Ah Yes My Favourite Divorced Half-foot Dad

ah yes my favourite divorced half-foot dad

old war veterans used to marry young women from poor situations solely so their money went to someone who needed it when they died and frankly. that'd Levi coded to be

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warnings: somnophilia, dub con, non con? (you don’t know who’s actually between your thighs), nsfw🔞 (megumi is aged up to 19) this is a long one~

dating a man in his early fourties’ who has a nineteen year old son can be difficult, being that you’re in your early twenties and closer to megumi’s age than his dad. but when toji wakes you up with his head between your thighs, you think maybe it’s not so bad.

you can feel his shaky, deep, hot breath fan against your bare pussy, he likely yanked your panties to the side before you woke. but oddly, he’s not even touching you or licking at you. he’s simply lying between your legs with his two flat palms pressed softly into your inner thighs to keep them open, you blink your tired eyes open at the buldge of his head under the blanket with confusion.

“baby? what are you— ” you question tiredly, cutting yourself off with a soft gasp when you feel a single finger press against your nub. he doesn’t even swipe it or circle it, he just presses down on it like a button

your brows furrow a bit and you grip the blanket to see what he’s doing but before you can lift it, his finger starts to circle your clit agonizingly slow causing you to let go of the blanket and breathe deeply in soft pleasure, eyes closing and brows raising slowly

“mmm— so gentle” you coo at him with a slight teasing to your tone, grinding your hips into his finger which seems to motivate him to add another to swipe slowly against your throbbing nub. toji’s never so gentle, usually ravishing you with his tongue or slamming you against his fingers or cock. not to mention, he’s being so quiet, normally he’d be teasing you by now

“why are you being so quiet— f-fuck!” as if he’s intentionally cutting you off, he quickly presses his flat tongue over your clit in place of his fingers. but he doesn’t move it, he simply adds pressure. you feel so pent up, likely because he’s been toying with you long before you awoke, that the soft natural shake of his tongue is driving you crazy

“stop teasing me, toji,” you whine pathetically, still half asleep, attempting to grind your hips against his tongue. but you don’t get far because he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down with such strength that it hurts

you sit up with a hiss, leaning on your elbows and adjusting your hips as much as he allows, to get more comfortable

his unmoving tongue begins to make slow basic licks up against your clit, ignoring your attempt to adjust your position. it seems like he’s not using any technique, like he’s just gliding his tongue over the entirety of your clit instead of targeting the underside of it or the side. it works to stimulate every nerve within your little bundle softly, and gently.

“s-shit— that feels really good,” you coo between deep breaths, head tilting back and hands gripping the sheets. little moans start to escape your throat, your legs beginning to subtly shake in need. it’s like he’s teasing you intentionally, that or he doesn’t know what he’s doing. but forty-one year old toji is experienced to say the least so it can’t be the latter.

you whine after minutes of this taunting, wanting more. “toji, baby, this is sweet and all but i need more.”

and as if punishing you, he nips at your clit, causing you to jolt and squeak in surprise. it’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘you’ll take what i give you.’

you pout and whine dramatically in protest, but that quickly turns into a confused tilt to your head, eyes peeking open at the bulge of his head when he pulls his tongue away and uses one hand to spread your lips apart. you wait for some kind of touch, his tongue or his fingers but it doesn’t come. it’s as if he’s analyzing your pussy, he’s most definitely just looking at it because he’s not even stimulating you now.

you’ve only ever been insecure with toji when you first started getting intimate, but that quickly changed as toji praised your body relentlessly the entirety of your first time together. but now, heat arises on your cheeks as he just stares at your throbbing pussy. it definitely doesn’t help that you can’t even see his expression or know why he’s doing this

“what’s gotten into you, toji? quit it,” you whine, reaching to pull the blanket up once again but before you can, he harshly takes hold of your wrist with the hand connected to the arm wrapped around your thigh and holds it against your lower belly as to stop you from moving. it’s so dark that you can barely see his hand around your wrist

you tsk, pouty and irritated as he continues to stare. before you can say something else, he suddenly closes your pussy lips until they touch each other with the same fingers that were holding them apart. you gasp softly in surprise, only becoming more confused when he opens your lips again, it feels weirdly good and extremely teasing. he continues to slowly repeat the motion a few times over, and you can’t help but feel awkward and embarrassed as your squelching fills the room. it’s like he’s curious how pussy folds and lips work. you aren’t sure if this is due to his age, maybe something guys of his time used to do? but it confuses you

“toji, i swear to god,” you groan at him, impatiently. and it’s like he just doesn’t care because even though he stops opening and closing your pussy like an accordion, he starts to brush his fingers through your small patch of hair above your pussy instead. he does it like he’s brushing his fingers through the hair on your head. and it’s just too weird to feel pleasing. toji had told you he liked when you grew out a lil patch for him because when he sheathes his cock completely inside, your pubes combine and he thinks it’s romantic. you don’t question it, he’s an older man after all, there’s a lot of things he prefers that you don’t quite understand.

you pull against his grip on your wrist frustratedly and when he doesn’t relent, grip instead becoming harsher, you use your free hand to reach under the blanket in attempt to grip his hair and push his head down to -get to work, so to speak.

frankly, you’re exhausted, it’s gotta be something like one or two am and you had a long day yesterday. it seems like he just woke you up to toy with you and you genuinely have no idea how he has the energy to pull this shit when he’s been working his ass off at work recently. you guys hadn’t even had the chance to fuck the last few days.

just when your fingers feel the tips of his hair, his hand that was brushing through your pubes snaps up and brings it down to join your other hand in prison. it happens so fast that you feel like you have whiplash. he transfers both of your wrists to one hand, his one hand being large enough to encase both. he uses his now free hand to keep your thigh open for him.

“so mean,” you whine loudly, “you know i like to touch you.” you grumble, pulling sharply against his hand holding your wrists in resistance. it’s not unusual for toji to be controlling or demanding in a ‘mean’ way but he’s never kept you from touching him, especially when he’s between your thighs. and though your intention was to push his face into your folds, it’s not like you don’t wish to simply touch him too.

then, you feel a cool breeze of air blow against your wet folds, causing you to shiver and hiss in mild relief. your chasm clenches and your nub twitches from the stimulus and after a moment of seemingly watching your pussy react, he does it again.

now, you’ve never growled in your life and why would you? but you find your fed-up self growling in annoyance. your growling threat does make him move on, but not to what you need. you gasp as he uses two fingers to pull the hood of your clit back to expose your sensitive nub.

embarrassment is bursting at the seams but not as much as confusion is. and just when you’re about to say fuck this and utter your safe word so you can finally go to sleep, he lays his tongue against your exposed clit. it feels as though electricity shoots through your body. a shockingly loud whimper strangles out of your throat and your eyes clench shut when he starts to kitten lick it.

“w-what the fu- what are you doing- too much!” you shout at him, head tossing back and forth with eyes clenched shut as your toes curl. it hurts just as much as it feels euphoric, half of you wants him to stop and half hopes to god he doesn’t. your thighs close and open around his head sporadically in futile attempt to cope. if you weren’t in such a distraught state, maybe you’d have noticed how his hair feels a bit different on your thighs, shorter layers on the top that are sticking out in all different kinds of directions.

after he seems to have his fill of torturing you, he lets go of your hood and allows it to cover your exposed nerve again. you sigh deeply in relief, taking deep breaths and relax your clenching eyes into gently closed, relaxed ones. you throb painfully as arousal leaks from your hole, trials down your ass, and pools on the sheets— it’s as if your pussy is crying and if it could cry, it would be.

then, after just a breath of a break, you feel one of his fingers make contact with the lowest part of your pussy. your brows twitch in confusion as he attempts to push it inside, quickly realizing your chasm curves up a bit when his fingertip push against your bottom wall as your other walls cling to him

he twists that finger into you slowly and awkwardly, opening you up and working you open as the room fills with gasps and wet mushing sounds

but even though you’re moderately wet, it still stings when he tries to add another finger before even getting the first one in all the way. you hiss, hips attempting to jolt away from his insertion.

“ngh—hurts,” you whine, hinting to stimulate your clit while he fucks his fingers into you to ease you into the intrusion but instead, he freezes. a beat passes as you await his next move. but he doesn’t do anything.

it’s not the craziest idea that toji is just teasing you intentionally but something feels off. but you’re so tired and he’s been taunting you this entire time, so you help him.

“your tongue, wan’ your tongue,” you coo at him, impatiently. instantly, he takes your advice.

but you aren’t prepared for the speed he fucks his fingers into you when he finally starts sloppily making out with your clit. you practically scream at his force, back arching off of the bed, it’s not harder than he’s ever fingered you but its definitely faster. and it’s odd because the way he’s finger fucking you is so sloppy, no direction and no technique. it reminds you of your high school boyfriend when he finally got his fingers in you, toji can be so impatient sometimes. you assume he’s just fingering you to prep you for his cock and not for your pleasure.

so when one of his jabs push against your top wall where your sweet spot is, you moan loudly.

“there! right there! please!” you beg, whining and legs now shaking something violent.

you can’t help but babble ‘thank you’s’ over and over like a prayer when he listens, immediately focusing on your g-spot.

you get so loud that you start to bite harshly on your bottom lip in attempt to stay quiet.

“m-megumi! he’s sleeping, can’t stay quiet— s-slow down!” you slur out, eyes rolled back and thighs basically crushing his head with force. the morning breakfast with megumi after an intimate night with toji is always awkward to say the least. he’s kind enough to act as though he didn’t hear anything but you know he did

and for the first time all night, he moans against your pussy from your words. you can barely hear it over your desperate moans and squelching. the only reason you know he did is because the vibrations of it rip through you.

your high sneaks up on you so harshly and quickly that you feel as though you black out for more than a few moments as tears fall from your eyes.

“c-cumming!” is all you can grit out, and it’s not like you had to tell him that, he can feel your pussy tighten around his fingers like a vice. somehow you’re not so out of it as to not notice the stutter in his movements, the way the bed creaks where he lies on his stomach, and how he pathetically groans louder than ever. you’re not an idiot, he just came in his pants.

and maybe it’s the fact that he jizzed his pants from just eating you out, his sounds, the abuse of your g-spot, or the painfully annoying teasing he conflicted on you leading to this but you cum harder than you have in weeks. your orgasm lasts minutes and you see fucking white.

as you come down, you whimper as you grind your hips against his face. he catches onto what you’re doing and sticks his tongue out eagerly, slipping his fingers from your sticky, slippery hole to allow you to focus on his tongue.

“oh baby, you’ve gotta start teasing me more often. that was— fucking amazing,” you praise, catching your breath and slowing your grinding. even though it was a little too slow sometimes, it was nice to feel toji being so gentle and taking his time with you for once.

he again, stays quiet to your dismay but he collects the cum escaping your chasm with his eager tongue, making you whimper in overstimulation.

“jesus. you really missed me, huh?” you breathe out deeply in relief and he pecks your clit one last time in affection, as if silently saying ‘your welcome,’ before letting go of your bruised wrists and readjusting your panties to cover you again.

and though it’s a bit odd that he’s been so silent tonight, when his silhouette crawls out of under the blanket and slips out of the dark room, you think nothing of it. toji’s always getting up to get water or a snack after you fuck. “hurry up— wan’ cuddle” you slur out, groggily as your heavy eyes fall closed

you’re so tired from the day before that you allow yourself to close your eyes and drift to sleep, the post orgasm relaxation taking over. toji will wake you up if he wants to fuck or cuddle when he comes back, you assume he will so it’s no big deal

waking up the next morning, you turn on your side and cuddle into toji’s bulky body lying beside you, nuzzling your head into his chest before opening your eyes to look up at him.

“wow~ goodmorning, little one. what did i do to earn such a cute greeting this morning?” toji’s deep voice inquires as he wraps an arm around you and squeezes the fat of your ass, he’s likely been awake for a few minutes before you.

“can’t a girl just be happy to wake up next to her sexy boyfriend for no reason?” you tease with a playful smile, big doe eyes gazing up at him, subtly grinding your panty-clad pussy into his thigh. the gusset of your panties are still a bit damp from having not changed out of them last night

he smirks down at you and lays a long kiss onto your lips, humming into you before parting and peppering your neck with kisses that make you giggle as he holds you deep into himself.

“how lucky am i? you still find this old man attractive, sweetheart?” he mumbles into your neck and you giggle.

“i don’t know.. you’re getting a bit slow these days, old man.” you tease, biting your lip as you smile up at him playfully.

you squeak when he flips you over and pins you down by your wrists. he leans into your ear and nibbles on it. “careful, this old man is getting real close to fucking that attitude right out of you, girl.”

you nudge the side of your head against his affectionately and hum, seductively. “oh yeah? you all talk or are you actually gonna do it?” you wrap your legs around his hips and lift yours to grind against his hardening cock through his sweatpants.

he chuckles and pulls away from your ear to look you in the eye, gaze flickering down at your unrelenting hips with a clench to his jaw. “fuckk, i wish i could baby.”

and immediately you whine, a pout forming on your lips. “noo, again? you’re really gonna go to work now?”

you love being toji’s little housewife but he’s been so busy lately. the only company you have is megumi and his friends while he’s away and it gets so awkward since you’re all around the same age

he gives you one last peck to your lips and you chase his lips as he parts from you. he sits at the edge of the bed before stretching and grunting, loudly.

“sorry, sweet girl. wish i could say i’d be back later but ‘fraid it’d gonna be a long one. i’ll be back in a few days.” he sighs as he stands and enters the master bathroom to brush his teeth

you groan to yourself dramatically, pouting as you lay back with your eyes closed. “shiu might as well be your girlfriend at this point.”

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, baby.” toji shouts to you as the faucet turns on. you know he hates leaving you like this too but someone’s gotta pay the bills, he’s got you and a kid to support after all

you sigh, there’s no use in making him feel worse than he already does so you put on a playful smile and press your thighs together.

“oh really? i’m still sad you didn’t wake me up to fuck last night after you ate me out like that.” you sing at him, seductively causing him to chuckle deeply.

“last night? you want this old man so bad that you’re dreaming about my tongue now? i was at work last night sweetheart, didn’t get back till late.” he shouts back at you, you can tell he’s speaking with his toothbrush in his mouth.

you immediately shoot upright with blinking eyes, suddenly wide awake. you chuckle, nervously as your face drains of blood. there’s just no way that was a dream, it was so vivid. you quickly check your wrists and sure enough, you have slight bruises forming on them of finger prints— but they’re not prominent enough to be sure.

“a-are you sure? it felt so real,” you gulp, almost speaking more to yourself than him.

“very sure. got here like three hours ago, was wondering why your panties were so wet. naughty, naughty girl.” he teases you, thinking nothing of your dream

you look down at your panties and your brows twitch in confusion. your pussy feels all kinds of sensitive, like it always is the morning after getting sexy with toji. can wet dreams get that vivid to where you can feel the after effects of it?

you shake your head and stand up before changing your panties and slipping on some sweatpants. there’s no use in dwelling on it, it’s not like someone broke in last night to eat you out and then left, right?

“pancakes this morning?” you inquire as you open the bedroom door.

“eh—too sweet, toast? kind of in a hurry,” toji calls back as the shower turns on.

“okay, baby.” you call back before leaving your bedroom and entering the kitchen.

as you put on the coffee pot for toji, you hear megumi walk in with a yawn behind you before he takes a seat at the kitchen table. you clench your eyes shut briefly in embarrassment. you aren’t sure if he heard you having a wet dream last night or if you even made any noise at all

“good morning, megumi.” you greet him, kindly as you lean your back against the counter to face him.

he hums groggily and offers a small smile. you exhale in relief, usually megumi won’t make eye contact after a night of hearing you and toji fuck so you figure you’re in the clear.

“i’m making toast for your dad but i’m down to make whatever if you’re craving something specific.” you cheerfully offer as you throw some bread in the toaster.

“uh- no it’s okay. i’ll make my own.” he voices as he turns on his phone to scroll on it. megumi’s always rejecting your offers to make him food, do his dishes, or his laundry. you can tell he thinks it’s weird that you’re only a year older than him and acting like his mom while fucking his dad. but still, megumi is hard to read, he’s even more bitch-faced than his father is.

you sigh and put on a small smile. “okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

and then it’s pretty silent until toji comes in, showered and holding his work bag.

toji downs the coffee you offer him quickly and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth before he pulls you in and slaps your ass then grips it, making you squeak and blush with megumi just feet away on his phone.

“t-toji!” you gasp at him, futilely pushing his chest away as he chuckles and finally lets go of your ass but he still holds you close.

“oh hush. he doesn’t care, do ya, kid?” toji nonchalantly asks megumi as he takes a long wiff of your neck.

megumi simply sighs, clearly annoyed with his father like usual.

ignorant toji kisses you deeply before reluctantly letting you go and snatching the other piece of toast you made him.

“be back soon,” you pout lovingly, following him to the front door before he opens it and turns to you.

“i’ll miss you too, sweet girl. i’ll call you.” he looks down at you with affection and sighs as he finally exits with a wave.

you watch him pull out of the driveway and leave as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you fiddle with the lock on the front door and it seems to be working fine.

once you’re back in the kitchen, you sit at the kitchen island and lean your chin onto your palm as you watch megumi cook for himself, back facing you by the stove. you just can’t drop the idea that your ‘dream’ wasn’t just a dream. the way toji poked and prodded at you like a teenage virgin was so odd— not to mention how he didn’t speak or let you touch him.

“how’d you sleep?” you inquire and megumi stops moving the spatula around in the pan when you speak briefly before clearing his throat and then continuing.

“good. why?”

“just wondering, do you know for sure if i locked the door last night before we went to sleep?” you ask, obviously not wanting to scare him into thinking someone broke in— but at this point it’s a possibility.

“uh- i think you did, what happened?” megumi inquires, not even turning to face you as he stirs his eggs

you sigh and blink down at the counter top, “nothing, nothing.”

now, he turns to you with his natural lidded eyes and indifferent face but he seems more observant of you right now.

“you think someone broke in or something?” he huffs out of his nose but he doesn’t even smile, as if he’s more focused on how you react.

you gulp. “i- probably not. i’m being ridiculous.” you wave him off.

and he simply hums before turning back to his eggs.“something happen?” he asks after a few moments of thinking to himself.

it’s not like you can just flat out tell your boyfriend’s son you think someone broke in to eat you out and left.

“just didn’t know when toji came in last night.” you utter, as if that’s a plausible explanation for thinking someone broke in.

“think it was four.” megumi hums, turning back to face you once again with his natural, bored gaze.

you blink at the counter and then up at him with a confused twitch to your brows. “you.. you were up last night?”

and you gulp as you gaze at his hair that sticks out from all directions, unlike his father.

he hums in confirmation, the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips as his gaze flicks down to your bruised wrists, his smile so faint that you’d believe it wasn’t actually there. lips that make you think about if you ever felt toji’s scar on your pussy last night.

your breathing begins to quicken but you’re deep in denial, your mind protecting you by forcing yourself to deny the idea that megumi could have been the man between your thighs last night.

“o-oh, couldn’t sleep?” you inquire, attempting to steady your voice and hold a normal looking smile. honestly you couldn’t care less that he couldn’t sleep, but at this point, you’re trying to continue the conversation like normal so he doesn’t suspect that you know anything.

“yeah, i had a sweet tooth.”

————

lowkey already have pt 2 planned out🙂‍↕️

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 "𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇" 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊— 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

if there was one word you could use to describe wriothesley, it would be cold.

contents. 7.4k+ wc (please give it a chance 🙏) f!reader, a non-canon annual animal hunting competition, furina being in her matchmaker era, cliche but that’s kinda the point, there's a trope called the “cold duke of the north” trope that describes a very stereotypical male lead, super similar to the “company ceo trope”! picture creds: @/ochaiit - x notes. “on a scale from one to ten how self-indulgent was this alexis” a ten. i need him.

being a government official under the rule of focalors, you often have to do things you don’t want to do. the job description means a lot of things, including (but not limited to) enduring tedious meetings with neuvillette and rescuing stray kittens lurking outside the palais mermonia, but this really takes the cake.

“will you be a dear and let me know how wriothesley is doing?”

you blink as furina claps her hand excitedly, leaning forward to stare gleefully at the cookies that line the plate before her.

“…sorry?”

“well, i realized i actually don’t know that much about the fortress of meropide,” she smiles flippantly, completely enamored by the sweet treats in front of her, “i want you to do some routine check-ups and make sure everything’s running smoothly!”

“but i—”

“i’m sorry but i already let him know, so i’m afraid you don't have a choice in the matter.” her eyes peer up, that cat-like quality in her iris making your eye twitch; she gives you a close-eyed smile as she pushes the tray to the middle of the table, “here, take one as a gift! you can even give one to him if you’d like.”

“i’m alright, thank you.” you smile, waving your hands in front of you as the traitorous back of your mind wonders how you ended up with someone like her as your archon (seriously, your prospects in sumeru would fare far better), but you attempt to shush it as best as you can as your back sinks onto the plush pillows on the edge of the couch, your fingers unconsciously picking at the loose fuzz.

she studies your stature closely, barely disguising the glint of suspicion in her eyes.

“why do you look so flustered? does the duke make you nervous?” her grin shifts from virtuous to a more mischievous flavor as she daintily plucks a cookie off the tier, “hot and bothered, even?”

“no!” you protest quickly, shooting up from your position; her smile is teasing at best and almost evil at worst, making your face feel even more aflame as she chews on the cookie thoughtfully, patiently waiting for you to defend yourself more.

“i just…” you grimace under her stare, “don’t think he likes me is all.”

her eyes widen in surprise — real surprise, from what can you tell (a rarity from your archon). “whatever do you mean?”

“i mean, he’s always so…” you pause, biting the inside of your lip as you try to think of the word, “cold? he avoids me at every event he’s forced to come to, and when i think he’s just in a bad mood or something, i see him chatting up neuvillette or clorinde five minutes later! i haven’t done anything to him and he finds every excuse not to talk to me!”

“it doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me, maybe he’s just nervous?” she shrugs, her feet rocking back and forth as her heels hit the back of the couch.

you wrinkle your nose. “why would he be?”

your archon thinks for a moment, and for once, you think she might actually be genuine.

as soon as her mask slips, though, her playful smile is back on her face, and she bounds off her lounging position, grabbing a small cake to bring to her table.

“anyways, just check in with me once you’re done visiting down there, okay? i’ll get you access and everything so you don’t need to worry about that!” she sets the plate on the wooden desk — you stand up, knowing that this is her way of ushering you out.

“goodbye now!” she waves cheerfully as you make your way to the door, “i’ll have neuvillette send you the schedule later!”

you hope later means never.

(unfortunately for you, neuvillette has the schedule at your doorstep by sunset.)

I.) MUSCLES FOR DAYS (HARD-ROCK ABS, REALLY?)

“and this is where the inmates live,” wriothesley holds his hand out, helping you up the stairs, “the dormitories are all here; every person has their own bed, room, and bathroom, and although curfew is strict, it’s not unreasonable. so, are we done here?”

you look around the hallways leading to the rooms, split off into four clusters across multiple levels. furina and her insatiable curiosity for the deep fortress of meropide will be the death of you.

“i’ll be down here again if we're not,” you turn to him, showing him the crude map you’ve drawn of the fortress layout, “does this look right to you?”

he tilts his head, his pale eyes squinting at the rough sketch you’ve made before he lifts his right eyebrow, “i’m not sure why you put “gross food” in the cafeteria section, but other than that, it looks about right.”

you used to think wriothesley could actually be quite handsome if he talked to you more, but that was before his tactic switched from avoiding you to subtly pissing you off (the eye candy definitely helps, though).

“for furina,” you smile noncommittally, “she wouldn’t enjoy the food down here, it’s too heavy.”

his nods in acknowledgment. “it’s good that she can have you do her dirty work every time she wants to check up on this place, then.”

your eye twitches as you fold the map back into your pocket distastefully, biting your lip as your shoes clack against the steel floor, the iron lanterns providing some very much-needed warmth to the lack of it.

he's not wrong, she’s sent you down here multiple times for the past few weeks for “research” that the warden could easily provide her, but she's been insistent on sending you instead; today and the past three days have been about her pushing you to create a personalized map for her (as if she would ever go down there willingly). wriothesley’s comment definitely wasn't needed, but as long as you can get out of here as quickly as possible and return to where the sunlight actually shines, your day is still redeemable.

that is, until sigewinne ruins everything.

“your grace, your grace!” she runs up the other side of the steps as the two of you are making your way down — you quickly turn around at her panicked tone only to be met with wriothesley's abdomen, his ruffled black dress shirt tucked into his pants and his startled expression only a single step behind you.

you make a noise and take a step back out of surprise, only to have your foot trip on the step below you.

it all happens too fast for you to perceive, because one moment your heart drops in preparation for some inevitable head injury from the metal that makes up the damned place, and in the next, you feel someone's arm pull yours back, harshly stalling your fall as a blur of black and red envelops your body; your chin bumps painfully against his as you crash onto the floor, the pricking stinging at your skin and fuck, did you just—

wriothesley’s eyes are screwed shut in pain as his shoulder rams into the floor, a soft groan leaving his lips as you feel your face heat up, too flustered to move — his adam’s apple bobs as your warm exhales fan his neck, and archons, it feels like you’re lying against a wall. a soft wall, but a wall nonetheless; your arms grip at his biceps as you push yourself off of him after half a minute, his forearms sliding lax off of your back, grimacing. did he just take the brunt of the fall for you?

you stare down at him in horror, the heat from your hands contrasting the cold metal, the faint red on his lips contrasting his pale skin; his eyes open, dazedly staring at the ceiling instead of you.

it’s almost funny how he still somehow manages to avoid your gaze even when he’s injured.

you scramble off of him in the next moment, moving to extend a hand to his, helping him up with as much strength as you can muster (it is your fault anyway), trying to cover up the faltering mess you are.

it doesn’t help that you hang your face down low, avoiding eye contact as the heat creeps into your ears.

his lips are parted ever so slightly, a shaky breath escaping them before he heaves out a heavy sigh. “what hit me?” his fingers gingerly touch his chin as sigewinne bounds over to his side, calling his name out worriedly.

he didn’t feel your lips on his—? “my forehead,” you blurt out quickly, swallowing, patting your forehead, “i must’ve bumped your chin, i’m sorry.”

he blinks in confusion before he sighs for the umpteenth time (it really does seem like he's always sighing when you're around), straightening his back.

“be more aware of your surroundings next time,” he says stiffly, “i'll have deakin escort you back up, i apologize for not doing it myself.”

your expression sours at the thought of deakin before you remember that the warden is in front of you, and you flash a fake smile. “i'll see him up there, then,” your eyes flit to the melusine who stares innocently at you, biting the inside of your lip, “it was nice running into you, sigewinne.”

she offers to give you a small check-up with apologetic eyes but you refuse quickly; you can’t be down here for another second, not the way wriothesley’s pale eyes burn holes into the back of your head as you leave.

deakin is as rude and boring as ever, your interaction with wriothesley has rendered any ability to ever make eye contact with him again useless, and you’re a little bit more than pissed at furina for sending you down there in the first place, so when you see her waiting with hearts in her eyes and an excited grin on her face when you step out of the elevator, you have to mentally prepare yourself.

“so,” furina smiles innocently, “how did it go?”

you swallow, your cheeks warm under her gaze.

“…i think i accidentally kissed him,” your chin throbs, but not as fast as your heart is, “and i don't think he noticed.”

II.) THAT SPECIFIC HAIRSTYLE (WHY DOES HIS NEW HAIRCUT LOOK THE SAME?)

despite how incessantly you plead, furina insists on sending you back. you think she's been reading too many isekai novels that yae’s publishing house has been pushing out recently — not that they're bad, but because it's impossible to be blind to her motives.

“let me guess,” you shoot him a playful look, “they call you a demon on the battlefield.”

wriothesley raises an eyebrow. “i’ve never touched a battlefield in my life.”

to your surprise, the man didn't mention your embarrassing mishap that occurred on that very first day, which either means that he's just as mortified as you are or that you’d misjudged his character from the beginning, and he's actually a saint in disguise.

you think it might be the latter because even with your constant badgering over these past few weeks, he's never once complained; he just hangs back, letting you explore the nooks and crannies in the fortress without much grievance.

the excuse is a safety check this time, which is infinitely worse than the past days because you actually don't have many qualifications to decide what is safe and what isn't.

“are you good with a sword?”

“i prefer my fists.”

“i think swords are cooler.”

“keep talking and i can show you first-hand just how much cooler my gauntlets are.”

you laugh to yourself, your fingers trailing against the rusty pipes of the fortress and your snickers echoing against the hollow copper.

you glance at the man next to you as sneakily as you can, taking a moment to admire his stoic features. his words may have seemed to be mean-spirited, but he remains as aloof as he’s always been; his eyes shift to yours before you immediately turn away, staring up at the screws and bolts that line the area. you swallow, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

you and wriothesley aren't particularly best friends, no, but there are times — certain hours of the day and depth carved into your short allotments with him — when you feel a small connection buzzing between your fingertips and his, or when you catch him looking at you just a little bit longer than he’s supposed to. it gives you a childish sense of hope, the kind that lights giddy fires in your heart when he turns his head in your direction.

“so what’s up there?”

“hm?” wriothesley stops in his tracks at the sound of your voice, following your finger to the dark edges of the hallway. the tube you stand in is supposed to be empty, save for the random crab that stumbles its way in through the large pipes or overgrown flora covering certain areas, but you’re not lying, something is sparkling in the distance up ahead from you.

it’s dim enough that he can’t make it out until the two of you get closer, and through tentative steps, the two of you slowly approach it.

it’s a pool, he realizes, stopping no more than a few centimeters away from the platform's edge, barely inches above the still water that lies flat below him. you’re right behind him, peeking shyly from behind his shoulder to the clear blue under you (he feels your breath on his jacket for just a moment, your eyes peering at the water as if you're staring right past his skin).

“…this doesn’t bode well.” his voice doesn’t echo as much as it should, not with the swamped area and the sound of the fortress’s money practically going down the flooded pipe drain in front of him.

“wait, what do you mean?” you come up from behind him, kneeling down on the pavement. the loose rock digs into your knees and your hands grip the edges as you lean down as far as you can, practically bringing your chin to the water’s surface — you can’t help the wide smile that appears on your face as you turn to peer up at the man; from this angle, it’s beautiful, with seaweed and sand caved into the pool just a few feet away with shells and crustaceans alike, “can’t you use this to swim or something? i’m sure the inmates would love to stretch their limbs!”

“unlikely.” his face is grim, “this was supposed to be a drainage tube that also blocked water from entering, the fact that it’s broken down this much and for this long…i can’t even imagine the damage it’s done to the metal surrounding the area. it's already surprising enough that the left wing of the fortress hasn't been affected yet.”

it’s around this moment that you realize that you don’t like this expression on wriothesley’s face.

it's too similar to the cold and unfeeling appearance he used to parade around you, but it's worse because the way his eyebrows furrow and the way he bites his bottom lip shows something unnatural for wriothesley, something you've never quite noticed.

you know that realistically, he's probably worn “worry” before from deep within the shadows of his office and far from the blue sky that you know, but in all your years of knowing him, you've never seen it, the sullen gray that pools in his iris, the tense in his shoulders. it doesn't feel like him — a powerful and handsome warden such as himself should be gallivanting around with sly grins and open arms, not beating himself up over a mistake that no one's noticed before this.

“hey, did you get a haircut?” you ask randomly, swinging your fingers mindlessly across the still water.

he seems to shake out of his brooding stupor at your words, shifting his eyes to look down at you. “you’ve noticed?”

no.

“of course i did!” you lie through your teeth, creating ripples around your skin as you stare up at him. he nods in acknowledgment, his small frown still pulling at his lips as he contemplates his new problem.

there's much to do after all, the plumbers, builders, and conservationists will all cost a hefty amount of mora he doesn't know he can spare, not with the leaks in the right wing and the upgraded dorm construction that's already underway (it's not as if this isn't urgent, though, it's most certainly one of the more dire cases, however time-sensitive it is). it's been a while since he's applied for a loan, but maybe neuvillette could help him out, or maybe furina would even give him a free pass and tap into the treasury—

a splash.

“wrio?” his head quirks up again, this time because of the sudden nickname (unexpected, but not unwelcome), only to be met with the sound of a flick and something wet and salty on his face. he closes his eyes out of instinct, letting out a noise akin to a strangled gasp, spluttering on the water that sits on his skin as he hears you practically snort next to him.

your head is leaning against your free hand, brazenly smiling at the shocked look on his face — not the normal guilty look of a prankster, but the fact that your other hand still has water dripping off of it and that no playful seals are rippling underneath the blue leads him to the simplest conclusion he can think of.

“what was that for?”

to distract you, to make you feel better, because i wanted to — the explanations flood your head, but you respond by flicking him again, spraying small drops of saltwater back onto his face.

“your hair was just a bit messy, new haircuts tend to do that,” you stand up, reaching your hands up to fix his hair, ruffling your fingers where the black roots part on his scalp, swiping his cheek with the dry part of your wrist afterwards. your palm feels warm, despite how cold the water that settled on his skin felt, your nails grazing ever so softly against his temple, brushing one last time against the damp hair that lies on his forehead.

you step back, happy to see that his frown is indeed turned upside down (more like in complete shock, but you still count it), gently tapping his shoulder before you begin to make your way back through the hallway. “c’mon, let’s go talk to furina and neuvillette about this, i'm sure they'll get it fixed in no time if i'm there!”

his heart thumps loudly against his chest.

“why would it matter if you were there?”

the golden light from the lanterns reflects off of your jewelry as you turn back, a playful smile on your face. “they like me more, obviously.”

you lead the way, and after a moment of hesitation, he follows.

(he's not sure why, but in that moment, he thinks he might follow you anywhere you go.)

III.) COMMUNICATION ISSUES (SERIOUSLY, IS HIS FACE STUCK ON THE SAME SETTING?)

if there was one word you have to describe wriothesley, it'd be cold.

“hey, are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

his prison is far deep down in the sea where the sunlight doesn't touch, to say his personality is mysterious would be an understatement, and his cryo vision only seems to be a physical representation of his attitude.

“i feel like i could freeze in these temperatures myself.”

your nail leaves your mouth after the girl oh-so-rudely interrupts your musing — you turn your head to look at her — she’s being rather sarcastic for being someone who’s supposed to be here and comfort you, but you suppose that’s always been the way furina’s acted.

“you’re an archon,” the words escape your lips unceremoniously, “it’d be rather disappointing if you froze by a humble mortal’s stare.”

she both looks and behaves the same way you’ve known her ever since you walked into her palace at five years old, your eyes filled with wonderment at the destiny that awaited you if you chose to serve the archon the same way your parents and theirs had.

she has the decency to look worried, though, with her eyebrows furrowed in distress and the cerulean mixing with teal in both of her irises widening in concern. wriothesley’s eyes don’t look like hers, you think, hers are prettier by far, who would ever think—

“humble mortal’s glare.” she gives you a pointed look; you stick out your tongue before turning your head to face the copper that’s on your right.

you really wish you were looking out a window right now, perhaps a flower pot would be on the windowsill, with navy blue curtains tied neatly on the side? perhaps a bird would come to feed on the seed that lies outside, or a pretty nurse would be here to help tend to your wounds, but as much as you try to imagine it, the ugly red-orange of the metal stands out like a freak of nature in your eyes, reminding you just where you are.

“wriothesley and sigewinne should be here any moment,” furina places a hand on your shoulder, her gloves daintily patting it, “i think i’ll see myself around here — to check if your map is as correct as it could’ve been. i could fire you if it’s wrong, y’know!”

“don’t go near the cafeteria,” you sigh, staring forlornly at the wall, “you’d hate it.”

she blows a raspberry in your face, and you manage a snort, as much as you can without your stomach killing you.

knock knock.

your laughter halts immediately, and furina glances momentarily at the door; it swings open (rather rudely, you think, without much delay nor care) as wriothesley and sigewinne step through. his hair has grown ever so slightly since the last time you saw him, and the eyebags under his eyes are more prominent than usual, but still, he looks as handsome as ever.

“focalors,” wriothesley bows slightly in respect at his archon, sigewinne following his lead as furina curtsies back. the man spares a glance at you, only to be met with a bone-chilling glare that sends him facing furina immediately, a hospitable smile on his face.

“i’ll have deakin — not deakin—” he immediately corrects himself, “i’ll have chambodouc escort you through the fortress; sigewinne, i have something to discuss with the patient, are you free to take furina to the shop? wait outside when you’re done.”

sigewinne agrees happily, none the wiser to the daggers you pierce into wriothesley’s back with your eyes (either that, or she doesn’t care), skipping her merry way to chambodouc as your archon abandons you, trailing not too far behind. wriothesley sighs as he closes the door after them — your eyes watch consciously as he drags his body to pull the chair next to you out to sit down.

“are you alright?” he doesn't take the time to get comfortable, immediately on the edge of the seat with his back hunched, “do you feel too hurt anywhere?”

the stingrays that attacked you are far more forgiving than he is.

“no,” you say simply, “it aches, but sigewinne is masterful at her craft.”

he nods, rubbing his thumb against the ring on his pointer finger. there’s a second of silence that passes through, and for once, you think you might be able to enjoy a moment of peace to yourself, but the hunk of black and red decides to open his mouth again.

“…you really shouldn’t have been out there—”

you groan. “oh my god—”

“diving near here has always been known to be dangerous, something worse could’ve happened.”

“really? it’s almost like i was willing to take the risk, have you ever thought about that?”

he bristles. “you are in no position to be satirical right now—”

“and you are in no position to be here right now!”

the beat of silence comes again, but it’s heavier this time, too heavy for you to pretend that you could ever be at peace in your tawdry hospital bed in the fortress of meropide. you exhale, fluttering your eyelids closed as you muster up as much courage as you can before you ask him, “why are you here?”

at first, you thought you might’ve been looking into it too much — your ability to overthink is one of the reasons that furina hired you after all — and it honestly seemed like your relationship was fine before furina changed your schedule to something useful (in fact, it felt like you might even get closer to him), but he had gone radio silent ever since you stopped coming to the fortress regularly.

that’s why you’re surprised, you think.

you find yourself wondering if he’ll actually respond to your question, but by the way he remains silent, you’re afraid he might just get up from his seat and walk out. you shift, tilting your head down so that you meet his eyes; he almost jumps at the sudden movement, but he remains seated.

what kind of person do you have to be to ignore someone’s letters for weeks and show up at their injured bedside in the same breath?

how can he sit next to you with furrowed brows and concerned eyes when he asked neuvillette for your timetable so that you wouldn’t be in the palace when he went up there, not knowing you were just outside the office?

how could he practically reduce your relationship to what it was before furina assigned you down here?

“hey, did i do something to you?” you ask him bluntly, and his face falls in horror, “did i say something wrong? because if i did, you really should’ve just told me instead of—”

“no, no!” he waves his hands in a sort of protest, and he pauses, his lips wringing in hesitation, “you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“so what’s going on?”

the duke looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but he stays anyways. “i’m not avoiding you because of anything you did,” he utters his words slowly and meticulously, as if his entire reputation depends on them, “it’s my own shortcomings that are at fault.”

you blink.

“i don't have many…acquaintances outside the fortress, so i'm not exactly sure how to keep up with others,” his tone sounds strange — timid, even, “so when i got your letters, i kept holding it off because i wasn't confident i could say what i wanted to correctly.”

he continues, his posture unfitting of a duke, his shoulders hunched with shame. “it'd always be at the back of my mind as i did my duties, but it'd be far too late at that point to send one back without an excuse, which i didn't have. i never meant to make you wait for so long, it was just difficult for me to reply.”

your eye twitches. how has anything ever gotten done in the prison?

“so you thought it'd be better to just avoid me altogether?”

“i knew you'd be angry, rightfully, of course.” he tacks that last part as an offering of peace, a point of understanding he hopes you can connect.

“you do understand that i'd actually get angrier as you went longer with no reply, right?” you cross your arms, leaning back on the metal headboard of the hospital bed.

the man cocks his head to the side. “well, it makes sense now that you've said it.”

…okay, well now you feel bad. the cold warden of an even more unforgiving prison more resembles a man kicked to the side of the road, a solemn pout unconsciously playing on his lips as he practically sulks in his seat, and your heart melts for him just a little bit.

“so you were actually worried?”

“yes.”

“about me?”

“yes.”

“and you weren't avoiding me because you despise my presence?”

“of course not.” his answer is firm and definitive before he quickly adds, “but that doesn't mean you must forgive me, truly, i completely understand if you feel uncomfortable here, and we'll be sure to get you out as soon as—”

“it's okay, you don't have to keep apologizing.” the words escape your lips as you sigh in consolation, the relief washing over your body as you shift forward.

he nods, “…i really am sorry—”

“oh,” you joke, “be quiet.”

what you don't expect is for him to do exactly that, closing his mouth immediately as he stares at you in earnest.

if you weren't already so smitten with his eyes, you might find it creepy how bright they are — the wholeheartedness practically seeping into the pale hues. you feel heat crawl to the back of your neck, a heat that really only makes it's appearance when wriothesley gets close to you.

“let’s just start over and completely reset everything,” you fight back the incessant warmth, pulling your lips back into a tight smile, “clean slates.”

“…everything?” he echoes blankly, his eyes blinking in some sort of astonishment. he doesn’t want to reset everything, but he supposes he’s in no position to refuse if you want to, so he straightens his back, attempting to fix the frown that pulls from his lips. “alright, if that’s what you want.”

the seriousness in his expression makes your heart melt again, punching through it as if the past couple of minutes of your messy attempt to build your walls up again were mere seconds with toy blocks. 

yeah, you think, maybe gauntlets are better.

“…are you going to the chasse this year?” you tilt your head.

his eyebrows furrow. “i typically don't attend those types of events.”

“it would be wonderful if you did,” you smile; you've only been this close to wriothesley once, but his face shrouded by the dark lighting of the broken-down corridor could hardly compete with the sight you see before you, “rumor has it that a rather lonely official would appreciate your presence.”

“oh?” a hesitant, faint smile appears on his lips (you wonder just how wide his grin could be—if it's a toothy smile you can imagine in your head, if his canines are as sharp as you think they might be), and he glances up at your eyes again, “and would you consider this rumor to be true?”

“you'd have to be there to validate my answer anyways, wouldn't you?”

his expression cracks again, his mouth curving up as a chuckle escapes his lips. “i guess i would.” his head naturally tilts as he laughs, but you can barely think of a response to the sound of his laughter echoing in your ear, your face surely hot enough to boil the ocean around you.

his laugh is so cute.

“your smile suits you well, monsieur.” you end up blurting out the words without thinking, a wavering lilt in your tone as you gaze up at him in some awestruck stupor.

his lips are so cute.

he seems to freeze at the compliment for just a moment, before he bows his head. “thank you.”

he’s so cute.

the man suddenly gets out of his chair, keeping his head low before he turns around, practically making a beeline for the door, “i think i hear sigewinne outside, actually, so i probably shouldn't keep her waiting — i'll see you at the chasse!”

with that, he slams the door behind him, leaving you staring wide-eyed in the empty room.

…did you offend him somehow? you blink back your confusion, hesitating for just a moment before you clear your throat in the silent air, deciding that waiting for the fortress’s nurse to tend to your wounds is probably the best course of action. your face is hot and your fingers burn as you move to smooth out the wrinkled sheets that lie on top of you before folding the edges back neatly, leaning back onto your pillows with a strangled sigh.

how embarrassing.

on the other side of the door, sigewinne curiously peers up at her duke. he hasn't moved since he barged out of the room, his back as stiff as a line, one of his hands still on the metal handle and the other attempting to cover the lower half of his face.

“wriothesley,” she asks innocently, “why are you so red?”

IV. ASSET JEWELRY (OH, A BROOCH? FOR ME?)

out of all of fontaine's cultural festivals, the chasse is probably your least favorite. you don't really find hunting all that appealing nor do you like fraternizing with rich nobles who’ve never worked a day in their life, so the entire event is pretty boring for the most part.

“are you looking for somebody?”

neuvillette peers curiously at you as you sigh, flopping back into the seat next to him.

”no,” you grumble delicately, the dejected pout on your face a clear indicator that you’re lying, “i’m just bored is all.”

“well, please let me know if there’s anything i can do to pique your interest,” the man smiles softly as he rests his head back on the seat, somewhat of a knowing glint in the purple of his eyes, “or if there’s somebody that i can point to help you out.”

your eye twitches.

you make an embarrassed noise at his comment, and he continues to smile as the two of you overlook the stragglers that trickle into the open forest.

there are lot of familiar faces that you can see socializing with each other amongst the crowd; lynette and emilie, for example, are sipping on tea on the east side with many of the other ladies, conversing amongst the buttered biscuits and board games.

navia and clorinde are in a different corner, dressed in pantsuits and equipping their hunting gear as they talk, and you can even see charlotte bouncing around lyney and the rest of the crowd with her trusty camera at her side — all of these familiar faces, and still, the one that had promised to show up hasn’t yet.

“i’ll be right back,” you announce as you stand up again, and your head swivels to the man sitting beside you, “you’re fine to announce the event without me, right?”

“please, go ahead,” neuvillette gives you a close-eyed smile (it’s almost suspicious how agreeable he’s being), taking another sip of his tea, “furina will be here any moment, so we’ll be fine without you.”

the sun glares in your eyes and the leaves from the trees barely make enough shadow to provide shade against the relentless heat, but there are less people back here, so you’re quite positive that no one will disturb you on your quick break—

you give him a swift nod before you make your way down the steps before immediately turning to head back towards the exit.

you contemplate making an honest run for the gate and leaving before anyone can stop you, but your duty to fontaine is important, even if it caters to a hunting competition you’ve never appreciated since your youth. so, you branch off, turning to an open clearing nearby instead.

a hand grabs your arm, pulling you back.

a barely disguised shriek leaves your lips as your elbow hits the chest of your attacker, and they let out a grunt in response. you come to a horrifying conclusion that that particular wall of a chest feels far more familiar than you’d like to admit.

“wriothesley?” you quickly turn around, your feet tangling themselves against the soft dirt, and he catches your shoulder quickly, your body steadying against his palm. you look up, and your eyes sparkle.

“hi,” he gives you a wry smile, “fancy seeing you here.”

the suit he wears is far more fitting for a rich duke than his usual dress uniform — a long hunting coat drapes over his broad shoulders, buckled at the very middle with gold accents, a red dress shirt peeking out from behind the fur. his hair is styled differently too, swept back to reveal his forehead, a few rebellious strands sitting near his eyebrow.

you feel warm, and you're acutely aware that it's not because of the sun.

your eyes make the mistake of darting to his palm, zeroing in on the rings that line his knuckles, the veins that run on his skin, his fingertips on the edge of your shoulder. he seems to notice, because he quickly releases you from his grasp.

“um,” you clear your throat, ducking your head down just a bit, “yeah, you too! i honestly didn’t think you’d show up.”

his eyes dart to the side. “of course i did,” he says casually, “you asked me to come, didn't you?”

your cheeks flush.

“i'm glad you did.” you bite the inside of your cheek, and your eyes fall on the sword by his hip. “will you be competing?”

“i will,” he nods, his hand resting on the hilt; it looks new sheathed behind it’s cover, like it’s never been used before, “are you?”

you laugh, the smile breaking through your lips, “no, i’ll just be spectating today. i’ve never been into hunting, even if they are just robots.”

his eyebrows raise in surprise, and he falters, shifting with something in the pocket beside his sword. “a-ah, well,” he almost looks embarrassed underneath the sweltering sun, a sheepish grin on his face, “i guess that makes this useless, then.”

he pulls a small jewelry box from his pocket before carefully clicking it open, revealing a beautiful brooch in the middle. it’s the same deep red that’s the color of his suit, cut and polished, pinned and soldered to a golden casing, an intricate floral pattern fanning out past the gem. “i had hoped to wish you luck,” he admits, “i hope you still accept it.”

if you weren’t warm before, you surely are now.

giving jewelry to someone during the chasse was never just a tradition of good luck, no, it signified interest too. the novels that furina reads flood back into your head ー multiple women begging the crown prince to accept their charms, one girl accepting her lover’s and going on to win ー the flush on your face gets deeper, it’s so hot you might burn.

“this is how i know that you’re supposed to go outside more,” your voice comes out unnaturally high-pitched, “nobody has been trading jewelry for many years now.”

he hums. “i know,” he delicately takes the brooch out, clicking the box shut. he puts it back in his pocket, before he delicately grabs your hand, placing the jewel on your palm. it’s cool against the fire you feel on your skin at his touch, and he gently closes your fingers over it, making a fist. “i’m a romantic at heart. and, furina’s recommended your favorite books to me.”

of course furina is behind this.

you can hear a horn blaring from a distance, a sign that the event is about to start.

“can i confess something?”

you blink, and you look at him curiously. “sure?”

it blares again.

with the swift rush of the breeze that wafts past you, he leans down, his lips right next to your ear, his jaw tilted towards yours. “i’m only competing because i thought you would be as well,” his tone is soft and deep, “secretly, i hoped that i’d be receiving a piece of jewelry from you too.”

he steps back, and he gives you another smile. that’s two, you think. “since i’m not, though, please take care of that for me — if you cheer me on, i’ll be sure to win!”

with that, he walks away, the horn sounding a final time with a thunderous roar of applause. there’s a faint sound of neuvillette welcoming the diplomats, but if you’re being completely honest, you can’t hear a single thing behind the hot ringing in your ears. as wriothesley walks away, your thumb brushes against the jewel.

the forests of fontaine have always been beautiful, despite the random treasure hunter group or fatui members here or there, so you’re glad to be able to reconnect with the greenery after spending so much time in the city.

you think he might be prettier.

V.) A SOFT SPOT FOR THE FEMALE LEAD (WAIT, WHAT?)

if there was one word you could use to describe wriothesley, it’d be cold.

he’s aloof on good days and almost mean on bad days, his reputation is lower than the ground where the fortress of meropide resides, and his undoubtedly dark past leaves him closed off from the rest of the world.

he is…sweet, though.

“madame,” he taps on your shoulder, and you’re greeted with a different suit than the one he bore during the competition. it still looks exquisite on him, the long cape trailing past his tall legs, a tight navy vest hugging his chest, “what are you doing out here?”

“monsieur,” you smile teasingly as you set your wine glass down on the edge of the balcony. the moon is high in the sky now, the cold chill of fontaine’s atmosphere clear against the breeze, “i just needed a break from the festivities is all.”

he nods. “it’s pretty hectic in there, you made a good decision coming out here.” he exhales softly, closing his eyes, “...it did make it harder to find you, though. i was looking for you all night.”

when did wriothesley become such a natural flirt?

“i apologize,” you smile sheepishly, shifting your body to the side to allow more space, “here, feel free to join me!”

he accepts your invitation with a small smile, resting his arms against the stone, his head lying close to yours.

“congratulations on winning the hunt, by the way,” you play with your fingers, “seriously, i don’t think anyone stood a chance against you.”

“i admit that the sword was pretty cool.” his smile grows wider as he stares at the trees in the garden of the palais mermonia.

“i knew it!” you exclaim, nudging his shoulder in excitement, “gauntlets couldn’t have scored half of the points you got with a sword.”

“half is pushing it,” he snorts, and he looks down, his arm moving just a bit closer to yours, “besides, i had some motivation.”

you flush, becoming increasingly hyperaware of the brooch that you wear proudly on your dress. “i’m pretty good with a sword, y’know,” you inhale, “i could always teach you more sometime.”

“i’d like that,” he glances up at you, his blue eyes staring holes into you, half-lidded against the brightness of the moon, “it’d be nice to meet with you outside of official business.”

“we can call it non-official, then,” you smile innocently, “as long as furina doesn’t know.”

he chuckles lowly, and you can’t help but follow him, copying his movements. 

it’s silent for a moment with both of your heads rested on your arms, a cool breeze ruffling through your clothing as the party rages on inside. your voice comes out soft, almost a whisper that gets carried on with the rest of the night, “can i confess something?”

he perks up. “sure.”

“i would’ve accepted your brooch in a heartbeat if i wasn’t so shocked,” the embarrassment crawls up your neck, onto the tips of your nose, “even so, the only thing that i was thinking about was rushing back home and finding one to give to you.”

it’s like the atmosphere warms up with the way his eyes light up, and if you look closely, you can see a faint red that brushes against his cheeks. 

“i’m happy that you reciprocate,” his smile is smug, despite the blush that threatens fire on his body as he leans in closer, a teasing look in his eyes, “if you’d like, we can rush right back to your home right now.”

“why, youー!” you gasp in mock offense, hitting his shoulder. he practically cackles at his joke, and you glower, “you’re dangerous.”

“for you, i’ll try not to be.” 

his finger interlocks with yours absentmindedly, and he grins as the music begins again, “would you spare a dance with me tonight?”

the live orchestra plays live in the background warms up their instruments as guests begin to get into their places in the middle ー he leads you easily from your spot on the balcony, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your waist. 

the duke may be cold, but he makes you feel a fervor unknown to anybody else.

 “it would be my honor.”

wriothesley grew up around danger; his childhood was constantly filled with the fear of people who lurked behind dark corners, his teenage years spent fighting to reverse the system that was once used to punish him. he’ll try to be the least dangerous that he can be (although he’s pretty sure that’s not the danger you were talking about), and for you, he’ll endeavor to do his best.

much like the letters that he’ll continue to send you, he seals his pledge it with a kiss.

SIGHS. thank u for reading if youve made it this far!! wriothesley responding to letters is me w/ my texts 👎👎 fuck online communication that shit is unnatural

---

good yuri night

---

press four for more options. | part four.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part three. / return to part one. | masterlist

Night comes around.

You do not call.

In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.

As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.

Don't call.

Just don't call.

It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.

Going out is an option.

Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.

Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.

It was him.

Right there.

Right in front of you.

Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.

No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise. 

He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—

Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.

Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.

(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)

So you make a final decision:

You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.

(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)

Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too. 

Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.

Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.

He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.

The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.

Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.

He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.

They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.

Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.

Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.

Would he know?

That you’re Scarlet.

His, in some made-up world.

(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)

The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.

Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.

(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)

As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.

He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.

This is torture.

You miss him.

But you still refuse to call.

Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.

Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.

The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.

If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.

You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.

Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath. 

A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.

(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)

In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.

“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.

(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)

You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.

Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.

“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”

“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”

You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.

“And Connie?”

“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”

“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”

Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”

“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”

“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.

You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days. 

Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.

Damn it.

Enough wallowing.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”

From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.

Armin and Jean.

Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“Nope, I’m solid.”

“Good here.”

“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”

“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”

You don’t stick around for that aftermath.

Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.

You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.

Success.

You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface. 

Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.

Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself. 

It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.

An hour.

All you need to do is last one whole hour.

Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—

“Is this seat taken?”

A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.

The seat.

The one next to you, where your purse lay.

Way to go, dumbass.

You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.

“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.

“Hold on, let me just move—”

Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.

Wait.

Levi?!

His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.

The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.

The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.

Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.

“...my stuff.”

Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now. 

Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out. 

Maybe your drink will be poisoned. 

You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.

Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.

Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.

Silence.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.

Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own. 

It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.

You need to get up.

Excuse yourself out. 

Leave.

You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.

“How’s your phone?”

Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t. 

The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.

“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.

Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.

His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.

You have to apologize.

This is crossing a line.

You need to—

“So—”

“I’m canceling my subscription.”

You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.

When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.

From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.

“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.

“I— how come?”

You repeat his question in surprise.

Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.

“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”

He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.

“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“I’m actually here with friends—”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling. 

“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”

Why isn’t he freaking out?

Shouldn’t he be freaking out?

Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.

“What can I get you?”

You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks. 

“I—”

“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”

Then he has the audacity to glance your way.

“Pineapple, right?”

Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?

Is this a flex?

(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)

“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.

The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.

For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.

He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.

You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.

This is real life.

The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.

If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.

Why didn’t you say something?

“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.” 

When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.

“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”

His brows pinch with amusement. 

“On Mars, or…?”

Oh.

He’s joking.

He’s actually joking about this.

You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”

No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.

“So you’re not…”

“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”

Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.

Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.

“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”

You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.

He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.

“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.

“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.” 

Levi shrugs, sipping his drink. 

“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”

“I just…”

You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.

“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.” 

Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.

“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.

“Not like that!”

“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”

He’s not angry.

Hell, he’s conversational.

Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.

Might as well be honest.

“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”

The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.

The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.

“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”

At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.

“You don’t… want me to leave?”

Levi shakes his head.

You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.

It feels intimate.

Too intimate.

“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”

“Right.”

“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”

You blink, not following. “Huh?”

“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”

Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.

“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Levi… was sorry?

The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.

“I… just said I crossed the line?”

“When?”

“On the phone?”

“Okay, duh, but when?”

“Our last session.”

“So that was real.”

Levi actually got off to your voice.

If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.

He considers his next words very carefully. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Then he sips more before shaking his head.

“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”

You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”

He makes a noncommittal face.

“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”

“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.

“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."

Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.

“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."

He takes a pause.

"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”

You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.

"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."

Ten minutes.

That length of time strikes something in you.

“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.

Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder. 

“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”

Ten minutes away, is your implication.

His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.

His eyes narrow. 

“The complex on Junction Ave?”

“Yeah," you say.

“Right across from—”

“The Reiss deli.”

That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“You say the word shit a lot.”

“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.

“Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)

He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”

“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit.

You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”

Have been right above me this entire time.

Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought. 

Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?

Right.

You’re here with friends.

“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

You swipe the screen north and type a reply.

[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.

Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.

[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????

[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!

[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted

[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar

“Looks urgent.”

“Huh?” 

You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top. 

“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.

Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave. 

“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”

Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself. 

“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”

He nods once, setting his drink down. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”

Levi trails off, sighing heavily.

“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”

Something nestles itself between the lines of his words. 

Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.

“Do you really mean that, Levi?”

That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies. 

“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.

“So Levi’s your real name?”

He nods.

“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."

Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.

"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”

Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?

Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?

Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one: 

“Are you single?”

That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.

(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)

“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”

“Very,” you promise back.

“And my job doesn’t bother you?”

You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.

He isn't asking to marry you.

Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.

“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”

Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over. 

You smile in return, sipping your drink.

It's the truth.

He may not really know you, but he knows you.

Just as you're beginning to think you know him.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.

Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.

Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”

Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top. 

His skin is smooth. 

Heated. 

Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.

One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.

“—give me a call.”

Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.

You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.

A call.

Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.

Not the Scout Services Hotline.

No — his number.

Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.

Annie knows.

She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.

On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.

Zero through nine appear.

Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.

One ring.

Two.

By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

Levi Ackerman.

Knowing his full name warms your heart.

Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.

Searching for you.

You smile to yourself.

"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."

Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.

Be selfish.

"Are you free for some tea now?”

.

FIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.

In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)

The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

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