the person mentioned.

"Oh, yes. I remember them well. Their craftsmanship was quite exceptional." His eyes lit up the way they always did when he speaks about a particularly striking find he happens upon during his strolls through the city. "I gifted them to him as a gesture of welcome since he was learning to use them."

"I think he misunderstood your intentions."

Being the most learned person in Liyue regarding its traditions and customs, Zhongli didn't need to be reminded exactly what kind of intentions you were alluding to. The consultant's brows immediately furrowed in contemplation.

"While I do see how such a gift could be interpreted in other ways, I am certain that they don't apply to our particular circumstances."

"You gave him something that lovers give each other to pledge their love! Aren't you going to explain yourself?" You pouted, crossing your arms.

The consultant gave you an aggrieved yet amused look. "Traditionally, the dragon and phoenix symbolizes harmony and prosperity, something both Liyue and Snezhnaya hopes to achieve through steady trade. While it's most commonly given between couples, it may also be given to a friend or business partner to convey longevity."

Zhongli's reasoning was sound, however you refused to be convinced. You shook your head in frustration. "Don't you see? He's coming onto you too strongly for someone who just wants a diplomatic relationship!"

You couldn't just outright tell him to keep his distance from the Fatui harbinger since they were business acquaintances. Liyue harbor has its fair share of flirtatious people, the shopkeeper at Scent of Spring for one, but there was just something about the redhead in particular that unsettled you. The way Zhongli unabashedly spends his money also left much for you to think about. It wasn't all that different from the way Director Hu allowed him to leave tabs under the funeral parlor's name, but he wasn't as close to the Fatui harbinger as he was with Hutao. There was just something off about the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli. It didn't sit well with you at all.

"Either he has a thing for you or he's up to something. I'm sure of it."

The consultant stifled a chuckle. He was beginning to piece together the reason for your strange behavior lately. "Dear, I assure you that he is not interested in me in that way. Even if he were, I only have eyes for you."

"So you're just going to let him keep chasing you?" You frowned. "You know, I can spoil you too."

"Hm.... Where is this competitiveness of yours coming from?" Zhongli mused.

"Isn't that why you're giving him so much of your time? Because he's opening his wallet for you?" You pointed out. That redhead was hogging too much of your lover's time. You wanted it back.

"The Fatui have agreed to pay for Rex Lapis's Rite of Parting. I've been given a considerable sum to purchase all the necessities for the rites and to cover any expenses arising from the preparations, with the remaining funds to keep. So yes, if you must put it that way, he is indeed giving me his wallet to spend as I please."

"I might not be the Northland Bank, but I can buy you nice things too."

"I'm sure you can, my sweet." Zhongli stroked your cheek, distracting you momentarily. "I may only be a mere funeral consultant, but I too find it rewarding to spoil the one I treasure in pleasantries. If the Northland Bank wishes to further subsidize my spending, I shall not decline if it will allow me to do so."

"I don't know if I like the idea of my lover having a sugar daddy." You tried to keep a straight face as you said this.

"A sugar... daddy?" Zhongli's brow went up again. He understood the two words but put together, they obviously meant something he was not yet exposed to.

"A sponsor, but you have to entertain them romantically."

"I have no intentions of entertaining anyone but you in that sense." Zhongli chuckled as leaned in close, breath tickling your skin.

You begrudgingly accepted his kiss and his carefully placed touches.

"I want a pair too." You panted when his lips finally parted from yours.

"Very well. I will pay the shop a visit tomorrow morning to ensure a new pair of chopsticks will be made ready in time for your birthday. I will make a reservation at the Liuli Pavillion as well. If there is anything else I need to do to put your frustrations behind you, pray tell. I cannot stand that constant pout on your face." Zhongli grumbled, but it only made you giggle uncontrollably with the way he was nuzzling your neck while he spoke.

"Spoil me good tonight and maybe I'll consider letting you off the hook." You challenged.

"You test me."

Zhongli hummed in satisfaction, wasting no time in scooping you up in his arms and whisking you away to your bedroom amidst your feigned protests. If anything good came out of your pouting, it was his willingness to please. The consultant was on his knees, doing everything in his power to get back in your good graces.

[komoboko]

𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

ft: kokushibo Tsugikuni, douma hashibira, akaza soyama, demon!reader

I’ll probably make a pt 2 for the rest of the demons + the clones ! Banner by @mmadeinheavenn

# kokushibo ! ☆

KOKUSHIBO takes time to learn he adores you, he starts off with simple admiration. He attempts to convince himself he's just inspired by your talents, your strengths and your skills. He'll even attempt to train or spar with you as his body hopes to get close it you but his mind tries to deny it.

Surprisingly, Kokushibo can be the most self aware about his feelings, once he finally brushes off the denial stage he actually understand how he feels about you. He's been in love during his years as a human, he thinks he knows how to go about this.

Kokushibo is a very traditional man, his skills and knowledge of love are centuries old but he will still go about it the same way he does as a human. He'll watch from afar seeming to get to know you in silence before going after you face to face. He starts off as some sort of admirer of some sort, gifting you roses in secret seems to be his favorite tactic.

Once he's able to approach you face to face, he'll put up an act per say. Trying to get you to like his presence claiming Muzan wants him to train you, in reality he just wants to be close to you. Take in your presence until he finds the comfort into charming and courting you into adoring him as well.

# douma ! ☆

Poor people who are apart cult, because DOUMA is insufferable when he falls in love. While you can’t directly blame the demon as he never experienced such emotions. Even so, he annoys one to many people around him.

Douma ask one too many questions once he finally begins to feel something. His questions are oddly specific and he spits so many out like rapid fire. Some people may not even understand what he's trying to explain, as his descriptions are so abnormal. Don't be mad, he just has so many questions! He needs to know how he feels! He needs to know how he feels for you!!

"Is it normal to feel like the phrase where a certain insect is in your stomach?" or "What do i do when my cheeks rise above the 32 degrees Fahrenheit and become a shade of pink" once he saw a couple in his cult kiss and had bugged them with so many questions.. "what did you both just do with each other? Why do I yearn to do that with name as well?

he clings onto much more then he would originally. He complain once you have to go do missions and will try to accompany you no matter what. the only time you will get some peace is if muzan calls upon one of you. Even then he'll whine having to depart from each other even if its only for a couple of minutes. He's attached to you by the hip, at one point you're going to be annoyed by his antics. if the people in his cult are right about what he feels about you. Maybe being close to you will make you adore him?

# akaza ! ☆

At first AKAZA finds you as a nuisance. His mind tries to push you out of it but he can't help how you invade his thoughts and he can't get his mind off of you! It's not his fault your so intoxicating!

At first, he distances himself from you as he believes your the main problem. he's supposed to be focused on become the strongest and training himself to achieve his goal. he shouldn't be focused on the thought of being by your side and the chance to hold your hand! It's only then when he comes to his senses to realize he's fallen in love with you.

Once he realizes that distancing himself from you isn't the right way to go, he'll approach you.. slowly. It only starts from his commenting on your blood demon art, them commenting on your fighting skills. He even asks for inspiration or for guidance which is something he never say a word about around any other demon. It takes him a while to open up to you and actually begin to fluently have a conversation with you. Once he does get there, you've sure earned a place in his heart.

Douma bugs him about this, he never hears the end about it once the uppermoon knows. He'll pester Akaza about anything about you knowing it gets under his skin, he'll even go as far as to bother you about it. This only lands Douma a missing jaw and an embarrassed Akaza

[kentopedia]

carefully, i was going to live

FEATURING. past nanami kento x f!reader, gojo satoru x reader — wc: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and gojo realize you share the same kind of pain.

CONTENTS: shibuya arc / jjk s2 spoilers, death, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts, references to disordered eating, implied satosugu, platonic gojo x reader, anger, angst, gojo isn’t sealed

note: reader & gojo’s relationship for the future is up to your interpretation. title is from a mitski song <3

The world was bleak outside your window.

With November came the death of all things beautiful. The trees grew barren, flowers wilted into dreary puddles, the sky turned a muddy shade of grey, and your house transformed into a tomb.

It was almost evening now. The streets were busy with people commuting home from work, children skipping along sidewalks after a tedious day at school. Each expression became the epitome of human nature, and through all their ups and downs, there they stood, alive.

You blinked at the scene, just enough to wet your eyes, trying to ignore the spiteful hatred that bubbled up in you against cheerful strangers.

When the women had a smile on their faces, your mind easily morphed them into miserable frowns, weaved a story of how their partners treated them terribly. Children’s loud giggles turned into wretched cries, sobs from spoiled complaints of not getting their way. Men’s casual conversations on their cell phones became a long-winded rant of how their job was slowly destroying them.

There wasn’t anything left for you in the world but misery. It should only be fair that other people received the same.

Perhaps that was an evil thought, but you didn’t care. The bed was cold, and it had started to smell of something awful from the sheets that housed your own grime and sweat. You shivered, bundling yourself up in the blankets more.

An ache increased in your stomach before it grumbled, breaking the silence. Though, it suppressed its own pleas, knowing better than to suspect sustenance after so many evenings of emptiness. Over and over, you ignored your hunger, a part of you hoping that your body would begin to devour itself from the inside out.

Perhaps, then, you’d finally achieve the peace that you’d been longing for.

From the world inside your mind, Kento scolded you, begged you to pull yourself out of the darkness that you’d crawled into. He’d be unhappy, that much was certain. One look at your unkempt hair would put a crease between his eyebrows. He’d recoil at the piled trash that you’d been too exhausted to take out.

Still, you knew better than to believe he’d be anything but kind about it. Stern, maybe, but uncompromising words would never leave his lips without soft eyes and a sad smile.

You swallowed down the nausea that erupted from within you, and buried yourself deeper into the pillow, wishing the couple in the distance would cease their affectionate embrace.

A tear collected on your lash line.

For a moment, you let yourself fall into the painful peace of delusion. A phantom touch rested on your skin, comforting fingertips dancing along your hip. Kento Nanami’s love pressed into every subtle graze. Please. Let me help you.

His voice was raspy, unfamiliar, and you wondered if you were starting to forget the sound of it, the exact inflection of his words, even though you listened to his painfully short inbox message every day, replayed the voicemails he left you more often than music.

A dry sob forced its way up, though no sound released as you squeezed Kento’s pillow tighter, digging your nose into the cotton. You were desperate for his lingering scent, but it had been two weeks since he’d been killed, and there was nothing left of him.

Still, you sprayed his old cologne on every surface, left everything as he had, and pretended that he was still around.

Grief hugged you tight, trying to embody the embrace that Kento had once given you. You didn’t hear the knock at your front door, muffled from two rooms away and the constant swirl of your heartbroken musings.

No one had visited you in two weeks. Itadori had tried, but you’d screamed far too cruelly at him, even though he was just a kid, and none of this was his fault. The list of guests had been shortened since then.

You didn’t blame them.

Someone said your name, though it was distant, and it was easy to chalk it up to your imagination. Though, the plea became a whisper through a grisly storm, then a scream over the fierce winds in an attempt to reach you.

You opened your eyes, shifting to face the noise. 

Satoru Gojo stood at the edge of your bed, his large frame towering over you with every ounce of power he’d been born with, his slack jaw unable to hide his horror at the mess you’d made of yourself. Blindfolded eyes flicked across the room, then, his lips curled into a grimace.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said. Another sound but your own breath was so unnatural in the stale room. It took you far too long to understand him.  

You blinked back once, before rolling over to return your attention to the window once more, the scene beyond it still playing like a television series. Kento had always hated that your bedroom had a view of the city, some illusion of privacy gone now that he could see the world outside. Though, it was the only thing you could be grateful for now, as that square panel of glass became your salvation.  

“Sorry.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. You weren’t sure when you’d used it last. “Phone’s dead.” It had been for days. The slender device rested useless on your nightstand, and you wondered how many people had died since Kento; jujutsu sorcerers didn’t stop fighting just because you had.

Gojo shuffled around the room. You peered over your shoulder to see him sliding the charger into your phone, the screen lighting up later with a bright logo and a ding.

“Everyone’s been calling.” His back was to you, muscles taut with exhaustion and strain. “There aren’t enough sorcerers. We’ve lost so many people.”

You tensed and considered blocking your ears, humming a song like a petulant child. No part of you wanted to hear about Jujutsu. Satoru Gojo could manage on his own, and you didn’t give a damn about saving the world anymore.

“I can’t help you,” you said, realizing just how true that was. There wasn’t an ounce of energy within your body.

Though you had let yourself rot, you had grand plans of finding a curse you could never defeat. You would never be strong enough in your current state, and that was alright. You just wanted to go out with some semblance of a purpose, as Kento had. Maybe that way, it wouldn’t feel so much like a suicide.

“I know,” Gojo sighed, and you waited a minute before he spoke again. “That’s not why I came.”

You breathed; the process was no longer subconscious. “Then why are you here?”

Gojo came around the bed to stand in front of you once more, so close that he blocked your view of the window. His icy irises had been revealed, somehow warning you just how serious he was about this intervention.

The laugh you couldn’t muster up came out in a shaky exhale. You weren’t scared of Gojo, and you certainly weren’t impressed by him enough to listen to whatever wisdom he wanted to bestow upon you.

“I just want to help my old friend.” A twinge of pity in his voice irritated you, even though it was warranted. The scene before him couldn’t evoke any sort of emotion except for pathetic despair. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No.” Your muscles were weak as you maneuvered your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I just don’t care. Not even Satoru Gojo can fix everything. I thought you’ve learned that by now.” It was cruel, you knew that, but you spat the words without regret, rolling onto your back.

The stiffness in your hips alleviated, and finally, he couldn’t pin you with his gaze. You could only imagine the way he’d flinched at your comment, wondering when the shy, sweet girl from his youth had become such a bitter woman.  

Your eyes glued to the ceiling, and you imagined Kento there beside you, staring at you with a wistful smile while you merely blinked up at the white walls.

Gojo said your name again. Then he was tugging on your arm, and the clench around your heart unfurled, bringing you away from the desperate fantasy.

“Look at me,” Gojo said, and his words were harsher, exasperated, and you realized he’d been talking this entire time, minutes of one-sided conversation flowing in one ear and out the other.

“No, Satoru,” you growled, trying to resist, even though you didn’t have the strength. He pulled you to a seated position easily, forcing you to look at him once more, and never let go of your wrist. “Get out of my house.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“Get out.”

“No.” Satoru stared at you, his eyes cold and unflinching, and for a moment, you realized just how fearsome he could be, why so many curses looked him in the eye and remembered that they didn’t stand a chance. Then, he blinked, and that image was gone, left with the picture of a broken man who had lost too many friends, and was trying not to lose you too. “You won’t talk to anyone; you won’t see anyone. You’re destroying yourself like this. I won’t let it go on any longer.”

The sympathy and disappointment in his voice disgusted you, and you recoiled with a renewed strength, slapping his hand away. “I don’t care if you want to be a hero now. You couldn’t help Kento, and you can’t help me. What good is being the strongest if you can’t even save the people that you care about?”

Gojo tensed, his jaw clenching like you’d slapped him across the face. That, at least, gave you some sort of satisfaction, even if it only lasted for a moment. A twinge of regret started, burning brighter and brighter until the weight of your comment came down on you.

There was a point to being angry at the world, to projecting your suffering onto strangers. They would never bear witness to every ounce of your misery. But Gojo had known you since you were a child, had cared about Kento too, and you were treating him no better than the curses that had killed the man you loved.

“Fine,” Gojo said more tersely. “I can’t help you. You have to want to help yourself, too.” He raked a hand across his face, revealing dark, purple circles, and sallow skin. The two of you were an ugly picture—the perfect personification of every struggle a jujutsu sorcerer could experience. “I just thought you’d want to know you still have a friend. Nanami and Haibara may be gone, and…” He looked away, mouth pulling down further. “Suguru, but I’m still here, you know?”

You swallowed, even though your lips were too parched to produce any saliva. They were cottony and stuck together as you spoke. “Don’t come back here, Gojo.” Though you swayed, lightheaded, you didn’t lay back down, only curled your knees into your chest, feeling small. “I don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore. I don’t want to remember any of it.”

Gojo hesitated, disappointed that his previous comment hadn’t hit as hard as he’d intended.

“What will you do, then?” he asked, his hands helplessly dangling by his side before he moved to sit beside you.

“Nothing.” The word felt like a punishment to say, even when that’s all you’d been doing, for days. Your life meant nothing anymore, so there was no point in trying. “I’ll forget I ever loved Kento Nanami and then I’ll disappear.”

Gojo’s face turned, his eyes narrowing, lips curling down. “No, you won’t.”

You almost came back with a childish retort—but it no longer seemed worth it. You turned back towards the window, wondering if it would rain soon. The sky looked like it might.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only person still alive who knew Nanami exactly as he was. There are people out there who cared enough about the both of you to not let you throw that all away.”

Guilt gnawed at you. Kento may not have ever respected Gojo for his decisions as a sorcerer, but deep down, he’d always known that he was a good man who tried to do right by everyone.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” you said, quietly at first, swallowing back the heavy emotions that weighed on you. Satoru watched you, never interrupting, though your pause was long and burdened. “I just want it to stop. It hurts so much, Satoru.”

“I know.”

“Everyone moved on like Shibuya never happened.” You twirled the ring around your finger as the heavy tears returned, ones that you’d thought had long been expelled. It seemed impossible that someone should be able to cry without end, yet, your grief was unrelenting, and your cheeks grew wet once more. “Everyone kept going, and I can’t do that. I can’t pretend like I didn’t lose my entire future. I’m never going to get married, Satoru. I’ll never be able to—”

You stopped, choked by your own emotions as a lump rose in your throat, sour like bile. It was the first time you’d said the words out loud. They tasted worse than they felt in your mind. You’d never be able to call Kento Nanami your husband.

Gojo’s eyes softened, and though he reached for you, you flinched away, swallowing over and over to bury your tears. Heaving breaths came, unsteady.

“Nanami wouldn’t want this for you.” It was cruel, too close to mockery to make you feel anything but anger.

You already knew that you were disappointing the man who loved you with every fiber of his being. The sight of you so weakened would wreck Kento, but you couldn’t get yourself to move out of the house. Not even when your skin yearned for a ray of sunlight, or your body screamed for something other than the stale convenience store snacks.

“Don’t say that. Kento’s not here anymore.” His name came out choked on your lips, the first time you’d said it since screaming it in misery. The word didn’t feel so much like love anymore. It was sorrow, wrapped into two tiny syllables. “What he’d want doesn’t matter.”

Satoru lowered his voice, treating you as fragile as you’d become, uncertain how to speak to someone who would never want to listen. “It does matter. He loved you so much.”

You covered your ears, squeezed your eyes shut. “Satoru, please. Stop it.”

“He’d want you to be happy—”

“I don’t care.” You spoke over his ramblings and pushed him away until you were certain he’d fall off the bed. Though, it did nothing to move him, strong and steadfast Satoru Gojo who would never be toppled. “You just don’t understand. I replay it over and over in my head, wondering why I wasn’t there, why you weren’t there.” You dropped your head in your hands, breathing into your palms like a paper bag. “It’s not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair.” Satoru said, the age-old cliché, a hand hesitant on your wrist. He was quiet when he said your name again. “I know how you feel.”

“No you don’t.” You slapped him away, even when he held strong, even when he let you see the anguish he usually hid away, let it erase the warmth from his expression.

You remembered dark long hair, kind brown eyes, a young man who had once held such a promising future. Two best friends that perhaps had been more, never sharing the secrets of their ill-fated bond.

“No, you don’t.”

Gojo was scooting closer, pulling you into his arms, the embrace tight, protective.

He was serious and sullen in a way that you hadn’t seen since Geto died. Gojo was a master at veiling his emotions in laughter, but it seemed now that your own emptiness was reflected back at you, the sheer desire to stop existing all at once.

“I know it better than anyone.” Nothing more than a whisper. The tears were too heavy and hot; there was nothing you could do to stop them. “You’re not alone.”

You were quiet for a moment, then another, before everything that you’d been feeling for the past two weeks crashed upon you like a wave, drowning you, and you were unable to breathe, clinging to Gojo like he was the only thing holding you above water.

You’d known Kento for ten years. You’d been strangers, friends, lovers parted by death before either of you had turned thirty, and though you weren’t the only person who had lost someone in Shibuya, you felt like the only one who was too weak to recover from it.

“Satoru.” Your voice broke. “I don’t know how to live without him.”

Gojo smiled. “You find a way.” Said so confidently, a man who’d been through it all before, and your heart shattered with sobs that came out uncontrollably, soaking Satoru’s shoulder.

Desperately, you clawed at his back, wishing you could wear his skin as a protective shield, could tear his heart out of his chest and trade it for your own, if only to gain an ounce of his strength. He held you tight in his arms, but nothing about him was the same, right down to the very blue eyes that had lost all their arrogance. Both had dimmed, and even the infinity within them seemed to end.

He didn’t smell like Kento, didn’t feel like Kento—but no one else had comforted you since he’d died, so you let him. Satoru kissed your forehead with an affection you’d already forgotten, reminding you to move on.

You never would.

[portgasdwrld]

Hello! I read older posts where you mentioned you weren't a fan of your writing. I think you're awesome though! Love your work. c:

I have a suggestion, if you happen to like it. Could we get Zoro (and any other characters) with a shy and aloof female reader who can't figure out they're being flirted with, even though they share the same feelings?

👩🏻‍💻Hey!! Thank you so much for your sweet words it means a lot to me🫶🏻✨ I’m super happy you love it! And yes ofc no problem!! I love the idea 🤭

📂 Zoro+ oblivious shy/aloof reader to his flirting

Featuring: Zoro+ f!reader Warning: none, fluff Note: I rewrote it and very much prefer this version, I hope you do as much as me

Zoro was never the type of man to be outspoken about his feelings

His flirting is somewhat a bit clumsy and he gets frustrated with himself easily. He gets embarrassed by being open with how he feels.

It doesn’t help when you are clearly not reading in between the lines...

He even wonders if you are doing it intentionally to mess with him, but when you just give him a confused look or go on about your day like nothing happened, he questions himself 😭

A sigh leaves the swordsman's lips as his back leans against the railing of the deck. His thoughts wander and they always come back to one thing bothering him: you.

He starts to doubt himself as most of his flirting attempt were fails. A week ago, he complimented your outfit ,but you simple threw a short thanks with a smile as you walked away. Wednesday when he sat next you for dinner and brushed his arm against yours, you just apologized with a blush and slightly took your distance. Yesterday, when he asked to talk to you, but you stuttered a bunch of words and got away from him by grabbing Nami's arm.

He knew better than abandoning. In fact, ever since his feelings for you were revealed to him, all he could think of, was you. You occupied his mind when it wasn't focused on training, he found himself longing to hug you and smile when you do. Although, he thought about not pursuing you, scared it would ruin his focus on his goal. It was in vain, as he realized you were always very supportive of his goal and even cheered him to train harder and achieve his dream. He appreciate it a lot.

The sun is slowly setting on the Sunny, the golden light illuminating the boat. He looks far away, a hand on his swords and his head turns in your direction as your laugh echoes through the ship.

You are playing a card game with Robin, killing time before its time for supper.

His lips naturally curve into a discreet smile as he observes you complain about some move Robin did. You were accusing her of cheating with her ability, sulking over your lost as she quickly denies it with a chuckle. As he watches you, he notices that you did something different with your hair and decide to use it to his advantage.

He approaches you with his usual blank expression, but he slightly hesitate in his steps which caught Robins attention. You smile noticing his presence.

-What brings you here! Wanna play?

You ask him as you show him quickly the pack of cards in your hands with your infamous grin.

-Nah, I’m good. You..you did something new with your hair?

-Oh, yeah! You noticed? Robin said it looked good.

You reply in an excited tone as you touch your hair.

-Yeah, you’re pretty.

-Thanks! I appreciate it

You say with a slight blush due to the compliment, but an awkward silence falls. Zoro stays silent for a moment as he thinks of what he could ad to the conversation but you open your mouth first.

- By the way,..umm I'm sorry about yesterday, i hope it wasn't something important?

You trail avoiding to stare at him as you remember how you embarrassingly ran away too nervous to talk to him. When he pulled you to the side, his eyes staring deeply into yours, you felt like you couldn't breath for a moment. You didn't want him to obviously figure out you like him...

Robin gazes at Zoro before looking at you a small teasing smirk appearing on her lips.

-Oh...Yeah...I was hoping to talk to you, but...uh.

He says as his face gets red. He clearly hates the facts that Robin is here enjoying the little show while you are still oblivious to his advances.

-It can wait

-We can talk now if you want. We were done with our game anyway.

-I have to do something first, but you can meet me in the crow-nest in about 5 minutes?

He lies trying to give himself some time to think about what he's going to say. You nod agreeing with your usual smile that he loves so much.

-Alright then see ya

You watch him leave, curious about what he wants to speak with you. You shrug your shoulders ready to leave too, but Robin is looking at you with a small teasing smirk.

-What?

-Nothing~

She retorts sweetly before waving you off.

++++

The dark sky slowly sets over the head of the Strawhats as the delicious smell of the food fills everyone nostrils. You enter your room to put away your card and as you are about to leave, you take a moment to breath. You didn't notice how nervous you are until you felt your breath getting a little shaky.

Arrived at the location, you open the door and see him sat not too far from the window. He’s looking away but as he notices your presence, he invites you to sit besides him.

-The food smells good

You say breaking the silence. He nods and looks outside again. At around the same moment, an insect fly inside and run directly in your face, making you panic a little. Zoro is quick to catch it and throw it away, making sure you are fine at the same time.

-You’re okay?

-Yeah, it’s just a small insect, I'm good.

-Wait

He gets closer to you and clumsily fix your hair with the use of his fingers.

-Cool

He concludes with a small satisfied smile as he finishes placing your hair. You look up at him with a blush, eyes connecting with his. Zoro clears his throat as he leans back while you stare at your nervous fingers. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you stare now at your friend.

-So, what did you want to talk about?

You see him hesitate as he opens his mouth but close it quickly. His gaze shift from you to the view outside. He sighs and with a blush spread on his tanned cheeks, he finally speaks.

-I like you

Your eyes widen at his sudden confession, not expecting this at all. You furrow your eyebrows as your hand naturally covers your pounding heart.

-What??Since when!?

You ask completely confused. He chuckles a little astonished to your true shock to his confession. You really didn't notice his flirting tactics.

-I thought I made it obvious

-No?? How??

-Uh...with compliments.

-Zoro...

-I don't compliment anyone like the cook, I genuinely think you are pretty.

You gasp a little hiding your face in your hands, half of you not believing this is real and half of you realizing the cause of his strange behavior. You let your hands fall on your laps as you giggle.

-You're so bad at flirting

You joke to try to calm yourself down. Both of you start laughing as he admits it with a nod.

-You are so dense though

-Pfff, not at all

-You clearly can't take a hint

-Wha-

-Y/N SWANNNN, It's time to eat!

You are interrupted by Sanji's scream that startle you a little.

-Look like dinner is ready

Zoro concludes as he prepares himself to stand up, but you quickly grab his forearm pulling him down. You close the distance and give him a quick kiss on his cheek. He looks at you surprised, but he slowly start to smile.

-I like you too

[idyllcy]

heard the risk is drowning, but i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: it is just admiration. it should get you nowhere (surely?)

It’s a bright day in summer when you first meet Leon Scott Kennedy.

Titled one of the best knights in the academy with an unparalleled aura, you can only observe from the distance during the few times you stop by for the crown prince. Sir Leon Scott Kennedy, knight of the royal legion, best knight that the academy had to offer. You seemed to pale in comparison to him. What use is it to excel in multiple talents when you love none? You find the passion that bleeds from every cell of his body to be far more attractive then the thousand accomplishments you have achieved. If you are honest, not many of them are even accomplished by you. Most of the accomplishments hooked under your name have been done by those around you, other that of the title of Grandmaster. Nobles will never have to work as hard as the commoners when it comes to receiving titles.

When you pass him in the hallway, he does not stop. You do, however.

You stop to stare, watching as he walks off, the aura from his swordsmanship breathtaking, your eyes brimming with excitement as you pass him. Had you been completely honest, you would have let your father know that you do not wish to be crown princess. Rather, you'd like to be the duke on its own, and you would like the liberty of marrying whomever you wish.

And truthfully? You would have told your father you'd wish to marry Sir Leon.

How childish of you, though.

So you turn on your heel, stepping away from Leon, sure that even if you were to proclaim your admiration for him, it would end up nowhere. So, you bury your beating heart, footsteps battering against the marble as you rush to make your next class. Sir Leon could stay a childish crush. You have no time to entertain such thoughts of infidelity. You belong to the nation — to the crown prince. That is your role as the future duke, so that is the role you shall keep.

Your friends dream of marrying knights, they dream of getting whisked away into the sunset on a horse, and you are stuck listening and not joining as they do, a smile that holds everything back, holding everything back from breaking a dam of emotion, knowing that even if you were to entertain such thoughts, you would not get to experience it. You are not in a position where the luxury of marriage is something you can hope and cling to.

"And the princess?"

"I have not the luxury."

"Surely you have considered a candidate."

You look down at the tea which you hold up perfectly, and you close your eyes. "A knight as well, perhaps."

"She talks of Sir Luis!"

"Surely she talks of Sir Leon!"

"I beg to disagree. The crown prince is a knight."

The other two girls groan, and you offer them none else but a smile.

You wonder if it is a choice to just bring it up to your father — that you wish not to be wed to the crown prince. The role of crown princess is not an easy position to hold, and there is none else in the nation that is more suited for the role than you. You are told that from start to finish, and you are more certain of it than anyone. Yet, yet the opportunity arises when a new scholarship student stumbles right into the crown prince's arms at coronation, and a hypothetical shot is wedged into the crevices of the crown prince's heart. You know that look of adoration more than anyone. The crown prince has fallen.

He may not be aware of it, but you keep it in the back of your mind.

The rumors floating around only seem to further solidify your point.

"Princess."

"My fiancé is out frolicking in the field with some commoner girl, I am aware." You hum happily at the taste of the tea, and the girls at your table fret.

"Do you not worry?"

"What if that witch steals her from you!"

"There is none else more suitable for the position of crown princess than you, your highness."

"Mm." You hum. "Well, if push comes to shove, there is nothing I can do about it. I shall only see how it unfolds with time."

It unfolds messily with time. The crown prince keeps you as the crown princess yet declares that he would have none else but his pretty commoner lover as his queen, and you hear left and right all about how foolish the prince has become. You care not for their words, and even when you are slandered for not being a proper crown princess. They would never understand the weight of the title, so you don't take any of their words to heart. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil.

You listen to the crown prince on the mandatory dates from the emperor, doing your assignments as he brings along the commoner girl to flirt back and forth, and when the crown prince is told to leave the girl immediately, the crown prince fights and argues that he loves not you, but the woman in his arms at all times. You give not a reaction, opting to watch the expressions of the commoner instead, watching as he chews on her thumb when the emperor turns to ask of your opinion.

"Your royal majesty, with all due respect, I too would appreciate the breaking of the engagement. It is damaging to the reputation of the duchy for me to wed with a man who commits adultery." You argue. "My duchy has been known for purity. It would anger the gods."

You believe in no god, but the emperor does, and you are told he will consider it.

"What sick ploy are you playing this time, woman!" The crown prince accuses you, finger pointed in your direction, and you raise a brow.

"Ploy? Your highness, you know better than anyone that the white of my duchy represents purity. How am I to still be the heir if my own fiancé can not stay pure? You want the commoner to be a princess, do you not?"

"I know your lackeys have been targeting her behind my back!"

You blink at the crown prince, trying to recall all of the news that you had heard.

"She fell down the stairs herself."

"Your lackey poisoned her tea!"

"The tea was simply hot? You are to blow or stir before you drink." You blink. "And bring up not the deal of her dress being ruined. That was because she had angered a girl from the gardening club by ruining her precious daisies to pick them for you, Your Highness. She is a student with a scholarship, she is not stupid."

"You are simply jealous."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"Your Highness, I wish not to marry you." You turn on your heel, door to the throne room opening, your heart lodging into your throat as you stare up at the one who had the displeasure of pulling the door the same time you push.

"Sir Leon." You nod.

"Princess."

You leave him behind you, embarrassed that the knight had to see you in such an agitated state.

Good heavens.

Instead, you are caught by the wrist, Leon's breath slightly heavier as you blink at him.

"Are you... alright, princess?"

"Yes." You force.

"Positive?"

"Yes, Sir Leon." You muster up a smile.

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

"Y..es." You nod, rushing off, fighting the embarrassment that has replaced your agitation. Oh, god. Oh, goodness. Leon? Sir Leon the knight himself? Telling you that he is there if you are in need of assistance? Is this what it feels to be a maiden who is free of the burden of a betrothed? You must be dreaming. There is no way the knight would know of you or even develop such strong feelings for you. Yes, this must be a dream. After all, there is no way the knight could know of you.

You receive the news that someone new has joined the ranks of the dukedom's knighthood, and your heart soars at the news that it's none other than Sir Leon. It makes your heart full, and you blink back every ounce of foolery as you report to your father, notifying him of the new knight in the knighthood, watching as he furrows his brows and hums. Your excitement is hardly concealable, a sparkle present in your eye not there previously.

"Sure it is not for a chance to court you?"

"With full certainty." You assure him. There's no way he would join a rank just to approach you. "Has the emperor responded?"

"That old bastard is still thinking." Your father grumbles. "At this rate, you might as well start looking."

Yet, you stop by the training grounds in the academy, arguing with the general that it is for "moral support" as though the moral support you were offering was not simply just to get a peek at Sir Leon. Surely it is not a sin? Your engagement may not have been broken off yet, but it stops you not from starting to eyeball people. It just so happens that the people you eyeball include a certain knight, and it just so happens that said knight would make a great personal knight. Perhaps it is a little selfish, but you are in the right. Who knows what the royal family will do in order to tarnish your reputation now that you have requested the breaking of your engagement?

"Sir Leon, was it?" You greet the knight in the hall, and he bows.

"Young duke."

"Dare I make a suggestion?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Then, please excuse my rudeness." You dare not to look anywhere but his eyes when you ask. "May I propose that you become my personal knight?"

You watch as Leon goes quiet, and you panic.

"Are you opposed to it?"

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear the only one who rivals your swordsmanship is me." You reason. Surely he would not turn you down?

You find that he thinks of another way out.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself? A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea." You bow. "If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

You turn on your heel, nodding at him before sprinting down the hall. You shall attain this. You shall make Leon your personal knight, even if it tarnishes your name. There is none else you trust as much as you do with the knight, and his loyalty lies with you, even if he may claim the opposite. You shall convince the duke to let you have the young knight, and you shall stay by your knight's side, foolishly enamored with him. Your role in the narrative is shifting, so it is only fair that you take advantage of such a point.

"Father."

You make a convincing argument, and it takes only one incident in which you are stabbing through the jugular of an assassin for your father to agree to let you take in a personal guard, one that would stick close and act as a ghost. In the academy, they would be a friend, and at night, a ghost to haunt your room, clearing out any and all threats. You suggest Sir Leon just for reference, and your father takes your word. You do not expect him to take you so seriously, but you are sure your father has his reasons.

"He excels in stealth." The duke agrees. "We may use him for the time being. The crown prince is wary to be on his bad side as well, quite fortunately for you."

You hide the giddiness that you can only describe as an enthusiasm previously unknown to you. How exciting. To be in the vicinity of the man you admire? The man who deserved the title of Grandmaster just as you did? You swoon at the thought, barely catching any sleep in your dorm as a result, rubbing your eyes in the morning when you get ready. The seems to be brighter, and the blue of the sky shines brilliantly. Even when the door to your dorm is knocked on, it only adds to your anticipation.

You let Leon in while adjusting your tie. It is not indecent for you to do so, you believe.

"Princess."

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes."

Leon pauses, and you take it as a chance to explain why you had needed a knight. It was relatively well known that you were a capable knight, but the recent attempts on your life was not out yet. It would be damaging to the royal family, so the emperor had your father keep it on the low. You found it pointless, but it was not your place to question. You were simply wishing that your engagement would be broken off quicker.

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see." You pause to think about it. Perhaps that was a little blunt of you.

"...Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me." You sigh. "It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much."

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I cannot, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used?" You frown at yourself in the vanity mirror. "That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess."

You purse your lips in amusement, holding back a laugh.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." You laugh, hitting the loose powder off.

"I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You finish up, smiling at Leon as you start towards the door.

You find it interesting to have a personal knight. Leon sticks by you at all times, watching you even when he is not next to you, and it feels a lot like having an overgrown puppy by you at all times. You're sure the duke would disagree, but you can't help but think that it doesn't feel nearly as invasive as you thought it would be. You tell Ashley about it, to which she whispers back that she is sure that granted you are allowed the engagement to break, you should pursue the knight (it earns her a light smack on her arm to which she fakes a whine over). Ada offers you the same advice, lip quirked up in amusement when you flush impossibly warm and fan your face, telling them both that it would be impossible. You dare not dream of it until you are in a position to do so.

"Surely you find him attractive, though?" Ashley tries. "I have not the luxury of looking at others, but it is not infidelity to call someone else attractive."

"I suppose he is." You mumble.

"You'll be single soon. There is not a soul in the academy that does not know you wish to break the engagement." Ada hums. "It will be fun."

"I am sure it will." You mumble. "It'll be—"

Ada grabs the back of your chair and pulls, sending you back as you watch water splash and steam where you had been sitting. You don't react much to what happens next, Ada's sword out and Leon's name called as the girl is tackled to the ground by your knight, all of which happens too quickly. When you turn to glance at Ashley, she's got a visible frown on her face, which you can only assume has to do with the commoner girl her brother's decided to covet.

"Princess?"

Leon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you sigh. This girl was by no means foolish, so why did she insist on playing the role of the antagonist all for a crown prince that would not hold the crown once your engagement would be broken off? It mattered not to you anymore. It is not your problem to consider. This girl was losing herself all over a man — one that was not even worth the time.

"She tried pouring hot water on me." You place a hand on Ada's shoulder, stepping past her and next to Leon as you smile at the girl. "What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

You place a hand on Leon's shoulder, and he listens, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You smile. "Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see." You feign your disappointment. "I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

"You make it sound as though I will pass." Ada rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?"

"Please dine, kind knight." You smile. "I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

You settle into dodging traps and Leon standing in front of you for the next period of your life. The attempts only rack up with each time that your knight protects you, and you find it quite cowardish that the crown prince would resort to such tactics to have you tell your father you no longer wish to break off your engagement with the crown prince. It seemed the duke was starting to reconsider his decision of which prince to support. You wonder if you should tell your father that you'd much rather have another prince sit on the throne. He seemed to be listening to you much more.

"How have you been, princess?"

"The crown prince seems adamant of keeping me as his crown princess despite his beloved's pleas." You blow on the tea. "Quite selfish of him, if I dare say."

"Who would not want you as their betrothed? A duke's heir with the education of a crown princess. There is no one else quite near your standing."

"Except the princess." You smile, winking at Ashley as she shakes her head.

"An education for an empress is still different from that of a princess." Ashley shakes her head. "We all await the news of the breaking of your engagement."

"I do hope the emperor makes up his mind soon."

"As do I." Ashley presses the tea to her lips, and your eye twitches in annoyance as she spits it out, blood fresh on her tongue. "Good god."

You sigh, pushing your chair back as you call for Leon to take her to the infirmary, your knight furrowing his brows slightly before following your order. You have the rest of the ladies follow him since they serve both the princess and you, and you're left alone in the garden. You understand that it's for that exact reason Ashley was poisoned and not you, and so, by leaving you alone without a knight, it would make you a visible target. After all, what can a poor, frail princess do without her knight? Surely not much. Which is what would happen to every other noblewoman, but your father had the decency to hide your accomplishment as Grandmaster from the general public, so one could only imagine the surprise on the assassin's faces when you had casually unsheathed a blade from your thigh and stabbed one in the face.

Mother may be absent, but Father didn't raise no bitch.

You steal the blade of the original assassin before turning to face the other three, and you wonder when the last time you had gotten to let off some steam was. Well, you better thank that useless crown prince for sending you free stress relief during one of the worst months of your life, no doubt. You think the only situation that could put the month in second was when you first started posture training. Your first tutor was hell on earth to you. The thought of her alone is enough to make you sick. Had you known some girl would come and ruin all of your education for the crown, then you would have cared far less of how you carried yourself.

You take the third assassin down before Leon returns and takes care of the final one.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and you try wiping it from your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

His hand is rough against your skin as one cups your cheek and the other wipes, and you relish in the attention your knight gives you. You hum happily as you blink up at him, smiling as he clicks his tongue and wipes you clean. His fingers may be rough, but his tough is gentle, and when he finishes and pockets his handkerchief, you give him a polite nod to thank him for his help.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." You grin. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault." You huff.

The princess getting poisoned is enough to cause the emperor a migraine, and the crown prince's engagement with you is broken that very night. Your father had made a very convincing point or something, and the emperor had signed a contract to break it in public once the knighting competition was complete. To the public, you are still the crown princess, but to the private, you are free. Sure, you are expecting the assassination attempts to slow, but much like the annual knight competition of the best knights in the empire, it never quite stops. That very night, you awake to a bloody Leon at the foot of your bed, catching his breath as the room reeks of blood, and you blink slowly.

He looks as though he is praying to a saint — as though he is praying to you.

"Did I wake you?"

Even now, your heart flutters at how he insists on making sure you are well.

"Knight, are you alright?" You reach for your handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for the knight to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand. Your heart races at his affection, daring not to move.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright. Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright."

"Rest on the couch, my knight." You whisper, stepping out of bed and through the blood to help him lay down, sitting on the one next to it, watching both the window and the door until the magicians come in. Your knight seemed to have taken care of all of them, so you thank the magicians that come in and repair the broken forcefield that should have been activated in your room. You warn them not to make the same mistake, calling in a maid to help clean up the knight without moving him, watching the prince as you settle for sleeping on the couch opposite to his, the two of you out until the morning.

"Princess, you'll be late to class."

Your knight's voice wakes you from your slumber, and you roll to face the wall of cushion rather than your knight, who leans above you and forces you to open your eyes to get a full view of him. That wakes you. Perhaps it is the information that you are no longer betrothed to anyone, or the fact that something awakened in you after seeing your very own knight bloody with the red of the people after you, but that causes you to jolt up in the couch, pulling at your nightgown to cover yourself, startling Leon as your forehead nearly knocks his chin. Your knight is attractive. You can't believe you forgot and it took him being bathed in literal blood for you to remember.

"My apologies, princess. You were not stirring."

"..." You stare down at yourself and then at Leon, groaning. "I need to change."

"Of course."

You need to see Sir Leon naked— who said that. What in heaven's name were you saying? That's preposterous. You're the heir of a dukedom, not some teenage girl who's got some crush on her own knight... well, you take those words back. You are. The whole reason you had wanted Sir Leon to guard you was because you looked up to him, after all. You may be the same age as him, but it did not mean that you were as mature as him. Surely you need to go back to training over such preposterous thoughts.

Yet, you act not upon it. Your father tells you he'll have you select your own betrothed this time, under the circumstance that he is of a noble family. You wonder if your father seems to have understood that you found Sir Leon attractive, but it was not as if you would ever act upon those feelings. You have a role to uphold, and it just so happens that Leon would not fit into the narrative that you are left in. Perhaps he would be titled as a noble if he were to reach the title of grandmaster like the other knights. It would be a worthy effort if he decides to do so.

The death of twelve assassins by the hand of your knight is more than enough to scare the rest of the threats. You're grateful you get to go back into a relatively normal life, and you're even more grateful to get to return home rather than stay in that awful dorm. The freedom to go in and out at will was preferred to your education in the academy. You wish you had the luxury of graduating with Ada, but you have not the choice. If you graduate early, it only means you would have to start taking over the matters of the dukedom, and you preferred a boring education to that.

"Are you all packed, princess?"

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

You nod slowly, thanking the maids for their service as the butler brings everything to your carriage.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?" You try to make conversation with Leon. You have a feeling that he had been trying to keep a distance from you since that night. Was he tired? Maybe he found that it was too hard to guard you after taking out so many assassins. You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for Leon to give you an answer. Perhaps you should let him go? He might not want to guard you specifically, but moreso the duchy. "Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?"

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times." You scratch your cheek.

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease."

You take his hand and step into the carriage with a nod of gratitude.

"You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic." You laugh, sure that your cheeks are warm, heart warmer in your chest at how sweet he is.

You wonder if he is like this with everyone.

Yet, you afford not the luxury of romance, stuck staring out the window as you brainstorm over which nobleman to be engaged to instead. Not many people would covet you, yet it would be a shame for the bloodline to end with you. Your father had not been fortunate to have a son, and your mother had passed before she could give him one. You wonder if it truly would have worked out if you had become crown princess. Perhaps the dukedom would be given to a distant relative, and your father's bloodline would have faded.

Does nobility truly matter to your father? Or was he only saying such a thing to keep up appearances? You wonder. Your father had married your mother for love, so you find it strange that he would force you to marry for legitimacy. A blood daughter is never worth as much as a son, huh? You're not legitimate enough, so it only was fair for you to wed and become someone even more powerful. Had your father wanted a son, you wonder why he had not just decided to marry again and have his son.

Maybe if he had a son, you'd be able to run off and marry Sir Leon. Well, not that your knight would have let you do such a foolish thing.

It seemed like child's play to him, after all.

He follows you around the mansion for the most part, stuck by you whenever you are to finish certain tasks, management of the mansion something you're responsible for while your father lies in the capital by the academy. It isn't too much to handle, but it sucks the majority of your free day during the day away. You find no complaints. You prefer this a little more to teatime on the daily with the ladies. You wonder how your friends are doing. It's a shame that both Ada and Ashley are still in the capital. You can not even wander without an excuse now that they are gone.

Instead, you are cooped up in the duke's office, stuck signing papers and checking supplies, learning of the maids and hearing all about the latest gossip in the capital. The commoner girl was undergoing the crown princess training, and you have the privilege of hearing all about it when the maids dress you in the morning. It matters not to you. You no longer care all that much. The title of crown princess is no longer something that you must carry around when you are in private.

Though, the title of Young Duke is another tale.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. The stack seems as though it could swallow you whole. Truly, there seems to be no end to your work.

You grumble into your hands, starting at the top of the pile. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times." You sigh. "I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?"

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

You raise a brow. "Am I your princess, my knight?"

"Who else would be?"

You pause to consider. "Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell."

You sigh, going back to the paperwork. "I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade."

"Reasonable." You sigh. "Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight competition later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting competition, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of Grandmaster as well, no?"

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

You dare not tell Sir Leon that you'd like to get betrothed to him.

The thought alone is foolish, and it would occur only in your dreams. You admire the knight, but you are not selfish to the point that you would force the knight to become a grandmaster in order to betroth yourself to him. You're not that desperate, and you yearn not that much. Though, you find that you have already forced him to become your knight in a way, so maybe you are desperate enough. How saddening. Perhaps he found you annoying.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

You blink up at him in surprise, tilting your head as you pause. "If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

You run errands with Leon the next day, a quick upgrade to his sword given, and a change in dagger for you. The shop owner doesn't question anything much to your gratefulness, and you tell him to put it all on the family ledger. You know Sir Leon's gotten close to the title of grandmaster multiple times. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to win with a stroke of luck by fighting one of the weaker grandmasters, but you refuse to rely on luck when you feel as though you're tossing your future into the tournament.

If Leon doesn't come out victorious, then you'd have to find someone to actually get betrothed to.

The thought occurs when you are out, biting into your skewer as your knight scans the area for potential dangers. You could train him since you are a grandmaster, and it was not out of the question for grandmasters to have disciples and followers. If he were to come out victorious, it would be a boost to your name as well— oh, but goodness, this skewer was good. Oh, right, the issue of who he would train with.

The thought of your knight all sweaty tempts you, blue eyes under a sun-kissed back, hair glowing gold under the rays of light.

How dare you have such improper thoughts.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

You find that Leon doesn't have enough endurance... or whatnot. You find that he tires easily after swinging his sword unless adrenaline-fueled, and it would come to haunt him. If he fought Krauser or you, neither of you would be able to go easy on him. You're sure that Krauser might even go harder on your knight, so there was no such thing as overpreparation. You would simply prepare Leon to the best of your ability so that he would be able to fight with or without his ability.

You still wonder what it is occasionally.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as unbearable as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You hand the paper to your father's aide, and he rushes off with the last of the paperwork. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess. Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He mumbles, and you watch as he collapses onto the stone ground, heaving.

You glance down at Leon, blinking slowly as you wonder what has him so motivated. It should not matter that you must get engaged to a nobleman if he is only your knight, but perhaps something more? Perhaps he has cravings of the flesh. You would not care. Your purity had only mattered in the context of a successor so that you would not have bastard children, but if you have no engagement, then perhaps you would only have children that lack legitimacy.

You wonder if Sir Leon likes you with the same heart that you love him with. You are clear with yourself, but he is not clear with himself. Perhaps, you will be stuck waiting if you take too long, but you care not. If your knight wishes to hold a title, then so be it.

Krauser asked to be captain of the royal knights.

You wonder what Leon would ask for.

The two of you step onto the carriage, and your blade is carried with you, your paperwork done in advance so you can take a small break. You mention that your father was rushing you for marriage, shaking your head when Leon asks if you will give him a response. You talk to Leon after it, pondering over whether or not your training would truly help Leon at all. He had been busy with the commander of the duchy's knight as well, but you still worried. If you fight him, he would not last. Even if he fought Krauser, you wonder whether or not he would be able to hold him off.

Yet, it matters not to you, much of your early days in the arena made up of resting and discussing with the rest of the grandmasters. You watch from the seating area, tea served and dessert on your table alone, tossing biscuits to the rest of the knights as you watch people fight. It's always a thrill, but you find that there isn't much to look forward to this year. Leon takes out the vast majority of the early battles with ease, a knight's set of skills drilled into his body through the exhaustion of your training.

"Your pupil is one of them this year, no?"

"Sir Albert, I heard yours is as well."

"Well, it is a shame. He is not my pupil, but rather my comrade. It is always amusing when I remember that I work with regular knights."

"Do you believe he will be able to win?"

"He lacks the desperation your knight carries." He hums.

You look up as Krauser takes a cookie from your plate, glancing down at the knights in battle.

"Dame Ada did not participate?"

"She'll return next year." You hum. "She wanted a break from her duties."

"It is not easy to be a master, nonetheless. Most knights are satisfied with such a title."

"I heard your engagement will be broken in public after the tournament."

"Correct." You hum, staring down at another one of the family knights. "Oh, that one's made it quite far."

"And who will you wed with next?"

Your lip quirks upwards on one side, clicking your tongue as you smile and wave down at the knights. Ideally, you'd get betrothed to Leon once he wins the tournament, but you were not guaranteed that luxury, so you had already backlogged who would let you get away with the most as a noblewoman. You wonder if Sir Albert would consider you someone worthy.

"Sir Albert, perhaps?"

"I would not be against it."

You glance back down as Leon is declared as victor.

"I do not appreciate being a second choice, grandmaster."

You smile back at him. "Then pray my knight would win."

The remaining grandmasters join the three of you the next day, table much more lively when you grin and wave at everyone, dessert on the table finally shared. You're spared no questions regarding your knight, and you manage to avoid the majority of them. Leon had joined because you suggested it. There was truly no more to it. The topic of your removal from the title of crown princess was far more entertaining to the table. You don't mind it. If anything, it's a welcome topic.

"The emperor made the mistake of removing you after the ceremony and not before." Jill hums. "What if your knight wins? Swearing loyalty to you would imply that he is not swearing loyalty to the royal family."

"I'm surprised the royal family did not amend such an issue even after your knight had done the same." You hum.

"Well, they are always slow." She hums. "Especially with the crown prince."

"Thoughts on the new crown princess?"

"I did not understand why she had to take the role of antagonist in my life. I would have given her the title had she asked. Though, I understand her need to seduce the prince first. Truly, there is no other way."

"WIthout support from the ducal family, surely it shall become a battle for the crown once more."

"That is not to do with me. The crown prince had simply gotten too bold." You click your tongue.

"Your knight as progressed once more."

You stare down at Leon, smiling as you do.

"How long did he last against you?"

"Forty." You hum. "His longest was forty minutes of continuous fighting. Though, I have confidence that he will last longer if his opponent is also on the offensive."

"You are always the agitating one." Krauser clicks his tongue. "You exhaust and then feast."

"It is the thrill of the kill." You smile. "It is also for entertainment. I dare not to do so on the battlefield."

"Your loyalty lies with the princess, correct?"

"Yes." You nod. "I am fortunate to have chosen her. I fear, had I chosen the crown prince, I would have lost my life long ago."

"Well, it is always a welcome change."

By the latter half of the tournament, you have started warming up with the grandmasters in the training ground, clashes of blade loud as your body thaws the reflexes that you have honed over the years. You can not win against Sir Albert regardless of your own skill, so you settle for dodging his attacks until you can not, his exhaustion never visible. You're sure that if Leon were to fight him, he would have to break the blade rather than fight with endurance. Your title was received because you had defeated Krauser. You would not have received your title had your luck been on the lower side.

"You've improved."

You gasp for air, resting on your knees as you glance at the knight. "Sir Albert, you do not feel exhaustion from your ability. I dare not guarantee that anyone could win against you."

"Your knight's ability is blood, no?"

"I am not aware. I have never seen him use it."

"It does not work if there is no fresh blood. His ability is a final counter while fighting." Krauser mentions, bowing at Jill as she fetches water. "He has never been that desperate, though. I doubt he will use his ability. Focus on exhausting him."

"And your pupil?"

"My pupil must be exhausted."

"It seems that the goal is always to exhaust." You sigh. "Jill?"

"I am sure the knights are all hoping to fight you."

"Well, they better be ready to fight." You huff. "They'll be more exhausted than us when they finally compete for the title itself."

You spend the final day watching semifinals, learning all of the knights' moves and calculating how you would have to fight each one. You are automatically voided from people that Leon would have to fight to avoid bias and going easy, so you settle with drawing sticks with the rest of the team, drawing again when you pick up Leon's stick on accident. To the vast majority of the arena, it would seem that you all are discussing, but you knew better. There was no discussion if it was truly just pulling out sticks to determine who would fight who.

The title of grandmaster was truly a title of luck oftentimes.

When you draw a knight from another ducal house, you find that you'll be fine. You have warmed up to your blade, and it has become an extension of your body, moving with you naturally as you prepare for your fight. You were last, so it would be understandable that your opponent would have plenty of recovery time from the battles of the previous day, but you understand that it would still be harder than usual. You hope to make it quicker than the previous times.

Your goal is to simply exhaust the knight.

Your battle is last, a gentle nod is all you give before your opponent charges at you, the knight swinging his blade and kicking for your legs as you swing over him, ducking as he thrust his blade, kicking upwards from the ground to force him backward and retrieve your blade. You take two steps back to avoid the next swing, blade meeting his on the third, holding the sword up as the knight stumbles back from your strength.

Was Leon watching? You hope he was. You had spared no effort to fight him, but you had overwhelmed him by the end of it. You do not feel that same exhaustion yet, but you keep an eye on the time. Under an hour was perfectly fine. Even when you feel your wrist crack from the strength, you just shake it back into place, taking two steps back and to the side, spinning and forcing the blade to twist. You land on the ground with a thud, aiming to split the blade to end the fight, but your opponent manages to take it at the last minute.

You check the time.

Fifty minutes.

You take a further two steps back, heart hammering in your chest as you flip backward, forced into the wall.

You have to recover. You must start fighting.

The wall is hard against your sole as you boost over the knight, taking the chance to kick at his helmet, forcing it into the wall as you take the moment to breathe.

Two.

Three.

The next swing is blocked out of instinct, and you breathe, ability causing the knight to blink twice.

Finally.

Your blade loses its visibility, and you change to the offensive. You must wear down your opponent, swing after swing after swing as you feel the knight's knees weaken, no longer able to hold his ground against your swings. His knees give out and he falls to the ground, blade dug into the dirt as he heaves, eyes wide and then closed, breathing labored as he struggles to get back up. You glance up at the timer to read the time aloud like you are to. The knight has made it impressively far.

"You have made it to the fifty mark." You hum. "You are too exhausted to continue. The journey to knighthood is not done overnight. Congratulations on reaching so far."

The knight takes your hand as you help him up, and he bows.

You step to the back, tended by the medics before you must make a return to the stage. You sit still as your wounds are tended to, gentle glow of green on your skin as the soreness is cast out from your body. It's still something you aren't used to, but you don't have much of a choice when this is the role you play. You're let go of only when you are free of all wounds and scratches, and you join the remaining grandmasters on the podium, standing near the back as you wait for the announcement.

Well, you already know who won.

You glance at the noted times for each knight, and you visibly brighten at the news that Leon has lasted the longest and broken a sword. No one brings it up, but the atmosphere visibly lightens as you hum and chatter with the remaining grandmasters. The mental exhaustion from fighting may still be present in many of them, but it is not present in you. There is a certain air of giddiness that you emit, inadvertently soothing the remaining grandmasters of the exhaustion.

"Congratulations."

"Sir Albert, did you even try?" You tilt your head, glancing at the envelope in his hand.

"I did. Your knight outsmarted me. That is all." He hums. "Your knight has won by default. He may have barely scraped by with his time, but he had broken my blade. That is an automatic title according to the rules of the tournament."

"How nice." You smile. "Looks like our engagement will not be happening."

"Arguably for the better." He hums.

"Agreed." You sigh. "I am sure your disciple will win the following year."

"And you have the boldness to say this because?"

"He seems to have found that desperation that my knight carried this year."

"Grandmasters! Positions!"

You step back to where you are to be, staring at the knights as you smile, humming as you close your eyes to smile with that also. You are sure Leon is aware that he can no longer do anything. What else is there to do but wait? Surely not grow excited over nothing. So, you wait for his name to be announced, watching as he collapses to his knees and stare up at you. You smile and wave, watching as he falls to his knees into the position of a prayer.

One step closer, one leap bolder.

You watch as he mouths words at you, your own heart rattling in your chest.

You deliver the final speech, congratulating all of the knights for their efforts, titles of master handed by each grandmaster with a wreath. You participate, well aware that you'd be with the royal family the next morning as someone who was... still the crown princess... or whatnot. You no longer cared. Quite frankly, you care so little that you could break a couple rules at night.

"Did you visit your knight at night?"

Jill raises a brow at you in amusement, and she nods. "Take the hidden corridors."

You wink at her in response, blowing a kiss in thanks.

It's fairly simple to sneak to your knight's room. If anything, it is all the more obvious, the blade of the victor on his door, and you wait behind the statues in the corridors to knock on his door, rocking on your feet as you grin. You're sure you'll give him quite a fright, but it matters not anymore. You've been patient, and well, your knight has been too.

The door to his room swings open, and you watch as he blinks twice before pulling you into the room, panic all over his face as you blink slowly at his lips.

Oh, who cares anymore.

You pull Leon in by the collar, lips crashing against his as he winces, confidence faltering as you start to pull away, worried you might have read the knight wrong—

You're left with no space as Leon chases your lips back into the kiss, hand flying to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed instead, tongue desperate against yours as he drinks up every single one of your movements, lips leaving yours only for quick gasps for air before he's back on you again. It overwhelms you. Your head spins deliciously with the lack of air, body turning lax against the sheets and chest pressed to his, nails digging into the cloth still, fingers clinging onto whatever you can of him, the knight practically engulfing you as you finally throw your head back for air, letting him rest his head on your collar.

"I'm sorry."

You have to be honest. Honesty. You have to be honest.

You're tired of denying yourself.

God, you love your knight to no end.

"Don't be." You gasp, eyes closing to focus on catching your breath back.

The silence that ensues is something that you could only dream of experiencing.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Grandmasters' loyalties lie with the royal family, yet Leon forms a sword from his wounds, hand red from the ability, handing it to you as you blink at him.

"My knight." You mumble.

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow. My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you. If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

You close your eyes to start the chant, gold engulfing the blade of red as you hold it out to one shoulder, moving it to the other after, the gold swallowing the room whole as you close your eyes from the brightness. When it subsides, the red of his blade has puddled at your feet, and your knight rests his head in your lap, eyes closed as you hesitate to touch him. You worry that he would be called a traitor by the people.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?" You whisper, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him being executed.

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mutters back. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you. Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." You laugh. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?" Your voice shakes.

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

You watch as Leon requests of you to knight him, and you hide the amusement on your face as the emperor's face twitches and frowns at the request to be knighted by the crown princess. You are not the crown princess after Leon receives his title, but you do so anyway, his actual blade in your hand as you press it from one shoulder to the other, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum. You fear what it would have been if Leon had not requested for you to knight him, and when he is asked what he wishes to receive, the title of Marquis was only fitting.

You bow to the citizens as the emperor announces your removal from the title of crown princess, and you watch as the commoner girl who had wanted to be the crown princess receive the title she had longed for for so long. You try to ignore the way Leon's eyes stay stuck to you the whole speech, and you also ignore the way the crown prince glares at you when you finally get to exit the stage for the emperor to make a final speech. There's a certain excitement that you allow yourself now that you are no longer the crown princess to the public.

You're given no time to feel it, Leon lifting you into his arms as you yelp, eyes wide as he beams at you. Your heart rings in your ears, sure that your embarrassment is spelled out on your face, but you ignore it all. Your knight looked elated to finally have you in his arms, smiling ear to ear as his blue eyes soften at you. You find that he looks enamored with you. Perhaps you are risking it, but it seems to be fine. You find that this is a tale of devotion, not purity or whatnot.

"You smile so brightly, my knight." You mumble, fingers reaching for his cheek.

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless."

"What will the people think?" You close your eyes as Leon hums. You can still hear his smile.

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

"You are right, my knight."

You glance down at Leon, sun in his face as he brushes noses with you, your own heart full in your chest. You've waited long enough, and you wonder if you would have known so long ago, but without the title of crown princess on your shoulder and knowing that your knight was yours, you cherish the knowledge. He was yours to use, but you would be his to cherish. The knighting ceremony was more than a testimony that he was yours. And now, you would know peace.

You could finally be his.

[moni-logues]

The Surface

banner by @sailoryooons

Pairing: prince merman!Hoseok x sea witch!reader

Genre: fairytale AU/The Little Mermaid AU, smut

Summary: Prince Hoseok has only ever wanted one thing: to experience life on the Surface. You have only ever wanted Prince Hoseok. When he comes to you, desperate, claiming you are the only one who can help him, you decide to play along. You'll help him achieve his dream and maybe you'll satisfy your own dream, too.

Word count: 20k

Content: unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), Hoseok has sex with someone but he thinks they're someone else, if you're incredibly squeamish, there may be some body/pain stuff that makes you go 😖, potentially a litt yandere-vibed

A/N: Happy my birthday eve to you, dear reader!!!!! This is my very first toe-dip into the world of fantasy/spn!! AND my first collab!!!!! Pleeeeaaassseeee read the warnings (and please!!!! let me know if I'm missing any or any are insufficient). I'm so excited; I struggled with plotting this fic and working out how to get it to do what I wanted and thid is actually v3.0 lmao BUT I'm really happy with it! And happy to be part of the Make Me Your Villain collab!!! Thanks to @daechwitatamic for beta-ng and yelling!!!!

*

Hoseok swam farther than he ever had before. Swam closer. He’d be inching forward and now he was close enough to be spotted; he knew that. He knew that that was too far, but he didn’t really care.

The first time he swam in this direction and saw the shadows of small boats cross over him, he’d bolted in a panic. Merpeople were not to be spotted by humans. Ever. So he’d raced away, not looking back.

But then he had the knowledge that humans sailed there. He knew that that stretch of water played host to life above its surface, too. They were little boats, not the huge ships he usually tailed. These were much smaller, with handfuls of humans sitting in them, pointing in the distance, holding little boxes up to their faces and lowering them again. Visible. Watchable. It was tantalising.

So he went back. Hung around and waited for a while. Did it again. Watched a boat sail over him and eventually drop anchor near the cove. Went back a third time. Saw the humans jump from the side of the boat into the water. Hung back.

The next time, he swam closer. And the time after that, closer still.

That particular day, he had time. Lots of it. There was nothing calling for his attention, nothing tying him to any place, so he edged closer and a little closer, until he could see so clearly their spindly legs kicking ineffectually through the water, their weird feet and tiny toes. He had never seen humans so close before. He wondered if anyone had. They were fascinating. They dived down and kicked back up, their limbs moving in the water to keep them afloat. They turned on to their backs, looking just like seals from below. They squealed and laughed and talked and Hoseok watched it all with rapt attention. What he wouldn’t have given to approach one. To have made contact. To have asked them all his questions.

He wished he had someone to tell. Someone who would receive the information with not even wonder—his hopes were not that high—but interest. He didn’t have anyone to share his discoveries with, his treasures, his excitement. No one else understood. Some people thought he was weird; others thought his interest in the human world was downright wrong.

But his excitement was palpable that day, floating so close to the humans, he could hear their voices. He could even just about make out their words. And then their speech took on a more urgent tone; there was more frantic splashing, some flailing of limbs. He looked around himself and rose until his head bobbed out of the water. He watched the humans spin, searching for something, pointing this way and that way, calling to each other, looking.

He wanted to help but he didn’t know how. He dipped back into the water and skirted around the edge of the group – still unseen—and then it hit him. He had been so focused on the humans that he hadn’t seen it.

The rip tide tugged him sideways with a vicious spinning force. He was lucky, because he lived in the sea and this was far from his first rip. It might have taken him unawares, but he was able to right himself and spiral through to the other side.

That was when he saw what they must have been looking for.

The rip had tossed him out on the other side of a sharp, rocky outcrop on the west side of the cove. It jutted far out into the sea, sheltering the shore from western winds, and he saw a human woman struggling to the surface.

Her limbs were slow and her face kept dipping under the waves until eventually, she just floated, barely moving at all, moving only with the rhythm of the waves. Hoseok watched with dread and fear curdling the excitement in his stomach. She was too still now, her face too low in the water. Something wasn’t right. There was something unnatural about the way she was lying there, suspended in the water.

Hoseok didn’t think before he acted. He kicked his fins and swam to her, wrapping one arm around her torso and hiking her upwards so her face was out of the water. He dragged her, swimming backwards, towards the shore. He was grateful there was a shore; the other side of the cove had nothing but sheer cliffs and sharp rocks.

He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the shingle beach, but being on land had to help, didn’t it? Land was where the humans belonged.

Hoseok dragged her as far out of the water as he could manage—which wasn’t very far because his tail churned the stones and wouldn’t propel him forwards, so he dragged himself, as well as this human woman, until only her legs were splashed by the waves.

He looked down at her, anxiety churning in his gut. How did humans die? Was she already dead? The thought was nauseating. He knew humans had hearts like merpeople did, so he pressed his hand against her chest and felt nothing. He pressed a hand against his own chest. Felt nothing. He pressed his fingers against the large artery he knew ran down his front and felt nothing. He pressed them to his neck and almost felt something, moved them around until he found the spot at which he could feel his blood pushing against them. He immediately transferred his fingers to the same position on the woman and felt the same thing.

He let out a heavy breath. Relief. At least she wasn’t dead.

But she also wasn’t awake.

“Hello?” he called lightly. “Uh, hello? Are you ok?”

She remained unmoved, but he could barely hear himself over the pounding of his frantic heart; maybe he was too quiet? Maybe merpeople couldn’t make noise outside of the water? He tried again but it elicited no response.

He watched her carefully, listening, training his ears towards her, tuning out the roar of the waves and the squawk of seagulls and the distant sound of voices. He concentrated hard, breathing carefully to slow his own heart, to quiet the thump of it against his ribs and the rush of blood through his veins. There was a wet gurgle as her chest rose and fell, coming from her mouth, but sounding from deep inside. Hoseok knew humans breathed through their mouths, not having gills of their own. So he knew she was breathing.

She was both alive and breathing. He sighed with relief. He could let his worry go and lean into his fascination.

He had never seen a human like this. Close enough to touch—he had touched her. Her hair was the colour of the sun, even wet through; the curls stuck to her skin and Hoseok dared to reach out and brush them from her face. As he took his hand back, he noticed he was shaking. Drops of water on her skin sparkled like gems, glinting in the daylight. The sun was hot—far hotter than he’d ever felt it in the water—and bright. The heat of it burnt away the water on her skin almost too quickly to notice. Hoseok didn’t think she looked all that different from a mermaid, not really. The legs made a difference, sure; she had no gills in her ribs; the webbing in her fingers was reduced to nothing, each digit separated down to the palm. But really, what difference did those things make?

He thought her a wonder. He thought her the most beautiful, fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Her rosebud mouth, lips open and plump. Her skin was smooth and dark; he looked stark next to her. Her torso was whole, one expanse of skin stretching around her back and ribs. Hoseok placed a hand to his gills, fingers playing along the edge; they were flapping uselessly in the dry air. He smoothed them down with his hand, imagined his torso like hers, uninterrupted.

He lay with his tail next to her legs. He tried to picture it split in two, tried to picture himself walking on two feet, upright. He wasn’t the longest merman, but how did that compare to humans? The woman by his side seemed long—were all other humans, too? He figured he would probably never know and the rarity of this moment, the precarity of it, dented his enthusiasm a little. But, he reminded himself, for the rest of his life, he would have this. This human woman, lying next to him, seen by him, touched by him. He wondered how many other merpeople had done that.

He’d heard the horror stories, of course, the kind that teachers tell students to scare them away from the surface. He had never believed them, not entirely. There were bad humans, sure, but there were bad merpeople, too. And looking down at this human, this woman, he knew she was good. He felt a fluttering in his chest that made his breathing hitch. Made him feel almost breathless.

He wished she would wake up and see him. That wasn’t allowed, of course. It was absolutely forbidden to make your presence as a merman known to anyone who lived on the surface. But, who had to know? Just this once. Just this once, Hoseok could have his dream come true, couldn’t he?

She blinked once, then twice, and rolled over to cough and splutter, and he panicked. The tranquillity of the moment was gone. He heard the sound of seawater hitting stone as she choked and it spilt from her lips. He didn’t know what that meant. He watched her back heave as she coughed and was gripped by an intense fear. He wasn’t bad; he didn’t break the rules; he didn’t have the stomach for it.

He was diving in the water before she had rolled back, before she had a chance to see him or even notice him. He had disappeared before he’d even made the decision to disappear. Maybe that was close enough. So much for his wishes to be seen. He just wasn’t brave enough.

Back in the water, he shuddered and realised he could breathe again. With his heart rate finally slowing, he swam towards home, his mind pre-occupied with daydreams about coming back to this shore, seeing more humans, learning some more; pre-occupied with the panic and relief and adrenalin of his last ten minutes.

Pre-occupied as he was, he didn’t see that his movements were being tracked. He didn’t see a royal aide, following at a distance, and then moving off towards the royal chambers when they made it back to court.

He didn’t see you either, though you could see him.

* * *

His mother came to see him the following day.

“Hoseok,” she began, in the quiet, stern voice that had always scared him as a child. “Do you think your father and I are stupid?”

He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that and couldn’t see the reason behind it. That worried him. He was walking into a trap.

“No, of course not,” he answered, honestly.

“Then it will not surprise you if I say that we do know where it is you go in these waters.”

His blood turned to ice.

“We are all very well aware of your... interest in the surface. In humans and all their detritus.”

He opened his mouth to argue back but the expression on his mother’s face stopped him.

“We know you hunt out shipwrecks and follow boats along trade routes, searching the carcasses of their vessels for rubbish, hoping and waiting they might drop something valuable. We know how close you have got, Hoseok, to exposing yourself to the humans.”

He gulped. He knew he was in trouble. Probably a lot of trouble. He didn’t know what his punishment would be.

“We are not going to permit this any longer.”

That rankled. He was almost 21. An adult in any world. Permission? He found his voice.

“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to go anywhere.”

“You’re a prince, Hoseok, of course you need permission. And you no longer have it. So Sebastien will accompany you through your days for the time being, to ensure you do not go where you should not.”

“For the time being? How long is that exactly?”

His mother looked at him, impassive.

“For as long as your father and I tell him to.”

Then she swam away without bothering to say goodbye. Hoseok didn’t have any time to react before Sebastien was by his side.

“Good morning, my prince.”

Hoseok bit back a spiky retort and swam away, with Sebastien following at his fins. His mother couldn’t be serious. He was being chaperoned? It was an indignity. It was infantilising. It was entirely unnecessary. He flexed his hands into fists and out again, balling and stretching as he swam, as he carried on in his head the argument he wished he could have had with his mother. This would not do.

As he realised where he was swimming—with his new bodyguard—he stopped suddenly. He had been inadvertently leading Sebastien to his happy place, his treasure trove, the place where he kept all the so-called ‘human detritus’ he saved. He was sure his parents didn’t know about that and he didn’t want them finding out.

He swam away, ignoring Sebastien chatting idly at his side, and wondered just exactly what his parents knew. Had they seen him save that human woman? Had they seen how close he had come to being discovered? Is that what this was all about?

* * *

Hoseok looked miserable. Oh, he was smiling, and you were sure he was saying all the right things. But you knew. He was not enjoying his birthday party. There was nothing dazzling in his smile, no halo of light around his head. His laughter rang out, hollow and pitchy, not at all like the tumbling bells it usually was.

No, the prince was miserable. You were sure of it. You had noticed that he had been followed—was being followed—by one of the court’s highest-ranking aides; you saw him behind the prince at every turn, like a shadow, like a ghost. Maybe that was the problem.

You had been close as children, you and the prince, for a time. In that period when you were free, when society meant nothing to you, when prejudices and family feuds still hovered above your heads, out of reach. You had been friends and you felt it then, too, his brightness, his warmth. He didn’t care that the adults treated your family poorly; he did care that they treated you poorly. He didn’t know or care about what the adults said; neither did you. You were friends, the two of you, thick as thieves.

Then one day, all that hovered above you came tumbling down, pouring over you both like ice-water. It became more difficult then, to spend time together, to be friends. He never outright said it, broke up with you in a friend kind of way. You just ‘drifted apart’ because he was welcomed in where you were shunned; he was celebrated and everyone did their best to forget you ever existed.

You should have expected it. He was the prince, after all. And you were a sea witch. People said you were evil; the rumour had it that your whole family was. Matriarchal, and that was just the first problem. You had power. Your mother had had it. Your aunt. Their mother. The way you were told, it went back right to the very beginning. You were the latest in a very long line of very powerful witches.

It took you a long time to understand why that was used against you. You had power. Wasn’t that a good thing? You could do magic. You could achieve things no one else could. You could have made the entire sea a better place for everyone and everything living in it. But no one wanted your input; no one wanted to listen, to hear you. They wanted you to stay quiet. They wanted you to hide.

What boiled your blood was that you did. You stayed at the back, hid yourself away in a cave far from where the royal court lived: merpeople in coral towers and you, tangled in seaweed every time you so much as shook your head. You were older now and you knew full-well why they did it.

They were scared of you. They had always been scared of your family, but now, since the ‘tragic’ death of your mother, they were scared of you. Because you had a score to settle. Because you had a reason to hate them. You had vengeance on your mind.

Vengeance and Prince Hoseok.

Because no matter how much you hated it, no matter how much you didn’t want to want him, you did. You looked at him and your chest hurt with longing and your stomach roiled with hatred. How could it be that you could feel two things at once for the same person? You chose not to examine it these days. It had gone on too long and you were used to it. It felt like your natural state of being: hatred and love in equal measure. Fear and power.

No one had ever tested you. Not really. People came to you for silly little things like love potions and spells to make them smarter or charms to ward off hermit crabs from their gardens. No one wanted to see the full extent of your abilities. So you didn’t quite know what they were.

You toiled, testing yourself on little creatures, to see what you could do to them, how much you could transform them, how creative you could get. There had been a lot of failures at first, of course. So many. But then you started to succeed. And now you never failed. Everything you turned your hand to worked. Your mother had always said you were a natural and now you believed it, too.

You thought you could turn yourself into one of them if you wanted. Not that you did want. Never. Ever. You wouldn’t debase yourself, wouldn’t shame your ancestors with an attempt. But you could do it. That much you were confident of.

You were also confident of just how well you knew the prince. Better than he knew, you were sure. He probably didn’t realise quite what an open book he was to you. It was an open secret that he had a thing for life on the surface, but you saw so much more than that. He had never been able to hide from you: his enthusiasm, his wonder, his furtive glances around himself, the swift flick of his tail as he snuck between two large boulders, the fluidity and flexibility of his body the only things enabling him to sneak through. His little collection. Though ‘little’ wasn’t really the word for it, not anymore.

You had been to see it just once before. It was almost enough to impress you. His discoveries, his treasures, were displayed with such care, it almost touched you. These things, this tat, that he had found floating on the surface or buried in the seabed, he loved them. He treated them like something precious, not like the trash it so clearly was to the humans. It made your heart ache a little: his naivety, his innocence, his propensity for flights of fancy, his dreamy insistence on seeing the good in things, in people. In humans.

It was an open secret, this obsession of Hoseok’s, but it concerned his parents. Sure, he was only the youngest of seven sons—he wasn’t the heir—but he was still a prince. That made him valuable and important. It also meant he had to keep up appearances and it simply would not do to have a Prince of the Royal Court enamoured with... up there. So they had instructed one of their aides (a creeping, odious merman whom you avoided like the plague) to follow Hoseok around, to make sure he wasn’t getting himself into trouble.

Yes, you nodded to yourself, that was exactly what had happened.

*

Hoseok was getting sick of being followed around. It wasn’t even just that he couldn’t go to the surface; he couldn’t get a single minute of peace! Sebastien was always there and it was starting to grate quite uncomfortably.

He wasn’t enjoying the party and he was getting tired of pretending to enjoy it, so after taking a quick scan of the room, he turned tail and left. Sebastien followed, but Hoseok chose to ignore him.

“Leaving a party early?” you said lightly, as you caught him leaving the room. “Leaving your own party early? That’s not like you.”

His smile was a little tight when he flashed it your way.

“It’s only my party by technicality. No one will miss me.”

You merely raised your eyebrows slightly and raised one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“I notice that you are also leaving,” he countered.

“Ah, once the host leaves, everyone else is free to go.”

His brow wrinkled a little and he scoffed.

“Don’t call me the host.”

“Careful,” you joked, “Sebastien here might tell your parents you’re being ungrateful. Look at all this opulence they prepared for you.”

He was about to spit something not entirely kind back at you before he realised that you were taking the piss. He rolled his eyes inwardly at himself. Of course you didn’t care. You never went in for this stuff anyway. He was surprised you had even shown up.

“I am being ungrateful. I would like them to stop looking out for me, stop doing things for me, stop-” he said, coming to such a sudden halt that Sebastien crashed into the back of him, “having me chaperoned like a child just because I like to swim a little farther than others.”

“I’m not sure it’s the distance they’re worried about.”

“Whatever. They just don’t get it. They think it’s dangerous.”

“What is?”

“The surface. Humanity. They think my collecting scraps from the seabed is somehow going to threaten all undersea life, trigger an apocalypse or something.”

“Ah.”

“They just don’t get it. They don’t get it. It’s not like I’m going to go up there and act like I’m human-”

“No? You could.”

He scoffed.

“Oh yeah, just go and flop around on the beach with my tail and my gills and everything. Great idea.”

“... You know I’m a fucking witch, right? I literally have the technology.”

Hoseok stopped suddenly again, looking at you, a little aghast, a little trepidatious. Then he laughed.

“Yeah, sure, one human coming right up!”

You laughed along with him, letting the subject drop, letting it be a joke. It had to be a joke with Sebastien listening in. But you were serious and you needed Hoseok to understand that you could do it. If he asked.

* * *

You thought about it more in the following days, as you watched the prince and his tormentor float around in the water. Hoseok couldn’t even blink without Sebastien there to watch him. You could feel his frustration, his impatience; you could see the dullness diminishing his shine; you could see the time it took for his lips to stretch into his signature heart-shaped smile expand—sometimes they barely made it at all. Was it the annoyance and inconvenience of having a chaperone in itself, or was he pining for a little adventure? Itching for a treasure hunt, fingers twitching to dig through sand and find something broken and useless to take back to his cave of wonders?

The whole sea knew. The prince was being monitored. The prince was being kept on a lead. A short one. There were whispers and gossip and speculation. The worst of these rumours was the one that told you his parents were doing this to get him ready for marriage. That he had been betrothed to a princess in the Caspian sea since before he had even existed and now they had both come of age, the marriage negotiations could begin in earnest.

That would not do. You could not have that.

Your own fingers were twitching; you were as frustrated as the prince, trying to work out a way to expedite this whole thing, to get things moving.

Someone’s hand would have to be forced, you realised. But whose? And to do what?

*

It hit you, quite suddenly, as you were drifting off to sleep one night. You had been picturing Hoseok amongst all his ‘objet d’art’: his happy face, his preening and polishing, his voice ringing out in a sweet, little tune—the one you liked to catch in your shells and store for later. It was obvious.

With each day that passed, the prince’s frustration grew. As did his misery and his little, daydreamy desires to experience life on the surface. With each day that passed, his parents were obliviously telling themselves that Hoseok was forgetting about it. He was integrating better with his peers, no longer always off on his own adventure; he was finally getting over this little ‘phase’.

It, actually, you thought to yourself as you caught the fleeting idea with a snatched hand, would work out quite nicely after all. You just had to be careful about tipping the scale.

*

Sebastien wasn’t stupid (you couldn’t get to his position if you were), but he wasn’t exactly sharp. You engaged him in a little idle chat while the prince was dining with his family. Commented on the prince’s interest in life ex-marina. Sebastien had responded a little too eagerly, sharing a little too much (not that he knew he was doing it—not sharp) so it was very easy for you to drop in that you had noticed the prince hadn’t been visiting his little shrine much recently. Sebastien played off his reaction so terribly that, even had you not been so perspicacious, it would have been clear he was bluffing, that you knew far more than he did and he was embarrassed by it. You shrugged, as if the conversation meant nothing to you, and glided away, certain that the seed had been planted.

All you had to do now was wait for it to sprout.

*

It took even less time than you expected. The sea over the next couple of days was a flurry of anxious activity. No official word had gone out, but something was happening and everyone knew it. Aides were everywhere, in every corner, under every rock, in every reef. The king and queen had an awful lot of staff at their disposal, so it wasn’t long before one of them turned up something very interesting indeed.

It was even quicker that the King stormed down to the prince’s little cave of wonders to give Hoseok what for.

You hung back and watched. Watched Hoseok’s face as it moved from dismay to anger, to fury. You had never heard him angry like that. It was thrilling. It was exciting. It was, you hated to admit it, sexy. He swam forward and you heard him confront his parents, heard his outrage.

But how his father roared. How he hovered above Hoseok, his youngest child, with a face like thunder. How his shouting rippled through the water, carrying it farther than you were sure he’d have wanted.

Hoseok put up a good fight, but he had no power. He wasn’t the heir; he had no leverage, not really. So, his father took his trident and destroyed everything. Even the very cave itself. It was rubble by the time he turned his back on his son and swam away. It was sand. Hoseok was left staring at what used to be his most prized possessions, his secret joy.

It almost hurt when you saw his face, his distress and despair. You watched him sink to the seabed and sob, then you turned around and swam away. You didn’t want to watch that. You didn’t need to. You just had to hope that it worked like you intended.

You slunk back to your cave—your presence having never been noticed—and waited for the prince to come to you.

*

Hoseok knew they were just things. He knew they were things most people would consider rubbish, garbage, trash, waste. But they weren’t rubbish to him. They were prizes. They were trophies. They were secrets. They were hints of another life, another way of living. They were like the key to a code. If he collected enough, maybe he would understand what life on the surface was like. Maybe once he had enough human things, he would be able to experience Personhood by proxy.

He had always known he would never go there. Could never go there. It just wasn’t done. Not even for a prince. Especially not for a prince. But his parents couldn’t order him to stop dreaming. So he dreamt and he collected and he treasured. He knew no one approved of what they called his ‘obsession’ with the surface. He didn’t care. They didn’t understand. They didn’t see what he could. They were so entrenched in their own, bigoted ideas that they couldn’t open their minds for a second to the possibility that maybe humans weren’t so bad. Maybe they had their problems, but they also had their wonders.

Even outside of his personal curiosity, he had always thought that some sort of treaty with the humans would be advantageous. They were lucky, in his sea, that the water was kept mostly clear, that oil spills only reached them as news. Their unfavourable interactions with humans were limited, but Hoseok knew that wasn’t the case elsewhere. He thought, if they could communicate with them, that maybe agreements could be reached. A relationship with the world on the surface could be mutually beneficial.

No one else saw it that way.

He sat on the sand and wept, cried, sobbed, for his secret little things that were no more. No longer secret and no longer there. He scooped up fragments of them in his hand and let them drift back down. He sifted through rocks and pebbles and sand to see if anything had been left intact, if anything was salvageable. But his father was thorough. And powerful. And there was nothing left.

* * *

The flurry of activity stopped and was replaced by an awkward tension. No one had seen the prince since the argument with the king. No one dared approach either king or queen, not even the other princes. People moved so slowly through the water, as if they were scared to cause too much of a ripple. The rhythm of everything had been upset.

For no one more than the prince. He lay on the sand next to what used to be his happy place for hours, until the sea grew dark and he should have been back at home with his family. The very thought made him sick. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The thought of seeing his parents again made bile rise in his throat. His blood boiled with an anguished kind of anger he had never experienced before.

Once he had stopped crying, he spent some time staring around in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that all his things were gone, but he also couldn’t believe that his father had done it. The royal family was a Happy Family, officially, but they were also usually happy in actual fact. Arguments were few. Discord uncommon. There had been little cause for friction amongst them in his life. He wasn’t used to this. He and his brothers fought as kids, but never seriously; no one ever tried to rebel in any meaningful kind of way. It was a peaceful kingdom and that peace started at the very top.

Or so it had been. Even that had been destroyed now. Peace was the very last thing on the prince’s mind. He was torn between his anger and his despair. He wanted to hurt his father, very badly. He wanted to show his father that he wouldn’t let this stop him, that not even the King could break him. He knew he was right about humans, about humanity. He would show him. He also wanted, with a kind of frenzied desperation, to set off over the oceans and retrieve a new artefact for each and every one that he’d just lost.

As time passed and the sun disappeared from overhead, his whirring mind, his racing heart, began to slow and a tiny spark of hope burst in him. There was a way, he had realised. Or, he thought there might be a way. There was a possibility. There might be a possibility. If anyone would have the answer, it would be you.

*

He called your name and it roused you from a mid-morning nap. You sauntered to the cave mouth and your face pulled into surprise at the sight of him.

“Prince Hoseok, what are you doing here?”

He looked a little hesitant, peering behind you at the darkness of the cave, wondering what lay back there, if all the rumours were true. He knew you. You had been close at one point. He knew you so this was fine. He could trust you; he knew he could. You weren’t going to hurt him. You weren’t like they said. Well, in one way, he hoped you were; he hoped you were every bit as powerful as people said because, lord knew, he was going to need some powerful magic. Powerful magic the likes of which could topple the royal family, people said. What care did he have for the royal family now?

 But, the evil part... He hoped that wasn’t true. You’d never given him cause to believe so before.

Still, waiting at the entrance to your home (your ‘lair’ as some called it and Hoseok was never sure if they were joking or not), he felt timid. Small. Not like a royal prince, but like a supplicant. Which, really, he supposed, he was.

“I’m here to ask you to do something for me.”

You couldn’t deny your intrigue. You gestured for him to follow you inside.

He did so slowly, his eyes darting around at all your shelves, full of stuff, fuller even than his own treasure trove had been. He couldn’t imagine what might be in all the containers, what secrets or tonics or poisons they might be holding. He had no idea what it was you did, really. You were the Sea Witch and that was bad enough for most people to never ask anything more... Until they needed you, of course. Hoseok had never needed you, not until now, so he had never paid your work much attention. You flew under the radar for the most part, which was entirely by design.

“Ok,” you said, as you perched yourself on a soft bed of anemones that Hoseok didn’t dare touch. “What can I do for you?”

He took a deep breath, a steeling breath.

“I want to be human.”

You pretended to be surprised, but that was exactly what you had been hoping for. Only an idiot would have been surprised by his request, especially given what had just happened.

“Human, huh? Finally pulling the trigger?”

He looked reluctant to say any more. You raised one eyebrow at him and held his gaze. He looked away.

“My parents don’t understand a thing. They don’t know anything about humans. I want to know. I have to know. They-... My parents can’t control me.”

You shrugged and nodded and caught the look of surprise on Hoseok’s face as you turned to gather some ingredients from the other side of the cave. He hadn’t thought it would be that easy.

It wouldn’t be.

You gathered the necessary items and tipped first one, then another, into the large conch you used for mixing spells.

“You... you can do it?” he asked and you chose not to be offended by the question.

“Of course I can.”

“You... will do it?”

“I will.”

The relieved smile on his face could have lit your cave for weeks. His teeth shone and his eyes sparkled as he laughed and clapped his hands. Victory.

“Thank you! I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sunshine. There are conditions to all this, you know.”

His face settled back into seriousness, his brow knitting above his eyes. He nodded fervently.

“Yes, of course. I understand. What do I need to do?”

You paused, leaning one hand on the edge of your giant shell and looked at him with a firm, fixed stare.

“You get three days,” you told him. “Three days as a human. You’ll be human before lunch, so noon on the third day will see you turning back as you are now.”

“Oh.”

His disappointment was palpable, but that worked to your advantage, too. You forced a light chuckle.

“I’m good, Hoseok, but I’m not that good.”

(You were, in fact, that good, but he didn’t need to know that).

“Of course! Yes, three days. That’s great.”

“There is a way you can stay longer than that, but it’s not in my power.”

“What does that mean?”

You pushed off the ledge and rounded the basin, coming to a stop in front of him. You didn’t miss the two inches that he scooted backwards away from you. At a different time, under different circumstances, this might have offended you, but you had a reputation; you could hardly blame him for his timidity. He had never seen you do anything like this before.

“You have to put down roots.”

“Right... What does that mean?”

“You have to find a human woman and plant a seed.”

Hoseok continued to look at you blankly, until you rolled your eyes.

“Fornicate. Copulate. Mate. Breed. Fuck.”

His eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

“Oh... Within three days?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No!” His answer was too quick and his blushes beetroot. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s fine, but... You said plant a seed. You mean... a child?”

“Mhmm.”

He blinked, his mind reeling. You gave him a second to process.

“How do I guarantee that? It has to be a child? There has to be... it has to...?”

You nodded.

“If you want to stay up there, you need some connection to it. You need a tether. Just how it works.”

“Oh, right...”

He was nodding, but he wasn’t looking at you. You could see his eyes were far away; he was thinking.

He was worrying. Would three days be enough? And bringing a child into this? Could he? Doubt was beginning to creep in at the sides, but he couldn’t let it. He had to see this through. It felt like his only chance. And you’d already said yes. You could do it. He could almost taste it, he was so close. He had to keep going. He could deal with the seed problem later; he could hardly think about putting down roots when he didn’t even have legs to stand on. First things first and the first thing was becoming a human.

“There’s also something else I need from you,” you told him.

“Anything.”

“I just need a little piece of you. In order to make this work, I need a little tether to you.”

“You need to tether to me? But doesn’t that keep me tied here?”

You liked it when they asked questions. You smiled, benignly, but your eyes glinted wickedly.

“It keeps you tethered to me, the one with the magic? The one who’s transforming you? We can skip that step if you like, but then the spell will do absolutely nothing.”

“Oh.”

He blinked and then nodded.

“Ok, makes sense. Yeah, ok, what do you need?”

“Come here.”

You beckoned him to your side and he obeyed quietly. You took his hand in yours and plunged it into the shell; then you placed your other hand on his chest.

“Hold still; this won’t hurt.”

“What are you taking?”

“Just a little bit of soul.”

He flinched and you had to tighten your fingers around his wrist to keep it there.

“Relax, you won’t even notice it missing. And keep still, I need to concentrate.”

You closed your eyes and tapped lightly on his chest with your fingers, looking for a tap. Once you found the spot, you dug your finger in a little harder, focused hard and turned it on. You channelled it through Hoseok’s arm and tipped it into the shell through his fingers.

You were right: it didn’t hurt. He felt a weird pulling sensation in his chest and then it dragged down his arm; it was a little uncomfortable, certainly something he’d never felt before, but it didn’t hurt exactly. He wanted to look and see what his soul looked like, pouring out, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

His soul was sweet like nectar and it shimmered as it settled atop the other ingredients. You could feel its pulse, strong in Hoseok’s heart, its rhythm airy and delicate with a stable bass. You liked it. You liked it a lot. You could feel your own shimmer in response to it; you could feel your heart flutter when you let a little of him inside it. You bit your lip to stop a smile. Once you had what you needed for the spell, you siphoned off just a little extra for yourself. Nothing he would notice – you were always careful about that.

You held him there a minute longer, just absorbing, marinating a little. Sometimes this was the worst part of the job. Some people’s souls were vile, horrid, dark, acrid, smoking things; the taste they left in your mouth wouldn’t shift for days. This, though, was delectable. If you’d had another plan in mind, you might have taken more, maybe even all of it; you weren’t sure how you managed to stop yourself.

You shouldn’t have been surprised by its sweetness. It was Hoseok. He was like that. Of course his soul would be pure as sunlight itself. It was the lightest soul you’d ever held. Almost light enough to make you feel bad for doing all this.

Almost.

“Ok,” you began, letting him go and creating a little more space between you. “We’re done.”

Hoseok opened his eyes and looked down at his tail.

“We are?”

You laughed, not unkindly.

“Yes. You might want to start swimming while I finish this off. Surface is a long way up from here.”

“Oh. But... it’ll work? I’ll be...-”

“It’ll work. Trust me. And take this.”

You thrust a little package, wrapped in fisherman’s netting, into his hands.

“Now go on. Get.”

He nodded, first a little uncertainly, but, as if he was convincing himself, each bob of his head grew surer until he was turning around and swimming straight out of your cave and up, up, up.

You gave everything in the shell a swirl, a mix, let it coalesce, then you placed your hands on the bottom and forced heat through them, so much heat that the concoction boiled, the sea water steaming around you. It bubbled and it boiled until there was nothing left in the shell but a pearl. You picked up this pearl and placed it into a clam. You shut the clam over a cord and tied it around your neck. You were going to want to keep this one close.

*

Hoseok was swimming so hard he barely noticed it at first. Then his tail was tingling. Then it began to hurt. Hurt enough to slow him down, to almost stop him completely. It was a wrenching, tearing, searing kind of pain that made him cry out, that made dark spots dance in front of his eyes and his head feel light. He couldn’t quite tell if his tail was moving or not; there was blinding pain and very little else, but he knew he was getting close to the surface. He couldn’t stop now.

In the space of three kicks, his tail became two, and Hoseok was overwhelmed by the agony of saltwater in his wounds. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t look, couldn’t do anything but try not to die. Try not to drown. He kept kicking, kept pulling with his arms, but his fingers were no longer webbed and they didn’t grab the water like before.

Swimming as a human, it turned out, was every bit as inefficient as it looked. He tried to move his legs in tandem, to kick and flick like he did with his tail but they wouldn’t cooperate; they couldn’t bend like his tail could, didn’t have the flexibility. Every movement sent a fresh surge of pain racing through him and he was finding it hard to breathe through it.

And then he stopped being able to breathe at all. He clutched at his ribs with one hand, expecting to feel his gills, but there was nothing. He opened his mouth to gasp and his throat was full of salt water in a way that felt wrong, uncomfortable, painful. In a way that made him panic. His lungs were burning, his throat was burning, his legs were burning; everything, everything, felt like it was on fire.

His heart was humming, beating so fast it vibrated against his ribs. He couldn’t think clearly, coherently, at all. It was all just a screaming panic, shouting and squealing and howling for him to get out, get out, get out of the water.

When he finally broke clear of the sea’s surface, he choked and gasped and coughed up water. It stung in his eyes and the taste of salt was so strong, it made him gag. He looked about himself to find the nearest shore and saw none in sight. He knew where he was; he saw the sea, his underwater kingdom, in his mind and he knew how to find the nearest shore. He just had to get there.

*

He dragged himself out of the waves, spent. There wasn’t a single muscle in his body that wasn’t crying out; he had never found swimming difficult before. It had always been as easy as breathing, but that, too, was difficult as a human. He swallowed seawater that made him sick, accidentally breathed it in and choked, found his breathing growing laboured and heavy when he was still miles from shore.

He lay on the shingle beach for a while, waiting to feel something other than pain. Pain and heaviness. Every movement was an effort. Every movement took active thought, especially his legs. He pushed himself into a sitting position and turned his attention to the package you gave him. He unwrapped it and unfolded fabrics—soaked through, of course. Hoseok had seen people wear clothes in books before but he’d never seen any in real life. He wondered where on earth you got them from. He briefly wondered if he wanted to know.

And despite everything: the pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the dread that was starting to settle in his stomach as the adrenalin faded, Hoseok was excited. He had human garments in his hands. They were his and he was about to wear them. He was human.

Human.

*

The awe and wonder didn’t last long. The friction of the fabric against his skin was almost unbearable. Was his skin sensitive or were the fabrics rough? He couldn’t tell but he could feel each tiny swish, each brush against him as he moved, with every swing of his arm and every step of his feet. It felt like the top layer of his skin was being slowly rubbed away, his soft, supple skin becoming red and raw and oh so sensitive.

The steps hurt, too. The shingle under his feet felt almost pleasant compared to the torching pain he felt in his legs. Like they were being cut open every time, like he was splitting his tail over and over and over again, the torture wouldn’t end.

He felt so heavy. Leaden. Like he barely had the energy to lift his feet at all. He put this down to the swim, the physical trauma, the lack of sleep he’d had that night. But he’d never felt the weight of his body so heavily before. In the water, he floated. The water kept him buoyed; the water supported him, carried him; he moved through it like he weighed nothing at all. On land, he felt no support. On the contrary, he felt as if the air itself were pushing him down, keeping him stuck to the ground, as if it didn’t want him to move anywhere.

It wasn’t at all like he had expected. He wished you had warned him about the pain. He wished he had known a little more before walking into this – literally walking! He was walking! On two feet! It was agony.

Trying to keep his head straight, he knew the first thing he should do was find food. He’d swum so far, he needed something. His stomach was gurgling in an angry, acidic roil that made him feel faint (or maybe that was the pain or the exertion or the atmosphere or or or). He was lucky that this beach was narrow and the town close. The shingle quickly gave way to grass, which was only slightly soothing on Hoseok’s feet, and then the grass gave way to paving.

He followed the path in the only direction it went and it wasn’t long before he found people. Humans. So many of them. He stood, stock still, watching them. It was overwhelming. The sights and sounds and smells of them. There was food grilling, and children laughing, and market hawkers soliciting, and Hoseok had no idea which way to turn. He could barely think at all. He needed-

He didn’t know what. A rest. A break. To sit down? He walked to the nearest chair – a metal frame with metal seat, next to a metal table – and sat; the chair scraped backwards slightly and the scratch of it on the ground brought a man out from the cafe the chair was sitting in front of.

“Hey, you can’t sit there!” the man called, looking none too happy. “Customers only! Those chairs are for customers only!”

“Oh, oh ok,” Hoseok spluttered. “I can be a customer. I can buy, uh-”

“No! We’re not open yet! No service!”

Hoseok thought then that it should be fine for him to sit down if they weren’t open, if there were no customers yet, but the man continued to shout, to shoo him off, so Hoseok stood and moved away. He would just have to try again a little further down the road.

That cafe might not have been open, but there were market stalls with edible wares already cooked and out for consumption. He took a skewer proffered by a weathered old lady and ate it gratefully, even though it was dry and hard to chew. She then held her hand out expectantly and it was at that moment, Hoseok realised he had nothing to trade. What could he offer? He considered the neat, net package that you had provided his clothes in and brought it out of his pocket. He tried to hand it over but the woman started cursing at him in a language he didn’t understand. He backed away from her aggression and this was clearly the wrong move. She grabbed a large metal spoon and came around the side of her table, raising it above her head.

Hoseok ran. He hadn’t known he could run. Would have claimed not to be able to if you’d asked him to at that moment, but the panic set him going and his feet stomped, painful step after painful step, until he was, once more, breathing heavy and laboured, a sharp pain between his ribs stabbing him with every inhale.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

*

He eventually sat at the side of the road, wondering how he was supposed to navigate this world he clearly knew nothing about. He had been arrogant in the sea. He thought he knew everything there was to know about humans. He had learnt about their culture, he thought; he had studied their ways of life, he thought. It was nothing compared to the real experience of being here. Nothing was how he expected. He was woefully unprepared.

Tears pricked in his eyes and he tried to keep them at bay because he had wanted this. He had asked for it. And you had done it for him. Hoseok realised with a shock just exactly what position this had put you in. The prince was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing. The only person who knew was you. If they found that out, lord knew what kind of trouble you’d be in. They’d have your head if they thought you had brought him to any harm.

But you’d been willing. Supportive even. So he had to make this work. He had to make it worth it. For him. For you. He would make it work and he would return to the sea to explain everything: to show what he had achieved on the surface, to prove to everyone that humans weren’t like they all said. To prove that you had been the truest, kindest and most loyal friend he had. That you had given him all of it. That you weren’t like they all said, either.

He blew out a deep breath. There was a lot riding on this.

He knew he would eventually need somewhere to sleep, somewhere safe. He walked back towards the centre of the market and found a nice-looking woman selling necklaces.

“Excuse me,” he began, warily. “I need somewhere to stay.”

Her friendly smile faltered a little, frozen on her face as she tried to parse his words.

“Ok?” she finally returned.

“Can you tell me where I can... Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Uh,” she said, her face twisting into a kind of confusion that Hoseok felt he was being judged by. “I mean, you can get a hotel or something?”

“Ok, where do I get one?”

The woman looked around her, to see if anyone else was really hearing this. She shrugged.

“There are kind of a lot around. Take your pick. There’s one right there.”

She pointed over Hoseok’s shoulder at a white, stone building, and Hoseok’s smile was all the bigger for the relief he felt.

“Thank you!” he called, already making his way towards the hotel.

But things continued to be difficult. He didn’t have a ‘credit card’ for the hotel staff to ‘hold’. He didn’t know what that meant. They told him he couldn’t have a room if he had no method of payment. He tried to offer something else; he was a good swimmer, he said; he could dive for pearls? The two staff behind the reception desk gave each other the same look the woman on the stall had given him. They explained that they only took cash or credit. He didn’t have either of those two things.

He left the building and sat by the road, because there was nothing else he could do.

He tried so hard not to let doubt creep in, not to feel despair, not to start desperately wishing he had thought about this a little longer. He tried to remember things he’d learnt about the human world – things that would help him. But it was already so different here from what he had expected.

The stories he had grown up hearing about human interactions with his kind were awful; humans were brutal and cruel and hunted merpeople for sport. That kind of thing. But he thought they were kind to each other. They had a society. They governed each other: elected officials who were entrusted with their cities and countries. They made art and sang songs and raised animals whom they kept for companionship, rather than labour. Humans were resilient and tough and brave, social creatures. They came together in crisis and performed heroic feats to help others out of danger. Those were the humans he had imagined.

The ones he had experienced so far were not like that at all. Maybe they knew, he thought; maybe they could tell already somehow that he wasn’t one of them. He was different. He hadn’t even been a human for a day yet. Maybe he was doing things wrong. He was sure he wasn’t walking right—the pain made it impossible. He had shown up from the beach in clothes that had barely dried, were caked in salt. His hair was stiff and tangled with it, too. His face felt tight and rough. Maybe they were right to mistrust him.

But how could he fix it? What could he do?

He couldn’t stay there, sitting on the ground. People walking past were looking at him; it made him nervous. No one had been able to show him any generosity or kindness and the darkness of night was starting to cover everything. There were artificial lights hanging from every door, a warm glow from every window that served only to bathe the shadows in a dim, greyish light. Nothing was black, as it was in the deep ocean, but it was all muted, hard to make out, indeterminate. Scarier.

He had to get out of sight. He had to find somewhere safe that he could stay for the night. That was the most important thing.

As hot as it had been when he first arrived on the surface, he could feel the chill now. There was something naked about being out in the air, with no water surrounding him, enveloping him. Even through the fabric of his clothes (which still scored his skin with every movement), he felt the air move, felt it stiffen his skin and raise the downy hairs there. He needed shelter. He needed to be far away from people, for now. He needed to be sure that, if what the merpeople said was true, he would not come to harm this night.

It was with a heavy, sinking heart that he made his way back to the beach. He fell upon the shingle and didn’t even have the energy to cry out, to sob like he wanted to. He had never experienced pain or exhaustion like this. He had never felt so out of place—not just in this world, but in this body. Did all humans feel like this? Heavy and sore and stiff, with the world pushing down on you? His legs were still screaming; they were as unblemished and unmarked as they had been when he’d first checked them twelve hours ago, but the pain was so convincing, he thought he would look down and see his tail, mutilated, bloody, split in two just like he’d asked. 

He made his way very slowly, very carefully, to the end of the beach and the edge of the shore. With the cliffside to his right, there was protection from wind, at least, and it was deserted of people. He shuffled forward and sat with his legs straight out, letting the waves wash over his feet.

That was when he cried. He cried with abandon, without thought, without hope, with an aching, broken heart. He couldn’t quite believe that it was happening this way, that all of his dreams were crumbling in front of his eyes. He wouldn’t believe it; there was good in this world and he was determined to find it, but he had never felt so out of his depth. He had no idea what to do. He had no one, nowhere, nothing.

He looked at the waves as they splashed over his feet (feet!) and he imagined sinking into them, imagined them encroaching further and further onto the shore until he was swallowed up by them, swimming, drowning. Could he drown? He was human now and humans could drown, but he was really a mermaid... Would the magic revert? He remembered what you had said about keeping a tether to him; would you know if he were drowning? Could you see him now, pathetic and weeping?

You could. With his pearl at the bottom of your basin, you could conjure up his image and watch his drama play out in the rippling water.

But the sight didn’t bring you much joy. You worried that you had overestimated him, overestimated the humans. You had spent time on the surface but it was still a foreign world; you didn’t know everything. Maybe you should have prepared him a little more, lent him a little of your human currency. You had expected his grace and charm to carry him at least through the first night but he was a different person now. Well, he was a person, not a merman anymore. He was literally out of his element. A fish out of water.

You chuckled to yourself at that one. Then you frowned and rested your chin on your palm, pondering ways that you could make this work if he couldn’t do it on his own. You fingered the clamshell on your necklace and an idea started to form.

It could work. It wasn’t how you had envisaged this whole thing going but... It could work.

With a sigh, you placed the pearl safely back in its clam and floated off to your inventory: a powder there, some shellfish here, gathering together everything needed for yet another expensive spell.

If you need something doing, you thought to yourself ruefully, you’ve got to do it yourself.

* * *

Hoseok was starting to shiver on the shore—something that he had never experienced before and something he would be quite happy to not experience again. The way his muscles trembled and his skin hurt, still raw from the fabric, but bumpy now with goosebumps that made the friction all the worse. He took his feet out of the water and asked himself forlornly what on earth he should do, but he had no answer.

He scanned the horizon out to sea and saw nothing but washed-out darkness looking back at him. He scanned the beach and the land and his attention was caught by a light, wobbling in the darkness and growing larger. It was only when the person holding the lantern stepped foot on the beach that he could see there was a person behind it at all. If he had been less tired, less sad, less hungry, he might have worried, or he might have rallied and put his best foot (foot!) forward, or he might have hidden. But he could do none of those things. He sat and watched a young woman approach.

“Goodness, are you alright?” she asked, when he was close enough to see her form but not her face.

She wore the same thin shoes that a lot of people in the town had been wearing, barely covering her feet, and long, flowing fabric danced on the shingle above them. He could just about make out her light hair and her petite height, but the rest of her remained a mystery.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Hoseok replied, knowing that he was lying but not knowing if she would see that.

“Are you sure?” she queried. “It’s not safe to be out on the beach alone at night like this. I saw you sitting here and I thought you might be in trouble.”

A glimmer of hope flicked in Hoseok’s heart. Could it finally be: a human who was like he had always dreamt humans would be? Kind? Generous? Could he tell her? Could he share his woes? Would she ease his mind? Was this what he had been waiting for?

He decided he had no choice because his only other options were to drown in the sea or starve on this beach.

“I am in trouble,” he began. “I have nowhere to stay, no food, no money. I have nothing. I don’t know what to do.”

He tried to stop his voice cracking, but it cracked of its own volition. He didn’t want to be pitied; he just needed to be helped. But beggars can’t be choosers, he reminded himself.

“None at all?”

You took a couple of steps towards him, still not close enough that he could see your features clearly, but enough to suggest trust, to suggest comfort.

He shook his head in return.

“You should come with me.”

You could see the surprise on his face, the hope that lit it, the worry that creased his brow.

“Just for tonight,” you continued. “I can give you a bed so you can rest. You really shouldn’t stay out here all night.”

Hoseok rose to his feet, biting hard on his bottom lip to stop himself crying out as the pain surged once more.

“It’s not far,” you said, before turning back the way you had come.

Hoseok followed your lantern, back up the beach, down the path, and into the town. You led him into a narrow alley with a single door at the end. It was this door that you opened with a quiet creak, then you led him inside and up a single flight of steps.

“It’s not much,” you said, attempting to sound somewhat apologetic as you opened the door to the apartment.

It was sparsely decorated and the linens were grey in a way that suggested they hadn’t always been. The lightbulb in the ceiling was naked and dim. The plant on the windowsill looked crisp and parched.

You lived comfortably underwater, despite your status as social pariah, because people wanted your little potions and spells and you could charge through the nose for them. On land, it was more difficult. Humans weren’t interested in trading for things; they wanted cash and nothing but. That made it more difficult to be comfortable here. But you had shelter and food and that was more than the prince had.

Hoseok was nervous. He hadn’t known what to expect but somehow, this wasn’t it. He had heard of the way humans warred with one another, the way they oppressed and exploited other classes, the way most of them starved whilst the few indulged. This was so much more mundane. Nondescript. Boring. Homely.

He took a look at the woman now that he could see her properly in the cold light of the apartment. She was beautiful. Not unlike the woman he had rescued from the beach, he realised. Dark skin that somehow shimmered, golden hair that almost looked like a halo with the way it reflected light. Her eyes were dark, too, deep and rich and warm. She felt familiar to him, somehow, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. He knew she wasn’t the same woman from the beach, not quite, but there was something about her that he felt he knew, had seen before. It comforted him, quieted his nerves a little.

“I don’t have much to offer,” you interrupted his thoughts with a shy chuckle. “But it’s better than sleeping outside.”

“This is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. It has been a difficult day and you are the first person who’s shown me any kindness. I don’t know how I can repay you for that.”

You giggled and it sounded like chimes.

“You don’t have to repay me. Pay it forward; if you help someone like I’m helping you, that will be enough.”

Hoseok wondered for a second if he had fallen asleep on the beach and was dreaming this. Because this woman, she was everything he had dreamt; she was what he had been hoping for. The flicker of hope in his chest grew into a flame and he shivered as a warmth rushed through him.

“Would you like something to eat?” you offered and Hoseok jumped at the chance.

You gave him bread and cheese and watched him eat them, at first tentatively, and then with great gusto. Of course, he had never tried these things before, never eaten human food. You placed some fruit on the small coffee table he was eating at and he devoured that, too. His eyes widened as he bit into a pear, ripe and juicy, sticky sweet nectar dribbling down his chin. He hummed with delight and you saw the sparkle return to his eyes.

You knew what you were there to do but you were enjoying this moment. This was the Prince Hoseok you knew; this was how he should be: bright and smiling, his crescent-moon eyes alight with laughter. You sat next to him and picked at some food, too, not really tasting it because the sweetness of the moment was far too strong.

Hoseok only stopped eating when you stopped giving him food, when you only had enough left for a small breakfast in the morning and nothing else. He sat back, resting on his palms, and sighed happily.

“That was the most amazing meal I’ve ever had!” he exclaimed and you laughed.

“You are very easily impressed. There are far more exciting things to eat here; I simply cannot afford them all.”

He shook his head.

“Not at all. That was wonderful. Thank you so much.”

With his stomach finally full, his fatigue hit him full in the face and he yawned widely, a quiet wail escaping his throat.

“You must be exhausted. Please, take the bed. I can sleep on the sofa,” you said, gesturing towards the bed that sat against one wall.

Hoseok thought the bed looked huge and the sofa, small. He thought about what the right thing to do would be. He couldn’t sleep in the bed. It wouldn’t be right, would it? But he was so tired and in so much pain. He looked at the bed longingly, imagining himself stretching out over its surface, letting it take his weight. He imagined it feeling like water, like being carried on the waves, weightless. He looked at the sofa.

“Please,” you repeated. “Take the bed.”

Every manner, every point of order, every etiquette lesson was screaming at him to say no, to refuse, to offer to sleep anywhere but the bed. To not inconvenience you, to not put you out, to not cost you even more than he already had, to not trespass any further onto your kindness. But sleep was calling, louder and more insistent. His wrecked, ravaged body was screaming.

He nodded shyly and offered a quiet thanks before rising and slipping, sore and worn, beneath the sheets. He was asleep before he even had the chance to notice the way the bed fabric, too, brushed rough against his exposed skin.

You watched him. He looked peaceful; his face smoothed of any worries or concerns. He made a fine human, you thought. He was tall and lean and, despite the pain you knew he was suffering, he didn’t let it show: he’d walked straight and held himself high. Royal blood, you assumed.

You wondered how much you would have to engineer this to ensure success. Despite all you knew about the prince (and you knew a lot), this was a blind spot. He had hesitated when you told him of his conditions; the idea of a child had alarmed him. Maybe he would decide he didn’t want to stay human after all.

There were two and a half days left. That was plenty of time, you decided. You wouldn’t push; he was too delicate for that, especially after his first day’s misery. You would cushion his fall, pick him up carefully, and slowly show him both what the human world was really like and what it could be like with you. You would delight him and impress him and he would give himself to you. He would. You were sure of it. He would fall into the world that you would show him and he would give himself to you, body and soul.

You fingered the clamshell still tied around your neck. It held the pearl you created when you turned Hoseok into a human. It now also held the pearl you created when you turned yourself into one.

* * *

The thing about royalty, the thing about the privileged, who’ve never really experienced hardship, for whom doors have always been opened, is that they are resiliently optimistic folk. Everything has always gone their way; naturally, they assume it always will. Even now, after everything that happened to him yesterday, Prince Hoseok was beaming. He was enamoured. He was full of awe and wonder. He was experiencing the human world as he thought it would be.

Because of you.

It was taking a lot out of you, truth be told, because you didn’t have the riches you needed to show him a human experience comparable to his underwater life. He wasn’t a royal here; he wasn’t anyone at all. Doors didn’t open for him and they didn’t open for you. But Hoseok had his charm and you had charms of a very different sort. So you were making it work, but your nerves were rising; with every bit you put in, you told yourself you had better pull this off. You had better seal the deal, make good on this bargain you had made with yourself, see through to the end the promise you swore to your dead mother and her dead mother and all the dead mothers back until time began.

It was your biggest show. It was your hardest work. Your magnum opus.

Or it would be. If—if you could do it.

Hoseok couldn’t let on that this was his first time on the surface; he couldn’t tell you he was really a merman, that a seawitch had transfigured him, that his legs were really a tail. It was too risky, too dangerous. But he kept forgetting that that meant he had to try to hide his enthusiasm, his surprise. Everything here was new to him. Everything here was fascinating and wonderful and intriguing and he could barely contain himself.

He had no backstory. He had no lies to tell. And he hadn’t noticed that you hadn’t asked. But it was dawning on him that, if he were to have a life here, he would have to think of something to tell people about where he came from. But he didn’t have the time, right now, to think of it. There was far too much to attend to. Too much to see, too much to do.

It would have been overwhelming were it not for you. If he’d had to continue doing this alone... well, he wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. If you hadn’t found him on the beach last night, where would he be? Sinking beneath the waves? Starving on the shore? You had lifted him up and now you were carrying him along, tethering him to the earth, providing him a guiding string to hold. He had never been so grateful for anyone in his life.

Not even the sea witch.

“What do you say?” you asked him, shortly before sunset on that second day.

Hoseok tried to think, but it didn’t really matter to him and he was so overstimulated, he couldn’t have made a decision if he’d wanted to. He shrugged.

“I’m happy to go wherever you like!”

“Hungry yet?”

He shook his head. He had sampled one of everything at the market after lunch and had to spend half an hour sitting quietly so that it wouldn’t make a return journey up his throat. He was still very far from hungry.

That was exactly the answer you were hoping for.

You led him away from town, towards the west where the land rose in a grassy slope, steep and getting steeper, until you reached the top of the cliff. You walked up to the edge and turned to see Hoseok hanging back, looking nervous.

“Scared of heights?”

Hoseok didn’t know. He had never really experienced ‘heights’, wasn’t quite sure what that meant. But the wind was stronger up here and he knew, without having to look, that the sea was a very long way down. It couldn’t be dangerous if you were doing it, he reasoned, but he’d heard too many stories of humans falling to their deaths from cliffs like these – sometimes deliberately, but often not.

You held your hand out to him and his stretched back before he’d even noticed and he inched forward until you could take it and tug him a little further and a little further still. His heart was in his mouth as he craned his neck to peer down into the foaming waves as they crashed and broke against the rock face. You didn’t let go of his hand.

“It’s very high,” he stated unsurely, not knowing if it was really.

It felt high. It looked high to him. But, in a way, everything was high. The sea had depth, not height. It wasn’t the same thing. He might have wagered that it would be, before now, but looking down to the sandy seabed from high above it was very different from looking down at the sea from the cliff edge. Something to do with the environment maybe.

Maybe the fact that he couldn’t fall off the sea and plummet to his death. Maybe that. He’d never been in mortal danger; the sea was a safe place for him and he had all the protection he might have wanted (more than he wanted, actually); he hadn’t really appreciated it until yesterday, when he had nothing and no one.

Now, he had you.

It had occurred to him. The condition of his staying a human. The three days he had to plant a seed. It kept occurring to him. It wouldn’t stop occurring to him. Not when you smiled, not when you showed him yet another wonder, not when you took his hand in your own. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. For a start, he wasn’t completely sure how all that worked with human bodies. For another, he didn’t know if you would want to. He didn’t know what human culture dictated.

You were beautiful. About that, he had no doubt. Was he attracted to you? Yes, he had decided he was. Did he trust you? Yes, as much as he could trust someone he’d just met; as much as he could trust a human. Did you feel the same way? That was a mystery he didn’t know how to solve. You had stretched out your hand to him; you had paid for him to be fed; you had let him sleep in your bed; you had taken him into your home. It suggested something, but he didn’t know what.

Just as it had the day before, his ignorance alarmed him. His recklessness in coming still surprised him. The weight of his deadline pressed down on him and he shuddered, involuntarily.

He looked concerned, you thought, distracted. You could tell he didn’t really like being so high above the sea; you wondered if it were a merman thing or a Hoseok thing. Being neither, you couldn’t know. You took pity on him and led him back down the cliffside, keeping his hand in yours as long as he would let you.

You assumed you would have to lead, that he wouldn’t take charge of the situation—judging by what you had seen so far. You mulled it over as you wandered slowly back into town. He had never really had to work for it, you supposed. He was a prince. And beautiful. And charming. And kind. He had everything going for him, which meant he had the entire sea throwing themselves at his feet, desperate to be picked. He probably didn’t know the first thing about seduction, about attraction—not really, anyway. It struck you then that there was every chance he’d be a really bad lay. There was every chance you would be, having never done it as a human before, but that was besides the point. The idea of Hoseok disappointing you left a sour taste in your mouth but you ignored it; that was not what you were there for. Good or bad didn’t matter. There was one objective and one only. Your own pleasure, your own, secret, little goals were neither here nor there. You had to stay focused.

Because it wasn’t going to be easy. You knew that. That was half the reason you hadn’t planned to do it yourself anyway (or so you told yourself...). It was going to be harder for you than some random stranger. You knew that. It was going to be horrible, you knew, looking into his eyes when he learnt the truth, when he saw you—the real you—for the first time on land. You could picture it: the shock and betrayal, the fear and hurt. It gave you pause. Because you hated him, hated who he was and what he stood for and everything about the systems and society of the place you both lived. But you also loved him, loved his smile and his eyes, his heart and his soul. You wanted him to be yours forever. You wanted him to choose you. He never would. Not really. If he knew you were here, if he knew the human holding his hand was really the sea witch who’d sent him up there, he wouldn’t choose you.

The shocked, betrayed face. The frightened, hurt expression. You sighed heavily, without meaning to.

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asked, his head tilting to the side.

You smiled brightly back at him.

“Of course! Just starting to get a bit peckish. Shall we eat something?”

Hoseok wasn’t really hungry. The market food was still solid in his stomach. But if you wanted to eat, he’d eat. He’d do anything you asked. He owed you everything.

More, in fact, than he knew.

* * *

You’d been distracted through dinner, which had been fine because, without the food to focus on (Hoseok barely ate), he could look around at everything else. He could fire questions at you (questions that were far too revealing—not that he noticed) and comment on his surroundings and commentate with barely any input required. That meant you could contemplate your task. You’d had to rush into this whole thing, take the reins with very little notice at all. This was not how you usually operated.

You were meticulous and organised because you had to be. Always on your guard because you had to be. Everything you did came with its own audit trail because you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had seen what that had done to your mother at far too young an age. Not that she actually made the mistake. But when you don’t have the proof of every action you’ve taken and word you’ve said, they can make it look like you did whatever they say you did.

You ate slowly, not really tasting, not really savouring. Your mind was busy, calculating. You had a day and a half left. 36 hours, give or take. There would be another night after this one. You didn’t relish the idea of leaving it until the last minute, but you could spoil the whole thing entirely if you pushed too hard, too fast. So you decided to wait.

*

Hoseok was determined, this time, to do the right thing and let you sleep in your own bed. He was embarrassed at the way he had behaved the night before: how greedily he’d eaten, how quickly he had relegated you to the sofa. It made him cringe. And then you had spent the whole day playing hostess to him: showing him around, paying for everything, keeping him company, and answering his questions.

His debt to you was beyond belief. He knew he should leave. He knew he should make his own way. He knew he could not rely on you – not even for the rest of his three days, if that was all he would have. He had to find a way to survive independently. He knew that. He had to pay you back. He had to make things right.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,” he announced when you returned back to your shabby apartment.

You pretended to be surprised.

“Oh, no,” you replied, “not at all. Take the bed! It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“No way. It’s your bed. I slept on it last night when I really shouldn’t have. Please. Take it.”

You shook your head, scrunching your nose and grinning stubbornly at him.

“No. You.”

He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched anyway.

“We may have reached a stalemate,” he announced, with solemn mock-seriousness.

You hummed, thoughtfully, running a finger along the bottom of the bed as you stepped closer to him.

“A compromise, then,” you said, poking a finger into his chest.

“And what is your compromise?”

“Well…”

You weren’t shy. Not when you were being yourself and not when you were pretending to be a human. But you were good at acting like it. You looked down and then up at him through your lashes, a small, reluctant smile traced on your lips.

“We could… share?”

You raised a hand to your face, covering your mouth, looking at Hoseok and then away and then back to him, eyelashes fluttering.

The genuine surprise on his face gave you butterflies. You could see his hesitation, watch his mind weigh his options, calculate the costs and benefits of each. He knew too little to have anything to guide him. Anything but you. And you had suggested it.

So it had to be ok, right?

“Share?” he asked, buying himself another moment to think it over, to consider what all this might mean in relation to the condition he had to meet.

You nodded, lip trapped between your teeth.

“Ok!” he answered brightly, hoping it was the right response, and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief when you beamed back at him.

It would be easy to love you, he thought and the sentiment caught him off-guard. He had to be realistic about human life. He wasn’t a prince here. He had nothing. But when he looked at you, he felt rich. He felt like his dream was within his grasp. You were everything he had ever hoped for. He could stay here forever with you, couldn’t he?

He wasn’t going to do anything tonight. Ask or proposition or… or god knew what else. It was too soon. Too early. There was still time. He told himself, there was still time. Still time for him to wake up from this dream he’d fallen into when he met you. Still time to commit to it forever.

You took the left side and Hoseok the right. You curled onto your side, facing him, with the covers pulled up to your eyes. He lay on his back, moonlight from the open shutter illuminating his face in a sharp line that crossed him and left you in the dark.

You watched him for a while: not sleeping, though he had his eyes closed.

“Hoseok,” you whispered. “Where are you from?”

His eyes opened and went to the window.

“Somewhere… close but also very far away.”

“You mean like, culturally?”

You saw him nod.

“Yeah. Where I come from is… very different. More different than I thought.”

“How come you came here?”

He shook his head, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I had to,” was his simple answer and you let it hang there in the darkness, waiting for him to add to it. “I think I could have stayed, but I’d have got old and I would have looked back and I’d have regretted it. I’d have regretted staying there my whole life. I’d have regretted not seeing everything this wo- this place has to offer. I needed to experience it.”

“Do you like it here?”

He let the question go unanswered for some time. So long that he wondered, after he’d spoken, if you’d fallen asleep in the interim.

“I like some of it. I like you.”

It made your stomach swoop. Even if he wasn’t talking about you. Just the human you were pretending to be. You wondered how a real human woman would have responded to that.

You changed the subject.

“I thought I was seeing things when I first noticed you on the beach.”

A slow smile formed itself on Hoseok’s lips.

“You were… You saw me.”

You reached out and poked his arm.

“I didn’t want to go home not knowing you were ok. If I’d woken up in the morning to a news story about… well, I couldn’t have lived with myself. I realised, as I approached, that you weren’t really in danger. You looked like you were waiting for something. Someone.”

His smile turned rueful and his eyes flicked again to the window, outside of which you could hear but not see the waves crashing on the shore.

“I was,” he said, his voice a low whisper. Then he turned his face away from the light to look directly at you. “I was waiting for a miracle.”

* * *

You no longer had any concerns about the success of your plan. You had no doubt that Hoseok would go along with anything you wanted to drag him into. You didn’t know if he knew what his feelings were, but you did.

It was your own feelings that concerned you.

You hadn’t spent time with Hoseok like this since you were much younger. He was addictive. His smiles and his laughter and the way his eyes gleamed bright all the while. You could feel your resolve crumble and you knew it was bad when you realised it didn’t bother you.

You began to try to re-think things. Reformulate. Work out a way that maybe there could be a future, after all.

Originally, this was where it stopped. This was where your scheming—and your life—would end. You felt the guilt of having had no children: no one to pass your powers and your knowledge down to; you also felt free because you had subjected no one else to a life like yours. It was a heavy burden to be who you were down in the water. But it wouldn’t have mattered much once you were dead, which you were certain you would be at the end of all this. You can’t just ‘kidnap’ the prince, ‘mutilate’, and ‘trap’ him and live to tell the tale. Many had died for less. And you were fine with that. You were living to avenge every woman in your family, every witch, every creature under the sea who lived shunted into shadows, left out of the light, less than. Had been for years.

And for years, your only source of light, the single little gemstone glittering in your heart, was Prince Hoseok. Prince Hoseok and his angelic face, his musical laughter, his charm, his lightness, his brightness, his everything you weren’t and could never be.

You would get to destroy it all in one fell swoop. A beautiful, perfect demise.

Now you weren’t so sure. Weren’t so sure you could do it. You could do it; you weren’t sure you could go through with it. These feelings that you thought you were so used to, not controlled by, not swayed by anymore, were threatening to overpower you. You felt the tendrils unfurl, in the deepest pit of your heart, sending out shoots and roots, embedding themselves further into the bitter, twisted muscle. You could feel them growing through your veins, buds springing up like goosebumps on your skin. You felt them every time his hand accidentally brushed yours, every time you fed him some new food and barely grazed his lips with your fingers. Every time he laughed. Every time he looked at you. Every time. All the time.

Hoseok allowed himself to relax. You liked his company. You wanted him around. He hadn’t tried that hard to leave you—because he had no one and nothing and nowhere else, but also because he recognised that you wanted him to stay. He had realised that, whilst so much was different up on the surface, he was the same. And people liked him. Always had. Yes, he was a prince and there was always a contingent of the sycophantic and the boot-licking, but he had always been well-liked, even amongst his brothers, amongst the entire royal court. He was popular. He was fun. He was funny.

And he was enjoying himself.

He had twenty-four hours. That was enough. He’d make a decision. He was confident in that. He would make a decision soon and he would live with it, whatever it ended up being. He wasn’t pushing himself to find the answer just yet.

He was enjoying himself.

You took him dancing. It felt risky, given what you knew about how much pain he must still be in, how uncoordinated he might be on his two feet, but it was an opportunity to get closer, to show him something new, to show him something you could do. Because you loved to dance. Really only came to the surface to do this one thing.

Certain sea creatures danced, but not like humans did. It wasn’t the same without the sound of feet on floorboards, wasn’t the same without the weight of gravity trying to keep you down every time you pushed up. You weren’t exactly a fan of humans (certainly not in the way Hoseok was), but they had got this right.

Your worries had been unfounded. Hoseok’s legs were feeling better already, he thought, or he was just getting used to the pain. Either way, he wasn’t suffering like he had on the first day. He was a terrible dancer, make no mistake. He couldn’t understand the way people moved their legs, the way their feet moved so quickly they were almost blurs. He tripped and stumbled and crashed about but none of that seemed to matter to you, so it didn’t matter to him either. You held him close and pulled him up and around and twisted and turned and skipped and span until his head was dizzy.

He had never experienced a joy like it.

*

You took him on a short carriage ride, because there was somewhere else you wanted him to see. It wasn’t that far, really, but you didn’t want him to have to walk and a carriage was as new an experience to him as everything else was.

You made it drop you just far enough away that it wouldn’t spoil the surprise. You gave Hoseok nothing, answering none of his questions, not saying a word, because you were holding your breath to wait for his reaction.

And there it was.

You saw his eyebrows, first raised and then knitted together, and then softening. His eyes widening. His mouth dropping open slightly, in the way that made it perfectly heart-shaped. Then he turned his eyes on you. Was this it? Was this the thing you wanted him to see?

It was.

Like a sea of green grass with hundreds – no, thousands – of red flowers floating on the waves. Hoseok didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. It was as if he were in another new world. The red-headed poppies were so numerous, you almost couldn’t see the grass underneath; there was merely a suggestion of verdant growth propping up the riot of colour. What were these things and how did they grow in such great number?

He had been taught, growing up, that humans had no respect for nature. That they ripped up land plants and built over grasslands; they destroyed forests and valleys and wetlands all for their own ends. They would rather look at glass and concrete and chrome than the kaleidoscopic views the natural world had to offer. He had believed them, because he had heard the true stories of what human activity had done to sea life; he had received the messages of the reefs dying and oil spilling and nets catching up all sorts of things they shouldn’t. He thought, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, as he was always wont to do, that maybe the nature on land wasn’t like the nature in the sea. Maybe things were different up here. Lots of other things were.

Now he saw that he had been entirely wrong. Acres of land lay before him. Acres of useful land that could have grown crops or laid foundations to buildings were ablaze with the bright, bright red of flowers he’d never seen before. And the humans let it happen.

As his surprise gave way to pure, wide-eyed admiration, he noticed that the humans were experiencing it the same way he was. He saw them with their cameras, taking their images (as you had explained to him that’s what they did), keeping the sight forever more. He saw them smile and laugh and frolic. He saw them and saw himself in them. He saw, also, the goodness he had always known was there. The spirit and love and joy of humanity. It was here, in these fields. It was here, in his heart. It was here, standing next to him; you, watching him expectantly, a nervous smile trying to tug your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Wow,” was all he managed to say.

* * *

It was his last night. What might have been his last night. What could be his last night. Hoseok felt tense. Nervous. Almost sick.

He had decided. He was going to stay. If he could. If he could make it happen. If you wanted it.

He knew he had a home to go back to, if you didn’t. He would always have these three days. No one could take them away from him. And if that’s all he got, if three days on the surface was all he ever got to experience, then so be it. He was putting himself in your hands: himself, his heart, his dreams. His body.

The problem was that he didn’t know how to tell you that. He didn’t know how any of this happened on land. He didn’t know what he could or could not say, or do, or suggest. Which is why he had to leave it up to you. He’d just get it wrong.

It was Hoseok’s last night and you were wondering if you were just imagining the way he was looking at you, wanting him to be looking like that. You could bend reality, but that didn’t mean you always saw it clearly. The heart had tricks of its own.

But you had the advantage over him, because you knew his secrets. You knew that this would be his last chance; you knew that you were his only option. You knew that he wanted to stay. You couldn’t be sure if he wanted to stay enough to sleep with you.

You had suggested wine at dinner because you knew it was what the humans drank and knew it made them silly and loud and boisterous; you knew it lowered their inhibitions and made them do things they often regretted. You didn’t really know how you would react to it—your body was technically human now but you’d never been drunk before—but it had left you feeling warm and a little giddy. It had, blessedly and as you had hoped, made this whole thing easier to think about.

Because your head was spinning a little too fast to think about the bigger picture: the whys and wherefores of how you got here, how he got here, the purpose of this whole thing. You could really only think about the splendid slope of his nose. The way his shallow philtrum led to the smooth, rounded peaks of his cupid’s bow. The tiny, dark freckle there that waited, begging to be kissed. The perfect symmetry of his dimples as he smiled.

You hadn’t indulged in this since you were small. Hoseok had been your first crush. First, last. Only. As a pre-teen, you’d been silly with infatuation over him. Memorised the maps of his freckles and exact proportions of his body. You’d floated around in the sea, daydreaming about him for hours on end, not realising how far you had strayed until your mother had come screaming after you, pulling you back and warning you about being so unaware of your surroundings.

You remembered those feelings now. The fizziness in your limbs and heavy twisting in your gut. Like old friends. Hoseok, too, was an old friend. Your oldest. Your only. Now and, if you got this right, forevermore.

Hoseok had accepted the first glass of wine but recoiled at its taste, unable to believe he’d found something on the surface he didn’t like. You had then explained to him that it was technically a poison and he had been aghast to see you continue to drink it, to look around and see so many other humans doing the same. Every minute brought him something new.

You took his hand as you walked back from dinner to your apartment. It was warm and soft and you were grateful for it. Hoseok was grateful for it, too. His clothes still rubbed at his skin and so much of him still hurt, but your hand in his did not.

You didn’t let go when you reached the door, didn’t let go when it shut behind you and you let the lock click. You tugged him a little closer to you, took his other hand, kept his eyes on yours as you moved closer still.

You hadn’t done this before.

Hoseok hadn’t done this before.

You’d seen it done. You understood the concept.

Hoseok had no idea what was coming, but he had decided what he wanted. He had decided to trust you. And he’d decided to trust his gut, too. If humans were anything like merpeople (and they were), at least some of what was to happen would be instinctive.

He hoped, anyway.

You didn’t say a word, though you had planned to. You had scripted a kind of shy proposition, an awkward hobble of a speech in which you would say and ask and tell. But you abandoned it. Or rather, it abandoned you. Not a single word of it left in your head. So you stopped using it: your head. Stopped thinking.

You pressed your lips to his like you’d seen humans do.

The candle in Hoseok’s heart roared, its flame reaching up his throat and into his mouth. He didn’t have time to think. His body acted for him. For the first time since he crawled onto the shore, his body was feeling something that wasn’t pain. Was feeling something familiar. Something hot and deep and aching.

He didn’t mind the taste of the wine on your tongue, thought it was sweet, actually, had lost the acidic tang of the alcohol that made it poisonous. This kiss was like every kiss that had come before it, but also, nothing like them. Absent, the tang of salt. Present, the wet heat of your mouth and his. Absent, the way he could breathe through his gills. Present, the breathlessness that made him pull away before you pulled him back. Absent, the modest nudity in which the entire undersea world lived. Present, a kind of shy, self-conscious awareness of his hidden body.

An enormous, embarrassed awareness of the bulge in his trousers, the way it couldn’t be hidden. He had been horrified to see it, when he had washed up on the beach, two-legged and naked. He couldn’t believe that humans just walked around with everything on display like that (he had known this already, would have remembered if he’d been in his right mind); he’d felt awkward and conscious the entire time, sure that everyone could see, that it was obscene, that humans couldn’t really live like this?

But never more than now, as it strained against his trousers, which hadn’t been tight thirty seconds ago and were now constraining him in a way that bordered on painful. He kept his body away from you, more difficult now that your hands were skittering up his arms and down his chest, slipping back up his skin underneath his shirt, trying to pull him closer.

You felt a little bit dizzy. Sure, the wine, but also, this. Hoseok. The sweetness of fruit in his mouth. The heat of his skin. The sensation of a kiss—something you’d never experienced before, that you had seen, that had disgusted you—was nothing like you’d imagined. If you had thought about it, if you’d been thinking rationally, you might still have been disgusted by the way your tongues rolled over each other, swapping saliva, the way you could taste him, taste the fruit he’d just eaten. But you weren’t thinking rationally. You weren’t thinking at all.

You were feeling. And it was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You gave into it.

Hoseok gave into it.

It was, as the humans say, like riding a bike. Though you hadn’t done that either.

Hoseok stopped thinking about it when you removed his shirt and stepped out of your dress. Legs were new to him. That was true. The human arrangement of body parts was new to him but they weren’t all that different once everything was out in the open. You had lit a fire in him and he was happy to stoke the flames. He was burning again, all over, inside and out, but it wasn’t painful, wasn’t torture. It was exquisite. New and familiar at once. Intoxicating.

You fell to your knees and Hoseok thought you had stumbled, bent down to help you up, but you stopped him, shook your head, and he stood straight.

Then you took his thick, heavy cock into your hand and licked the top. You wrapped your lips around it and pushed yourself forward, gliding your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks and sucking. Hoseok gasped and almost fell to his knees himself. He didn’t know what this was, assumed it was a normal part of human sex, briefly wondered if sex actually was different here, if this was the entire act. Then he felt the head of his cock press against the back of your throat and his mind was wiped clean of thought. Replaced by a kind of urgent static that made him want to buck his hips, fuck into the hot clutch of your throat.

You had seen humans do this. You weren’t sure if you were doing it right. Not at first, anyway, but Hoseok had a pained look on his face, his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving as he panted, and you knew that was the reaction you were supposed to be eliciting. You could feel the twitch of his dick as it hit your throat, as you gagged lightly around it. You could just about hear, over the roaring of blood in your ears, Hoseok moaning, your name tumbling from his mouth like a prayer.

You were aching between your legs. You were hot and sticky and you could feel it dripping from you. You felt your walls clench and had the sudden, immediate need for Hoseok’s cock there, not in your mouth. You let it fall, wiped your eyes and your mouth and Hoseok was pulling you to your feet, crashing his mouth into yours, his hands frantic and grabbing.

Neither of you was thinking a second beyond what was happening. Gone were your concerns with your long-planned acts of vengeance. Gone were Hoseok’s worries about committing to life on the surface, about leaving his marine life behind, bringing a child into the world. Gone was the pressure of your subterfuge. Gone was the pressure of all his lies of omission. Gone was everything outside the four walls of this apartment. Gone was the whole world beyond your body in his hands, his body in yours.

Hoseok found that legs made all this much easier. They probably wouldn’t under water, but here, he saw their benefit. Saw the upsides to having two of them, of having them jointed at two places and not twenty. As he knelt over you on the dingy grey sheets of your bed, he almost laughed at the image of him trying to do this with a tail. Maybe there were some upsides to this human body after all.

He placed the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushed his hips forward, a little experimentally, testing the motion, the movement of his hips. He fell forward onto his hands, eyes closed, a long, gasping moan trapped in his throat.

He hadn’t known that humans had it so much better.

Would’ve done this days ago if he had.

You were hot and tight and wet and it was all Hoseok could do not to come right there and then. He paused, trying to catch a breath, gather himself, not lose it all as soon as he had begun.

It was excruciating for a second and the whine you’d let out wasn’t pleasured but pained. You were grateful when Hoseok stopped, though you didn’t think it was for you. Is this what it was like? You had thought they liked it. That was the point, wasn’t it? Humans mated for fun, not just for procreation. You had to assume fun would follow. It had been fun up to that point. It had been its own exquisite kind of pleasurable torture waiting for something to stuff you full.

But now he was and it was like being split down the middle. You wondered for a second if this was how it had felt for Hoseok when he grew legs. Then he started pushing his hips forward again and it tossed all thought out the window.

“Are you ok?” he asked, looking down at you with a frown of genuine concern.

You nodded. You nodded some more. You couldn’t speak because the pressure in your centre was overwhelming, the pain like nothing you had felt before. But you couldn’t stop. You wanted it. You wanted him. You had never been pushed out of your mind like this, brought into your body so viscerally, so violently, with such care. Hoseok brushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

“No.”

You pulled him down to you, down to his forearms, so you could kiss him, so his chest touched yours, so you could distract yourself from Hoseok with even more Hoseok. With your tongue in his mouth, you allowed yourself to cry out as he pushed further. He swallowed the sound and returned his own. You were trembling, your muscles shaking, your skin sticky with sweat.

So was Hoseok.

The pain wasn’t registering anymore, even though he knew it was still there. All he could feel was your cunt squeezing hard around him; it made him dizzy with pleasure. His stomach was churning, twisting; he was bracing trying to make this last.

Because he’d forgotten the point of it. Forgotten that the ending was the bit that counted. He wanted to feel you, he wanted to touch you and taste you and luxuriate in the human experience of this. He hadn’t imagined it but, if he had, even his wildest dreams wouldn’t have come close. Mermaids? He’d never go back.

He paused, to give you a moment, to give himself a moment, a breather. He kissed you, luxuriating in that, too: the way you tasted like no one else he’d ever kissed, the way your mouth was warm and wet, your tongue soft and supple. He liked the way his breath caught in his throat. He liked the way he found himself panting. He even liked the way his shoulders were starting to ache from holding his body up. Liked the way he could feel every muscle of his posterior chain move when he slowly, tentatively began to draw his hips back, when he tipped them forward again, when he set a slow, smooth motion that he found came easily to him.

Having a human body was exhausting. It was hard work. It was heavy all the time and never supported. It had been torture in the truest sense, with every step Hoseok took stabbing daggers into his legs. But he could see the benefits now. Well, he could feel them. He felt more embodied than he ever had before. Somehow separate from the world in a way that made him feel so much more connected to you. You weren’t two small parts of a larger whole. You were the whole.

He had spent time pondering the ways in which air was so different from water. He often thought water came off the better from the comparison. But this was changing everything. It was exhausting and painful and he was so aware of each and every part of his body. And with that, came a gut-churning pleasure that made his eyes water and his head spin. Water had nothing on air.

You weren’t sure it was pleasurable yet. The sharp pain had subsided and the little grunts and groans that Hoseok left in your mouth were sweet enough, but it wasn’t pleasure. Not yet. You were sure it would come. Didn’t mind entirely if it didn’t tonight. There would be other nights.

You hoped, you prayed, there would be other nights. Because it might have been pain, but it was the sweetest pain you’d ever felt. A pain that you somehow longed for, even as you longed for it to end. A pain that made you feel wanted. A pain that connected you to another living being in a way that you never had been. A pain that, in a moment of intense clarity, you realised connected you to women, human women. All human women who had experienced this since time began. You understood a little about their myths about the origin of man, and sin, and punishment.

You understood it. How this could be punishment. How it could be pleasure, too. How it could be worth it.

Hoseok could feel it coming. He was desperately trying to beat it back, to delay its onset, to make this last and last and last. He never wanted it to end, but he could feel his muscles tightening, feel his cock jumping with every thrust. Pleasure was coiling like a spring inside him, boiling rapidly, boiling over.

You gasped alongside him when he came, when his hips and breath stuttered and he filled you with ropes of hot cum. His body was heavy on top of yours, in a pleasing, crushing kind of way that grounded you. At that very moment, neither one of you was thinking about the consequences of what you had just done. What it could mean. What it meant for your best laid plans. You were lying, listening to the soft rushing of your breath and the hammering of your hearts.

*

It came to you, first, and you didn’t want to think about it. Because you were so full of feeling for Hoseok; feelings that you thought had faded, that had embedded themselves in you in a way that made them fade into the background, made you almost forget they were there, were screaming at you now. In technicolour. Surround sound. Unignorable. Undeniable.

But had you just destroyed him? Destroyed his life? His family?

That had been the intention. Bring down the royal family by having one of their own shun the sea for life on the surface, mate with a human. They’d have known it was you—it couldn’t have been anyone else—and they’d have executed you without trial. But it would’ve been worth it because, forever more, there would be a line of the royal family that ran human, that ran amok on the surface, that no one below the waves would ever be able to forget. It would have been their undoing without doubt. Whatever betrothals lay in wait for the princes would be broken; whatever treaties that were depending on them dashed; the reputation of the family would be in tatters. It would be over for them.

Which was what you had wanted.

But as you lay, absent-mindedly stroking Hoseok’s hair, naked and sweaty and sticky, with a penetrating ache still radiating through your core, you thought about how much that would hurt him. You saw the betrayal on his beatific face and your stomach flipped with fear. Because it wasn’t meant to be you lying here. And that made a difference.

Because you had seen him. You had kissed him. You had had him move inside you. You had loved him your whole life long and now you had to tell him that you had ulterior motives. That you were working against him. That all of this had been the result of your careful manipulations.

There had to be another way. There had been another way. That was how you had designed it. You weren’t supposed to be in this front-row seat. That was the point.

But it was too late now. And you needed a way out.

Maybe he never had to know.

Maybe you could make this work.

*

Hoseok’s eyes were fluttering shut. He could barely keep them open. He didn’t know if he had just secured his existence here or not. He didn’t know how to guarantee a child. Wasn’t clear-headed enough at that moment to know, for sure, if he wanted one.

He wanted to stay. Oh, he wanted to stay. He couldn’t go back now. But a child?

He felt wicked. He thought about what you might say if you ever learnt the truth. The betrayal. The way he used you for this.

He felt like a coward. He was a pampered prince who had achieved nothing on his own. He had turned to a sea witch in the midst of what amounted to a king-sized tantrum. She had risked her entire existence bringing him here. He had barely survived on his own. You had rescued him. Given him food and shelter and company and the greatest pleasure he had ever known.

He knew he couldn’t tell you the truth. Not if he wanted any part of this to continue.

Because he did. He wasn’t just using you. He wasn’t sure he was using you at all. He liked you. He wanted you. He wanted to stay, not just on the surface, but on the surface with you.

It felt too big. Too confusing. Too difficult. He was a coward, after all, so he closed his eyes and decided to see what the morning would bring.

You noticed his breathing slow, grow heavy and deep, his body relaxing further, his weight pressing down on you harder. He was asleep. That gave you time, you thought. To think of something. Some way out of this. Some way to stay in this.

But your own eyelids felt heavy, kept dropping of their own accord, and you kept losing your train of thought. You gave into it; you would wake early, go out and buy something for breakfast, figure it out in the morning.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Inspiration Saturday!!

Tagged by @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples who both posted INCREDIBLE stuff y'all should show some love 🩷💚

I'm focusing on Eddie's second oh moment right now, but the other night I was writing for my Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries AU and decided to try something... I made my first moodboard!!! I like it, but I might change it up a bit as I keep writing for it.

Ta da!! And here's a snippet to go with it:

Buck crouched and opened the cabinet by the sink. An opened box of pink packets sat turned on its side in the cabinet. The box read Nerve Powders. Something at the back of his mind told him there was more to it than that. A sharp knock echoed off the tile in the bathroom. “This lavatory is fully occupied!” Buck called as he closed the cabinet, stowing away a few packets in his jacket. “Police! Open up!” Damn. Buck stood and opened the door, plastering on his charming smile. Good Christ. Detective Diaz from a distance was a sight to behold in itself. Up close? Adonis wouldn't stand a chance. Coffee brown eyes shone in the light streaming in from the window. A wayward wave fell across his forehead, the only thing out of place in his otherwise immaculate appearance. His bone structure was beyond perfect.

He carried himself with a relaxed confidence Buck spent years faking. How this man achieved it? Buck didn't know. “You must be the detective,” Buck said. “Apologies for my urgent call of nature.” “You do realize this is an active crime scene,” Detective Diaz pointed out. Wow, even his voice was gorgeous. “Forgive me, detective,” Buck smiled. “It's very fortunate I'm wearing gloves, is it not?” Diaz stepped past Buck and stared at the chalk outline on the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration, the smallest pout on his lips. Buck turned to the officer standing near the doorway. “Do you think it was poison?” “Most likely,” the officer nodded. “We have yet to determine the cause of death,” Detective Diaz said with a pointed look at his officer. Oh, what Buck wouldn't do to see the man be a little mean to him too. Buck honestly hoped Detective Diaz would arrest him. Buck could show him a thing or two with those handcuffs. Not that he’d ever voice that thought out loud.

Absolutely no pressure tagging: @13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @thekristen999

@daffi-990 @wikiangela @kitteneddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @ronordmann

@exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @actuallyitsellie @tizniz @fortheloveofbuddie

@bidisasterevankinard @rainbow-nerdss @wildlife4life @hippolotamus @daniwib

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @likeamollusconarock @smallandalmosthonest @idealuk @jshadow01

@shipperqueen6 @lunarspark-cos @misshiss727 @weareallstoriesintheend11 @lin27 @orangeboxfox92 and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

[albertasunrise]

Hope - Getting Your Hopes Up

Masterlist

Summary: After Joel loses his wife and your best friend during childbirth. You support him as he takes on parenthood on his own at 22. But when feelings start to develop, you battle with the guilt you feel for falling for your best friend’s husband.

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+… this is to avoid spoilers! (So first chapter's a little short but I promise its building... Gonna be away for a few days one a work trip but will try get some more updates out in a few days)

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Joel had instantly sensed that something had changed between you both after the visit to Tommy’s and not for the better. You were more guarded around him. Kept a sort of, metaphorical and sometimes physical, distance from him at all times and he just couldn’t understand what had changed. He had thought the visit had gone well. You and Tommy had hit it off and his brother hadn’t stopped thanking you for the help you were so generously bestowing on him and his daughter.

Maybe that was it.

You were fed up with the sleepless nights and taking care of not only Sarah but him also. When you said you were going to move in and help, he hadn’t thought to ask how long you planned to do that. It had been a few months now. Perhaps you were at the end of your tether and he couldn’t expect you to do this forever.

You on the other hand were wracked with guilt. The feelings you had developed for Joel and the statement he’d made at Tommy’s had led you to avoid any sort of close contact with him. You thought by distancing yourself from him that it would get easier to cope with them but you were wrong. It just confused you further. His sad eyes would follow you as you flitted around the house cleaning or cooking or tending to Sarah. You knew you weren't dealing with this in the right way but there wasn't an instruction manual on this.

'Idiots guide to dealing with your crush on your dead best friend's husband.'

Yeah, there wasn't anything out there to help you navigate these feelings you felt. Then, on a rare and much-needed night out 3 months later with the girls, your friend Linda suggested you try something new.

"Speed dating?" You snorted as you sipped your Mojito.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Linda defended, pointing her forefinger at you as she smirked at your reaction "My sister met her fiancé doing it and they're an amazing couple."

"I'm not exactly looking for a husband right now." You chuckled, glancing at Hanna that was watching this interaction with amusement.

"Well, my tall dark and handsome over there would probably happily help you with your dry spell." She chuckled, motioning at the man who had, unbeknown to you, been glancing at you all evening "He's not been able to take his eyes off of you."

"I don't know." You grumbled, smiling at him sweetly before looking back at your friends "I don't know if I-"

"He's coming over." Linda grinned as she playfully elbowed you.

"I think it's time for another round." Piped up Hanna, winking at you "Linda, could you help."

"No… No, no Pleas-" You didn't get to finish your sentence before they were up and leaving you to fend for yourself.

Mr tall dark and handsome seemed to falter a moment before schooling his features and heading over to your table.

"Hi." He said softly, giving you a sweet smile and you felt yourself relax a little as you replied with a quiet "Hey." Back.

"Your friends are about as subtle as a dump truck." He joked and you snorted.

"Understatement."

"I'm Alec." He said, holding his hand out to shake which you accepted as you gave him your name in return.

"I uh… I gotta confess something." He said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully and you felt your pulse quicken "I uh, I'm not very good at this. I just got divorced and my buddy over there dragged me out to find someone to wet my wick."

"Think my friends were trying to achieve something similar." You chuckled "Been going through a bit of a dry spell." You confessed, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I pretty much noticed you the moment you walked in with your friends and I… Well, I decided that if there was anyone I wanted to try this whole 'dating' thing with again, it was you."

"I could be a psycho for all you know." You scoffed "How could you possibly know that I was the girl you wanted?"

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He stated plainly, ripping the air from your lungs "You have honest eyes."

"Honest eyes?" You chuckled and he nodded.

"You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes."

You smiled at his statement. Finding yourself taken by his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. You continued to talk, even when your friends returned with the round of drinks they had promised. They eventually left, demanding you call them with the details to which you rolled your eyes before hugging them goodbye. You stayed at the bar a little while longer. Getting to know Alec intimately. What he liked to read, cook, and do on the weekends. You learned that he had a two-year-old that he had sole custody of. The mother not wanting to be tied down by family. He lit up when you asked if he had a picture and he was quick to pull out a Polaroid that he kept in his wallet.

"My uh… My parents have Noah for the night." He said, smiling nervously at you as he took his shot "Did you uh… do you fancy coming back to my place?"

"Definitely!"

Joel was sitting staring at his mug of coffee when you made your entrance that following morning. He looked up at you briefly before returning to staring at the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the drink and fade into nothingness.

"Good night?" He asked, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.

"Great night." You replied, pulling a mug from the cupboard and pouring yourself some coffee from the machine "Really needed it."

"Good." He replied plainly "Glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did." You continued, completely unaware of the tone Joel was setting "I didn't realise how badly I needed to let my hair down. The last few months haven't allowed for much fun." You chuckled and Joel scoffed.

"Sorry, we're such bores." He grumbled, taking a large swig of his coffee and your brows drew together as you turned to face him.

"You know I didn't mean it that way." You argued, feeling your heart tug a little at the thought he would think you didn't enjoy his company.

"You didn't come home last night." He stated and you felt even more confused by his attitude.

"I uh… I met someone last night and we hooked up." You replied casually, shrugging your shoulders as you blew on the coffee in your grasp.

Joel felt jealousy lick at his soul but he knew he had no right to feel that way. You were only there to help him with Sarah. He had said it himself. You and he were just friends. Nothing more.

"Right, well, would have appreciated a heads up that you weren't coming back." He grumbled, downing the last of his coffee before standing to grab himself a refill "I was worried."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped in your tracks. You were living under his roof and you should have probably given him a heads up.

"I know sorry." You sighed "Didn't mean to worry ya." You continued as you scraped a hand over your mouth "I wasn't really thinking about you at the time."

"Figures." He snarled and you felt your fuse burn out.

"You know, I think perhaps I should move back home now." You piped up and Joel's eyes widened as he turned on his heel to look at you "Sarah's nearly 5 months old now. You don't need my help anymore."

"I-"

"I'll still be around if you need help but I think it's best if I just go home. I'm only getting in the way now."

"You're not…" Joel trailed off as he tried to find the words to say to stop you from doing this.

From leaving him.

"Sarah's so used to you being around. What if she doesn't like just me being there."

"She'll forget about me in no time." You said softly, starting to feel guilty about the decision you were making "It'll be fine Joel." You assured him "You're a great father!… You don't need me."

You moved out that night. It didn't take you long to pack the clothes you'd brought with you, packing them into your car before saying your goodbyes to Joel and Sarah and driving home. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched them disappear in the rearview mirror. You hated to leave them but you knew that if you wanted to remain friends, you had to leave. It was the right thing to do.

In the two months that followed, your and Joel's relationship started to mend. You were able to laugh together again. You continued to take care of Sarah on the days he wasn't able to but your evenings were taken up by your new relationship with Alec and his adorable son. The relationship flourished with each date and kiss you shared.

Joel watched from the sidelines as you fell hard and fast for this man. The green monster he had tried to tamp down was trying to crawl its way out every time he was near the two of you. Weekends with you, Alec and Noah had become a common occurrence. Noah seemed to enjoy showing Sarah how to play and she seemed to be just as taken by him.

"Maybe there are wedding bells in their future." Alec joked one Saturday as he watched Noah lay on his tummy on Sarah's play mat beside her. playing with her assortment of toys as she watched him with a wide grin on her face.

"They are super cute together." You piped up, chuckling as Alec wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close so he could kiss you sweetly.

"Not as cute as you too." Chuckled Tommy from his seat beside his brother "It's actually a little sickening." He said as he mimed himself vomiting and you rolled your eyes at him and flipped him off.

"You're just jealous." You teased the younger Miller as you returned to arranging the sides and cutlery on the table.

"Not much time for relationships right now." He replied with a shrug as he took a swig of his beer "What about you brother?"

"Hmm?" Joel hummed as he looked at his brother "What about me?"

"You been on any dates?"

"I'm a widow with a baby." Joel scoffed "Not much time to date between naps, changed diapers and bottle feeds."

"You know we would happily have her for an evening if wanted a night off!" You piped up, looking up at Alec who smiled and nodded at you in agreement.

"I hear there's a speed dating event going on this weekend and the Rising Sun." Alec announced as he scooped up the burgers and placed them on a bun "Didn't a friend of yours meet her fiancé at one?"

"Friend's sister but yes." You replied, "They're like the perfect couple I swear!"

"I'm not looking to date right now." Joel growled, wishing desperately for this conversation to end.

"Oh come on brother, you can't remain alone forever."

"My wife, Sarah's mum, has been dead less than a year." He snapped and rendered you all silent "I lost…" He tried off as his eyes zoned in on you, noting Alec's hand on your hip and how you leaned into him as he planned a tender kiss on your temple.

"Sorry, Joel." Piped up Tommy, pulling his attention away from you and to his brother beside him "We didn't mean-"

"I know." Joel stopped Tommy in his tracks, giving him a reassuring look as the necks of their beers clinked together "I'm just not sure I'm ready for anything new right now."

"You know where we are when you are." Alec piped up "We're here for you."

"Always." You said, giving Joel a nod before looking up at Alec adoringly.

Joel said nothing more. He watched as you and Alec shared what could only be described as a loving kiss and Joel could do nothing but watch. Muttering what he was about to say under his breath as he sipped his beer.

"I lost my chance with her." His eyes didn't leave you as you giggled at Alec cheekily grabbing your ass as you started to carry the burgers over to the table "I blew my chance at loving her."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[sunmoonstarsflowers]

Intuitive Reading: A short advice for your soul through everyday life themes for 2023

[ I hope you'd resonate with my message and if you don't, it's alright, perhaps there's another message coming for you.

I'm not a professional and this is strictly for entertainment purposes, please don't use it as an alternative to any kind of professional advice. If you're actually going through something, it would be better to contact a professional.]

Choose a picture that really attracts you or calls to you:

Pile 1 Pile 2

Pile 3 Pile 4

Pile 1

Your life may be a little messed up right now. Not much but you're probably confused about some things or do not know how to handle them. You probably have a few things coming together and you're figuring out a way to hold yourself together. Are you feeling restless too? Pick yourself up. Look around yourself and pick one thing at a time, look at them and try to figure out what you can do about it. And remember challenges are going to come easily, that's life but just because they come or that there a lot of them doesn't mean that you won't be able to overcome them. You can and you will. Have faith in yourself and stop freaking out.

Pile 2

Are you being lazy nowadays? Or probably couldn't get up to do something even though you wanted to? Don't worry that happens. Don't beat yourself up for taking a moment. And I believe this is your sign for telling yourself that its okay to take a break or a long break or a very long break as long as you know what's the next thing to do and as long as you don't beat yourself up so much for it that you'd be too wounded to actually get some work done. Now, get up and take a deep breath. You can do this, you'll be okay, you'll be amazing.

Pile 3

I think you are the guys who are following a good routine. I feel Sagittarius energy, do you have any 9th house placements or Sagittarius placements? You're doing good and I believe you're worrying about it, whether your actions, your work is enough. Whether you're on the right path or not, whether you can ever be happy or achieve success with what you do. Don't you feel this way? Don't worry, darling, you're gonna be amazing. Believe in yourself, this is the moment. Wake up everyday to remind yourself that you'll be amazing, that you can get what you want. Even if it feels like a lie right now, tell yourself that lie until it becomes the truth.

Pile 4

You may be feeling like you're dragging yourself, like you're in a state of stagnancy and it takes so much to get up and work but you're still working and you still feel like you can't do enough. Perhaps you want to check out pile 2 if you felt drawn to it. Darling, you need to take a break. Even if you feel like you're doing nothing, take a break. You're doing enough. People don't recognize it but this phase that you're in, it takes a lot of energy even when it feels like no work is done. You're running, even if you're not covering enough distance, you're still getting tired and that's okay. That's completely alright and you did amazing. Take a rest.

[bow-of-aros]

You Can't Hide Forever

This ended up a little longer than I thought it was going to, but I still think it's pretty fun :) This is an immediate continuation to Playing with Fire so I hope that y'all enjoy!

-

“You have five seconds to run.”

Those words echoed in Charles’ ears as he skidded through the halls of the building. A sort of of giddy nervousness bubbled up inside of him as he frantically tried to think of a place to hide.

He felt like a soda can that had been shaken up: bright and fizzy and full of energy just waiting to explode.

He hadn’t realized, but he’d needed this. It had been weeks since they’d had a proper break between cases and they were both completely wrong out. Between the stress that never stopped building and the rest they could never seem to find the time for, this was good for both of them.

They needed this reminder that they were allowed to still be kids every once in a while, that they were still allowed to play and have fun and laugh.

Charles felt as though he were floating on air as he ran from room to room, all of the pent up energy that had been itching for a way out finally finding its release in this chase.

Speaking of the chase, Charles could hear Edwin’s footsteps pounding not far behind him and steadily gaining. He should’ve known that this was a bad idea. Edwin had always been faster than him, he never took a false step, each perfectly placed to achieve maximum speed and distance with minimum effort and even less room for error.

Charles didn’t like to think about why that was, but he had to admit that it came in handy when they were on a case and they upset something they definitely shouldn’t have.

It was less handy when Charles was the one who had to escape Edwin, so he needed to come up with a plan.

He couldn’t travel through any mirrors because Edwin would be able to determine the path he’d used and would just follow him through. That would also break the unspoken rules of the game, which Charles was already pushing by leaving the office.

He couldn’t keep running because Edwin would catch up with him in no time, and he wanted this to be at least a little bit of a challenge.

Alright, hiding it is.

Charles quickly runs through his options as he skids around another corner and phases through a wall, hoping to buy himself a few precious seconds.

The office is too obvious with not enough places to hide, another person’s room would just be weird, and he doesn’t want to risk attempting to hide in one of the bathroom stalls.

So, the roof or the basement?

He can’t hear Edwin’s footsteps anymore.

That can’t be good.

Charles slows down, quieting his footsteps and phasing through walls when he can. He’s been up on the roof a few times, and it’s mostly open space which will not end well for him.

Basement it is.

The silence as he makes his way futher down is unnerving. Every time that Charles hears the faint echo of a creak, he freezes until he deems it safe enough to keep moving. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, but every time he glances over his shoulder, there’s nothing there.

Finally, after what seems like forever, he finds himself in what he assumes is a storage room. There are cardboard boxes shoved up against the walls, there are lone pieces of furniture lying forgotten throughout the room, and there’s a large bin full of abandoned clothes in the corner.

Charles eyes that bin and thinks, Bingo.

He wastes no time in clambering into the pile of clothes, burrowing down until he’s fully concealed.

And not a second too soon, apparently, as he hears the steady click…clack… that accompanies Edwin’s casual stroll.

“Oh Charles,” Edwin calls out, “I know that you’re in here.”

Charles clasps a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles that are already threatening to leak out. He forces his limbs to still so that they don’t give away his hiding spot even though he’s filled with energy that's thrumming just under his skin.

Edwin’s footsteps are growing closer and Charles fights the urge to shrink back. His pace is unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to draw Charles out. He walks with the easy confidence of a predator who knows that his prey is trapped, and is only toying with him until he decides to pounce.

“You can’t hide forever. You only managed to run for so long because you cheated.” His tone is lightly chiding, but Charles knows that he’s not really upset, and that he’s playing it up for the game.

“Do you want me to tell you what I do to cheaters? What I’m going to do when I find you?” A dangerous edge creeps into Edwin’s voice, that spark of mischief that they normally find in Charles is finally being directed at Charles.

At this point, Charles is wondering whether just giving himself up would be less torturous than what Edwin's putting him through with the endless teasing. The anticipation is ramping up inside him until he's sure that he might combust right where he is.

As Edwin makes his way around the room, making a show of narrating his search of each nook and cranny, of the revenge he plans on exacting, Charles wonders if this is how Edwin feels whenever he’s itching for some fun: nervous and excited and happy.

He’s filled with a warmth that comes with the reminder that he and Edwin are best mates. Of course, it’s one of the few certainties that he can rely on in his tumultuous afterlife. But this? Them being friends outside cases and mysteries and the occasional existence-threatening danger that comes with being on the run from Death?

It’s a feeling that he can’t quite put words to, but that he knows that he wouldn’t trade for the world.

The footsteps stop.

Suddenly, faster than Charles can blink, light floods his vision and he’s pulled out of the bin and backed up against the wall.

He looks up at Edwin’s grinning face, eyes dancing with a playful light as he rests his hands on Charles’ ribs. “Any last words?”

Charles puts on his most charming smile and offers the most insincere “I’m sorry?” of his entire afterlife. It makes Edwin laugh though, and that’s what matters.

Edwin’s not the only one laughing soon enough as Edwin curls his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Frantic, high-pitched giggling tumbles out of his mouth and he barely lasts a second before his knees buckle and he’s sliding down the wall.

Not that it does much to help him. Edwin just follows him down, hovering over him and thwarting his feeble attempts to curl up into a ball, massaging Charles’ stomach in a way that has him throwing his head back as pleas for mercy rush out in between peals of laughter.

“Edwin! Edwihihihin please! I’m sorry! I’m sohohohorry! Shit- NO!”

Evil, cruel hands jump down to his knees and Charles is lost. He’s desperately kicking his legs, shoving away from the wall in an attempt to escape the electric shocks travelling through his legs.

“I’m not sure that you are Charles. Not yet, at least,” Oh that bastard. He’s got that smug look on this face and his tone just screams ‘I’ve got you right where I want you,’ “Oh, but you will be.”

Those words send a bolt of anxiety through his system, spurring another stream of frantic, if half-hearted, pleas.

What? This is the most fun he’s had in ages.

“Let’s see if we can drain the rest of that energy out of you, shall we? Maybe then you’ll let me get some work done? Unless…” he pauses for dramatic effect, because Edwin's a dork like that, “you feel like giving up?” Charles knows Edwin well enough to know that he’s giving him an out, and while he appreciates it, it feels more like a challenge than anything.

He should know that Charles has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He tilts his chin up defiantly, using the small reprieve to suck in some unneeded breaths, and says, “Do your worst.”

And, well, there are certainly worse ways to spend your afternoon than laughing with your best mate.