Pairing: Merman!Erwin Smith x F!Reader (Modern AU)
Word Count: 9.6K
Warnings: mild anxiety/sensory issues, amnesia, references to physical abuse, mistreatment, involuntary confinement, he touches your legs and it’s sexy, swimming together, more sexually-charged touching, scars, merman peen, monsterfucking, praise, magic, Little Mermaid vibes, swearing
A/N: This is for my Spooktober lineup! IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT INTERACT!
When you first hear there’s a circus coming to town, you don’t think much of it. You see their glossy, colorful posters taped up beside flyers for the usual local fall festivities — pumpkin picking, hayrides, fresh apple cider donuts, and spooky book clubs. It quickly becomes the only thing anyone can talk about. Paradise will be here soon. Do the kids want to go? I wonder how long they’ll stay.
So it’s no surprise when you open the group text on a Friday afternoon to see that Connie has suggested getting tickets. Having just gotten home from work, you exhale through your nose as you drop your bag onto the kitchen island. As bad as it sounds, you’re hoping the idea will be shot down. You can’t imagine Jean being wild about going to something like that. And surely Armin has too many papers to grade.
But to your surprise — and mild annoyance — everyone seems unanimous in their enthusiasm. You’re now sitting on the couch in your pajamas, an oversized sweater hugged around you. Your tea is steeping, and you can hear the sound of light rain pattering against the windows.
You vaguely remember going to the circus with your family when you were a child. Only a few images stand out in your mind. A fire-eater with the most wicked grin. The smell of funnel cakes and the feel of leftover powdered sugar dusting your fingertips. Your cousin’s tears when he dropped his caramel apple. The fortune teller’s soft, wrinkled hand holding yours as she traced the lines of your palm with a long, black-painted nail.
It wasn’t that bad, when you really think about it. And this time, you’ll be with friends. With the barest shrug, you pick up your phone and text that you’re in. “A trip to Paradise,” you sarcastically mutter under your breath as you get up to retrieve your tea. At the very least, your potential misery will have company.
•••
Within half an hour of arriving at the Paradise Circus, you find yourself alone.
The evening started off well enough. You and your friends met up in the gravel parking lot just outside the county fairgrounds. The land runs right up against Magnolia Farm, where you go during the summer to buy fruits and vegetables and occasionally gossip with the owner’s daughter, Isabel. It’s too dark to see the outline of their big barn, and even if it weren’t, your attention was immediately drawn elsewhere.
The circus is bright and loud and inescapable in its sprawl. There’s a ticket booth at the very front, and the large banner hanging across the entrance is illuminated by strings of lights: Welcome to Paradise
Beyond it are tents of varying sizes and colors, most of them well-worn and patched in places. Paper lanterns hang overhead, and you can smell fried food, exotic spices, popcorn, and something like woodsmoke. When you first entered, half-listening to Sasha as she rattled off all the different concessions she wanted to try, you could hear music coming from somewhere, various horns accompanied by the steady beat of a drum.
It didn’t take long for the group to split up. It started with Eren and Mikasa, who were lured in by a tent painted with glittering gold stars, promising a magic show. Armin asked if anyone wanted to join him for a tarot reading, pointing at a vendor’s stall swathed in dark velvet and lit with flickering tea light candles. Remembering the palm reader from your youth, you quickly shook your head.
Sasha, Connie, and Jean were the last to slip away after spotting a sign pointing in the direction of the haunted corn maze. Sasha begged you to come along, pouting and promising to buy you cotton candy afterwards. But you gave her an apologetic smile and told her not to let the boys get hopelessly lost.
Now, you’re wandering the circus alone, unsure of where to go or what to do. It’s overwhelming now that it’s full dark and getting more and more crowded by the minute. Children shriek and laugh, playing carnival games in an attempt to win stuffed lions and elephants, or dragging their parents towards the chocolatier’s booth. Teenagers loiter in large groups, and troupes of performers begin to intermingle with the crowd — lithe gymnasts in sequined costumes, a tall man who pulls a black rabbit out of his top hat, a singer bedecked in a jeweled robe.
Your head is beginning to pound, prompting you to walk in the opposite direction, winding between the tents and booths, until you’re not exactly sure where you are. But it’s blessedly quiet here, near the very back of the circus, if you had to guess. When you look up, you can catch a glimpse of the Magnolias’ greenhouse through the trees.
When you hear a burst of laughter and voices growing nearer, you slip into a tent just beside the trees, large and dark, dimly lit with flickering candles housed in glass globes. Looking around, you see trunks piled on top of each other and empty crates. Storage, you think. Hopefully no one will bother you here.
But when you turn around, facing the center of the tent, there is a curtain. And beneath that curtain shines a strange blue light. It moves and shimmers, like… Water?
Too curious to think better of it, you step towards the curtain and pull it back. At first, all you can see is a pane of glass and blue, blue water. When you move closer, the curtain falling into place at your back, you realize you’re looking at an enormous tank.
It takes up most of the space in the center of the tent, so large that it nearly touches the sides. The space is dimly lit, much like the storage area you entered through. But your eyes adjust as you begin to slowly circle the tank, wondering what its purpose might be. A diving act, maybe? If that’s the case, the setup is unfinished. There’s only a metal ladder leading to a small platform that sits just above the water.
Turning around, you look for other clues, disappointed to only find even more empty crates, as well as a pile of what look like old costumes and magicians’ robes. It’s possible that the tank was for an attraction that was scrapped, or maybe they’re planning to debut it later on in their one-week tenure in town.
It’s as you’re thinking, your back still turned to the tank, that you feel something strange — a slight unease, an almost indiscernible prickling at the nape of your neck.
As if you’re being watched.
Swallowing hard, you look over your shoulder, and a noise of surprise escapes you before you clap a hand over your mouth.
There’s a man in the tank, his face nearly pressed against the glass. And he’s staring at you with what looks like fascination. His blond hair floats around his face. He has a strong jawline and an aquiline nose that becomes more apparent when he turns his head a little, in what looks like an attempt to discern your expression. His eyes are bright and nearly as blue as the water.
He’s also shirtless, which is certainly a distraction, considering his broad shoulders and muscular physique. He has a swimmer’s body, you think, having briefly dated one in college.
Or, rather, he has the upper half of a swimmer’s body. Because from the waist down… he has a tail.
It’s as if your brain grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of it, and you know you’re staring, but how can you not? Instead of legs, he has a tail that ends in a wide, forked fin. The scale line begins at his hips, small, iridescent plates in myriad shades of blue, from teal to turquoise to deep midnight. The tail moves as you look at it, powerful and yet undeniably graceful. And it looks much too real to be a costume.
When you finally manage to drag your gaze back up to his face, you take notice of something you previously overlooked. What look like paper-thin cuts along the sides of his neck are actually delicate gills, and they flutter a little as you watch.
You don’t realize you’ve moved closer to the tank until you find your palms pressed flat against the glass. The man — the merman, you realize, still trying to process that — looks down at your splayed fingers and then mimics your position, placing his hands directly opposite yours.
A nervous laugh escapes you, like champagne spilling from a bottle, and he smiles in response. He truly does look perfectly normal from the waist up, from his very human teeth to the fine lines that appear next to his eyes. This is crazy. This can’t be real.
“You can hear me?” you ask, making an effort to speak at a normal volume. The surrounding quiet makes you think you should be whispering, but there’s so much noise outside, you’re confident you won’t be overheard.
He nods, then turns and looks at the metal platform. Seeing the direction of his gaze, you walk over to the ladder and slowly begin to climb it, hands gripping the rails hard in an effort to stop your trembling. Hesitant to step onto the small platform, you stop with your feet planted on the final rung, half-crouched as you hang on and wait.
You don’t know anything about this man — creature, you correct, but then you think, He’s still a man, though… Isn’t he? Regardless, he could be dangerous. You would hope that the circus would have better security if that were the case, but it’s all hands on deck out there for opening night.
When the merman surfaces, reaching up to smooth his hair out of his face, he seems to read the wariness in your body language and lifts both hands in a placating gesture.
“Hello.”
You blink at him for a moment, surprised he can speak. You weren’t sure what to expect. “Hi.”
He swims a little closer to the platform, until he can rest his arms atop it, holding himself up above the water. He smiles again, as if to reassure you he means no harm.
“I don’t get many visitors.”
He has a strong, clear voice, low and strangely soothing. His eyebrows draw together when you don’t respond, so you blurt out, “I was looking for someplace quiet.”
At that, he softly laughs. “It gets loud, doesn’t it? Out there.”
You’re unsure if he’s referring to the circus or the entirety of the outside world. In either case, your answer remains the same. “Yes.” It comes out as more of a sigh. “It can be… too much, sometimes.”
He opens his mouth, perhaps to ask another question. But the sound of voices somewhere close by, right outside the tent and drawing nearer, has your heart suddenly racing. Even though there were no signs or guards, you know you’re not supposed to be here.
You take two steps down the ladder before he quietly asks, with a hint of desperation, “Will you come back? Please?”
The loneliness in his words is clear as day, and you can just see his face, now level with yours as you hover at the far edge of the platform. His eyes, you think, are the loveliest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. And the idea of saying no to him doesn’t even cross your mind.
“Yeah. Tomorrow night.”
The promise lingers with you as you sneak out of the tent, lifting a portion of the heavy canvas and crawling underneath it. You carefully make your way back towards the front of the circus, brushing the dirt off your jeans as you follow the sound of boisterous music and awed, joyful voices. But even when you meet back up with your friends at one of the concession stands and accept an offered bite of Mikasa’s churro, it’s hard to pay attention to their conversation.
There’s a merman at this circus. Mermen exist. He spoke to you. He’s real.
Even after Jean drops you off at home later that evening, you feel mildly stunned. Every attempt your mind makes to rationalize the situation or come up with a reasonable explanation fails in the face of your vivid recollection.
Blue water. Blue scales. Blue, blue eyes.
You find it hard to sleep that night, anticipation making you restless. The next morning, you’re awake before your alarm goes off, watching the sunrise through the kitchen window while you make breakfast.
You’ll keep your promise. There was never any question about that, but you reaffirm your decision while poking at your eggs and toast. You’ll go back to the circus tonight, retrace your steps, and find the merman’s tent. You’ll talk to him. Find out if he has a name. Ask him where he used to live, what he likes to eat, whether or not he dreams, if he’s ever watched the sunrise.
At the café that afternoon, Armin sits at his usual table, and when you bring him his latte, he asks if you’re okay. Realizing that you’ve been distant all day, apart from engaging with your regulars, you smile and assure him you’re fine.
In an attempt at normal small talk, you ask about his tarot reading from the previous night. He turns a little pink as he tells you romance is apparently in his near future. Having seen the way he and his coworker, Annie, look at one another, you have no doubt the simple prediction will prove true.
You leave as soon as your shift ends, stopping at home to eat a quick dinner and change clothes. It’s a crisp fall day, and the evening is sure to be chilly. After throwing on an oversized sweater, jeans, and boots, you grab your keys and head out.
The carnival is in full swing, just as packed and loud as it was on Saturday night. You try to blend in with the crowd, slipping between families and college students visiting from the nearby university. At first, you worry that they may have moved the tents around. But once you distance yourself from the noise, it doesn’t take long for you to recognize the same twists and turns you took the night before.
You enter the tent slowly, pulling back the inner curtain just enough to peer inside. A few moments of silence, apart from the gentle lapping of water against the side of the tank, confirm that no one else is here, and so you step inside.
“Hello?”
It’s not a whisper, but you’re still somewhat reluctant to speak too loudly. It doesn’t matter, though. Your voice carries just fine. There’s movement in the water, and as you approach the ladder, the merman surfaces, bracing his arms on the platform to push himself up to look at you.
“You came back.”
“You sound surprised.” This time, you feel a little less nervous as you climb to the top of the ladder. But you still sit as far back on the platform as you can, crossing your legs in front of you.
He’s just as handsome as you remember, if not more so. His eyes seem brighter when he smiles, and his biceps flex as he lowers himself back into the water, adopting a similar position to yesterday. Leaning on the platform, he gazes up at you.
“I wasn’t sure you would. I thought I might have scared you.”
You shake your head. “No, not scared. Startled, maybe.” Tucking your hands inside your sleeves, you point out, “It’s not every day you meet a merman.”
Seeming relieved by your response, he huffs out a laugh. “Fair enough.” He folds his arms and leans forward, still smiling. “What’s your name?”
You tell him and he repeats it under his breath, as if he’s learning an entirely new word. Maybe he is. You somehow doubt this is his first language, and if you had to guess, he’s made the acquaintance of very few humans.
“What’s yours?”
“Erwin,” he answers, speaking it slowly, like it, too, is unfamiliar to him.
“Do all merpeople have Germanic names?” you ask, keeping your tone light and teasing.
“I honestly don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m assuming no.” Looking abashed, he glances down at the water as he explains, “I don’t remember anything from before I washed up on a beach.”
When you remain quiet, sensing there’s more to his story, he continues, “After I was found, I was taken someplace — a lab, I think. I wasn’t there for very long before I was brought here.”
His lips curve into a small, sad smile. “I was named by one of the acrobats, Pieck. She was the first person to show me kindness.” He rests his chin on his forearm, his gaze finding yours again. “She taught me to speak her language. Read to me from books. Brought me food when she thought they weren’t feeding me enough.”
Your chest aches at the idea of him being mistreated, perceived as a test subject or a sideshow attraction rather than a living creature with feelings and fears, desires and dreams. I think he must dream. But perhaps you’ll ask him later.
“I’m sorry you’ve been through so much,” you tell him. “But I’m glad you made a friend. She sounds lovely.”
Erwin’s smile widens. “You should meet her sometime. I don’t have many friends.”
“Does she come to see you often?”
At that, his expression falters. “No. She’s very busy. And the owner doesn’t like her coming to visit.” Beneath the water, you can see his tail move back and forth, seemingly out of agitation. “I spend most of my time alone. But there’s Pieck and Bertholdt. He’s a…” He searches for the word. “… magician.”
“Are they your only friends here?”
He nods. “I’ve met others, but I’m not very fond of them. Pieck’s partner, Porco, is a fire-eater. One of his friends, Reiner, seems afraid of me.” There’s amusement in his eyes before they darken. “The other one, Zeke… He’s in charge of the circus’s animals.”
Seeing his distant gaze, and knowing full well the horrible stories about previous traveling circuses, you ask, “Does he mistreat them?”
“I don’t think so.” Erwin looks unsure. “But he has a bad temper and isn’t very kind, much like the owner…”
You find yourself hoping to never cross paths with either man. “Why do they keep you here, away from everyone? I feel like people would come from all over to see you.”
Erwin chuckles dryly. “Apparently, I’m ‘uncooperative.’ They’re still trying to come up with an act for me.” He says it with disdain, irritation creasing the skin between his brows. His mouth twists into a frown, and you suddenly regret your question.
He’s a prisoner, you realize. He’s trapped, with no means of escaping.
Before you can attempt to change the subject, the tension in his shoulders eases as he refocuses his attention on you. “Could you tell me more about you? What your life is like?”
You’re not sure where to begin. But once you start talking, the conversation flows easily. Erwin is attentive and curious, asking question after question. You tell him about tea and toast, what a café is, hiking at your local park, how it feels to stand barefoot in the grass, the purpose of libraries, why the trees are changing colors.
You would call it childlike wonder if it weren’t for the almost academic way he pursues answers, committing information to memory and then referencing it later when he asks about something else. Hours slip by without you noticing, until you glance at your phone and realize it’s nearly midnight.
“I should go,” you tell him, sounding apologetic. Because you wish you could stay. You weren’t expecting to feel so reluctant to leave.
He nods, and as you begin to climb down the ladder, much like the night before, he asks, “Will you come back tomorrow?”
You smile as you answer this time. “Yes.”
•••
As you return night after night, you’re thankful no one questions why. It helps that there’s always a different person at the ticket booth. One night, it’s a bored-looking man with a slicked back undercut, flicking a lighter open and closed with one hand while he collects money and hands out tickets with the other. The next, it’s a woman with long dark hair and a sweet, sleepy smile.
You bring books to read aloud and show to Erwin. You bring a small thermos of black tea with milk and share it with him. You take photos of the trees in your backyard, bright red and gold and orange as October stretches on. He stares at them for a while and marvels even more when you swipe to show him the night sky. All he ever sees now is the inside of his tent.
Each night, you grow more comfortable with him and move closer and closer, until Wednesday night, when you roll your leggings up to your knees and sit at the edge of the platform, gently swinging your legs back and forth in the water.
Erwin is beside you, leaning there, looking thoughtful. It’s a familiar expression by now, and you’re content to wait for him to speak.
He lifts his gaze to your face, looking almost shy before he says, “I have a strange request.”
“Well, now I’m curious.” You were leaning back on your hands, but now you sit forward to look at him, smiling encouragingly. “What is it?”
He hesitates, his lips pressed together in a thin line, before he slowly murmurs, “Can I… touch your legs?”
Your eyes widen in surprise. It is a strange request — or at least it would be coming from anyone else. Considering the fact that he has no legs of his own, you think it’s entirely reasonable. And you know he has an insatiable curiosity.
“Sure.”
Erwin seems pleased by your answer, but even as he moves closer, he hesitates again, as if he’s unsure you meant it. But when you make no move to pull away, he reaches out and places a tentative hand on your left calf.
You wish you could call it clinical, the way his fingers slide down to your ankle and then back up towards your knee. But when he brings his other hand to your right leg, his touch soft and gentle, you find your pulse quickening.
There’s an intimacy to it, how he traces the contours of your legs, palms pressing against your knees before he looks up at you, as if seeking permission again. You sit very still and look back at him with what you hope is a normal expression. But it’s hard not to feel flustered as his hands move to your thighs, the pads of his fingers skimming across the thin fabric of your leggings.
“You’re so warm,” he breathes, sounding awed by the realization.
He says nothing else for a long moment, staring up at you as his large hands rest on your thighs, his palms cool and damp, even through your clothes. Something about his eyes looks different, as if the blue has receded, his pupils appearing darker than usual.
Your breathing is shallow, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. The moment stretches on and on, neither one of you eager to end it. You’re feeling things you’ve been denying for days now — attraction, affection, arousal.
He’s not a man, you think. But the thought overlaps with another: It doesn’t matter.
Reluctantly, you push yourself back onto the platform, slowly withdrawing your legs from the water. Erwin’s hands fall away, and he watches as you get to your feet, the night air especially cool against your wet skin.
“Do you know how to swim?” he finally asks, as you’re putting tonight’s books in your bag and tucking your thermos — this time, filled with hot chocolate — into a side pocket.
“Yeah.”
You’re pleased when he asks another question, one you had hoped he would. “Would you like to swim with me tomorrow night?”
Something in the way he says it, the low timbre of his words, the way his gaze flickers down to your legs before slowly moving up, up, up to your face, makes your cheeks grow warm.
“I’d like that,” you tell him, earning a soft smile in response.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
•••
Thursday seems unending in the face of your anticipation. You try to focus on your work, making cappuccinos, matcha lattes, and honey cortados. But it’s mostly your muscle memory that handles the barrage of beverage orders, your mind too preoccupied to think of anything but Erwin.
At home that evening, you wear a swimsuit under a t-shirt and sweatpants, then throw on a coat to keep warm. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Is he having the same distracting thoughts as you? Are you in his dreams like he’s been in yours?
There’s a different man sitting at the ticket booth tonight. He has a neatly trimmed blond beard and pale eyes that glimmer with restrained amusement, even when all you’ve asked for is one adult ticket.
“Have I seen you around before?” he asks, holding the ticket just out of your reach as he waits for an answer.
“I don’t think so…”
Something about his smirk, the way it feels as if he can see straight through your vague reply, unnerves you. But he seems satisfied, pushing the ticket into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he pulls away.
“Have fun tonight.”
His saccharine words prove difficult to shrug off, needling at you as you weave your way through the crowd. Weekday attendance is lower than weekends, but there’s still enough people around for you to go unnoticed.
By the time you reach Erwin’s tent, you’re feeling a little better, pushing the stranger’s words from your mind as you step inside.
The moment the curtain parts, there’s movement in the water. You’ve begun to learn Erwin’s body language, the way his tail twitches, fin quickly slicing back and forth, when he’s frustrated. The languid way his body moves when he’s content or pleased. Now, he seems excited, and it has you smiling as you climb the ladder.
As you hang your coat on the railing and begin to take off your clothes, you distractedly tell him about your day, because that’s what you always do. But his responses are shorter than usual, and when you turn to peek at him over your shoulder, you see that he, too, is distracted, eagerly taking in the sight of your newly-bared skin.
Noticing your gaze, his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. “I’m sorry… Is it rude to watch? Should I turn around?”
By now, you’re stepping out of your sweatpants, wearing only your swimsuit. “No, it’s fine.” You turn to face him, and the silence is thick as he continues to stare, and you, in turn, stare right back.
His palms are flat against the platform, arms flexed as he holds himself up out of the water. His chest glistens with water, and you can see a faint trail of golden hair that disappears where his scales begin. You wonder if he’ll let you touch them like he touched your legs.
“Should I just… jump in?” you ask, resisting the urge to hug your arms around yourself. Even inside the tent, you can’t escape the chilled night air.
“If you want to.” Erwin swims away from the platform, moving with more natural agility than you could ever hope for. He smiles encouragingly, and you nod, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes before you leap into the tank.
The water envelops you in its warmth, and you feel weightless as you hover somewhere between the bottom and the surface. Kicking your feet, you come up for air and find Erwin grinning at you.
“Very graceful,” he teases, prompting you to splash him in the face and burst into laughter when he looks shocked.
“You deserved that,” you protest, but your words dissolve into a shriek when he dives down and uses his tail to splash you right back. Spluttering and wiping off your face, you hear him surface behind you, laughing louder than you’ve ever heard him.
He’s not just excited but playful, swimming circles around you while you try to keep up. You aren’t an excellent swimmer by any means. You would call your skills passable. But he would make an Olympian look clumsy. As he glides through the water, it’s hard not to wish he weren’t confined to such a small tank. Because despite its size, it is small, when you compare it to the vastness of open water.
“Are you getting tired?” he asks, swimming closer. He stops just in front of you, looking at you with concern.
You shake your head. “I was just thinking. Don’t look so worried.” Reaching up, you use your thumb to gently smooth out the frown lines between his brows.
Erwin stills at your touch, his expression softening as your hand lingers near his face. When you pull away, you hesitate, realizing how close the two of you are. Close enough to watch small droplets of water slide down his neck, his gills now closed and barely noticeable since he’s above water, breathing air.
His hair is slicked back, and you wonder what it would look like dry, how soft it might be. Your gaze snags on his lips before lifting to his eyes. They’re a lighter shade of blue in the center, like a cloudless sky. But the edges are darker, something close to the color of the sea.
“Can I touch your scales?” you quietly ask, wanting to have his permission before moving even closer. When he nods, your hand sinks below the water and reaches out.
You’re surprised by their rough texture, not knowing what you expected. As your fingers move down, you think of sandpaper, but that’s not quite right. The scales aren’t nearly so abrasive.
Erwin shivers, and you look up at him, worried you’ve done something wrong. Instead, he takes your other hand and brings it to his opposite hip, pressing your palm against it. “It feels nice,” he rasps. “Nobody’s ever… Not like this…”
You imagine the kind of treatment he received in the lab, being poked and prodded at, examined and sliced open. Now that you’re looking at him up close, you see there are scars littering his torso, faint white lines that make you feel sick to your stomach. So many of them…
When your hands move up again, fingers tracing over the sparser, thinner scales around his hips, Erwin makes a noise — something between a gasp and a groan.
He grasps your hands tight and looks at you, his pupils widened, a recognizable heat discernible in his gaze. “If you keep touching me there…” His voice is low, his skin warm against yours.
“What?” you ask, using his grip on you to pull yourself closer, until you’re practically pressed against him.
You can’t deny that you’ve thought about this — pushing the limits, seeing where things might go. On some level, it feels wrong. Taboo. Like you should be ashamed or embarrassed by your desires. But more than that, it feels right. Almost as if you’ve been waiting for him.
The circus will be leaving in two days. After that, you’ll never see him again. The thought pains you, knowing that your time together will slip through your fingers like water through a sieve. But it means you need to treat every moment like it’s precious. You don’t want to waste this chance. And you don’t want him to feel alone anymore.
“I’m right here, Erwin,” you whisper, tipping your face up towards his. “Take what you want from me.” Lifting a hand to his cheek, your heart beats faster when he leans into your touch, his expression achingly vulnerable.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his words so quiet, you almost miss them.
When you nod, nothing but surety in the look you give him, he surges forward and captures your lips with his, one hand splaying across the small of your back while the other cradles your nape, fingers sliding up and into your hair. He kisses you as if it’s the last chance he has to do so, as if the breath from your lungs is the only thing that will sustain him.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you anchor yourself to him, matching his intensity as your head spins. You’re weightless in the water, and his mouth only heightens the feeling, eager and passionate as he pulls your body flush against his.
You pull away with a gasp when you feel something push against your thigh, and Erwin’s blush deepens as he stammers, “Sorry, I — I should have warned you.”
The outline of it, pressed against you, is mostly familiar. But you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. “So it… retracts? And comes out when…”
“Yes,” he says tightly, his voice strained as you shift your position, rubbing against his hard cock.
Reaching up, you gently stroke his hair. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay.” It’s more than okay, actually. Now that you know what’s happening, your body is responding in kind, your arousal heightened as you feel him twitch against your leg.
You grasp his shoulders and reposition yourself, wrapping your legs around his waist, and Erwin inhales sharply as you rub against him again, this time with your clothed cunt. A thin layer of fabric separates you. But even that feels like too much.
Slipping your hand between your bodies, you brush against the hard ridge of his muscles as you reach down further, hooking two fingers under your swimsuit. Pulling the material aside, you look up at him.
“I’m sure,” you tell him, reiterating the consent you gave with your earlier nod.
Erwin hesitates for only a moment, then grasps his cock and guides it, pushing against your folds before he begins to sink into you. His hands soon settle on your hips, pulling you down slowly, his whole body tense as he breathes hard through his nose.
“Feels… so good,” he grunts, his head tipping forward to rest against yours, lips scattering kisses along your forehead and temple.
It’s a strange yet satisfying feeling, taking him like this. The water laps around you, warm and comforting, his grip on you tight but somehow gentle as he watches your face for any sign of discomfort. When you’re fully seated, he waits, his mouth moving down to your neck, sucking a mark into your skin.
“Erwin… Please.”
He lifts and lowers you, slowly at first, but then faster as you cling to him, moaning into the crook of his neck. His own sounds of pleasure fill your ears, his breaths ragged as he mutters praise with his cheek pressed against your hair.
“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “You’re so beautiful — I dream about you when you’re gone.”
Burying your hand in his hair, you give it a gentle tug, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. “I dream about you, too.” You speak just below his ear, softly, like it’s the most sacred secret you’ve ever told.
“I’ve never wanted anything, anyone, so much.” His voice is thick with emotion as he pushes a little deeper, making you see stars. Reaching down, you guide one of his hands to your clit, showing him how to touch you. Your name tumbles from his lips again and again, as if he’ll never tire of saying it.
“Stay with me,” he begs. But it sounds more like a command, his words growing rough as his pace quickens. “Promise me. Please.”
And in this moment, with your body trembling, nearing your release, you can’t imagine denying him. “I promise… I’m yours…”
It seems as though your words push him over the edge, and you feel him spill inside you as his fingers rub tight circles into your clit. You have a fleeting moment of gratitude for the fact that he’s a quick learner before you cry out, squeezing tight around him as your fingers dig into his shoulder blades.
Erwin holds you close, as if reluctant to let you go. His deep, shuddering breaths wrack his body, and you rub his back, trying to catch your own breath. You feel blissful, like you’re floating and may never come back down.
But eventually, the moment has to end. He pulls out with a shaky sigh, and you readjust your swimsuit. Outside, the distant crowd noise has died down enough to tell you it’s time to leave.
He looks pained as you climb onto the platform and struggle into your clothes, your wet skin clinging to every fold of fabric. Grateful that your coat will conceal how soaked you are, you pull your hair up and into a knit hat you slipped into your bag.
Erwin smiles at that and murmurs, “My smart girl… I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
Kneeling down, you gently cup his face in your hands and kiss him, soft and slow. “Of course.”
•••
It’s the penultimate day of the circus. After tomorrow night’s closing festivities, they’ll tear down the tents, pack everything up, and move on to the next town. Thinking about it feels like a physical wound, and you don’t know how you’ll bear it when they leave, taking Erwin with them.
You have the day off, which gives you plenty of time to sit with your tangled thoughts. Every attempt to dwell on something else fails, and so you resort to deep-cleaning your house. It’s a little warmer today, so it feels nice to have the windows open.
You vacuum and mop, you clean the baseboards and get rid of the cobwebs hiding in the basement corners. You scrub your bathtub until it looks pristine, but even then, all you can think about is that Erwin wouldn’t fit inside it.
Even if you could somehow steal him away, where would he live? Standing up, you stare out the window at your tiny backyard, chewing on your bottom lip. You’re frustrated. And worried. It’s like a living thing inside you, making your stomach twist, your appetite vanish. But you need to eat.
While you’re sitting on the porch, eating yogurt with granola and watching the school bus stop at the corner, you wonder if what you feel for Erwin is love.
You’ve never been in love, which is very unhelpful at a time like this. But if you had to guess, what you feel is something very close to it. Some might call it infatuation or lust. You won’t deny that those are part of it. But there’s a greater whole you’re having trouble defining.
Whatever it is, it’s tethered you to him, the promise you made last night tying the final knot. And you’re terrified of what might happen if that tenuous thread is stretched too thin, if he goes where you can’t follow.
That night, you bring him apples and a jar of peanut butter. You cut slices with a paring knife and dunk them straight into the jar. He’s perplexed by the taste for only a moment before he decides he likes it.
You’re so busy talking that you don’t hear the footsteps. Perhaps they were so quiet, you would have missed them anyway. But you go rigid when you suddenly catch sight of two figures, your head snapping up as they approach.
One is the woman who manned the ticket a few nights back. Her dark, wavy hair falls over her shoulders, and she’s dressed in a crimson bodysuit adorned with golden jewels.
The man at her side is much taller, with similarly dark hair that falls across his forehead. He’s wearing a magician’s outfit — a tailored black waistcoat over a white shirt, with a velvet robe draped over his angular shoulders.
Before you can bolt, Erwin’s hand closes around yours, his thumb slowly tracing across your knuckles. “It’s alright. That’s Pieck and Bertholdt — my friends.”
As they circle the tank, you whisper, “Do they know about me — us?”
Erwin nods. “I told them. They’re happy I found someone. Or, rather, you found me.” He smiles reassuringly. “It’s okay, I promise. They said they wanted to talk to you.”
“Hello,” Pieck calls out, now standing at the bottom of the ladder. “Sorry to interrupt. We’ve been so curious to meet you.”
Bertholdt nods, shyly lifting his gaze to yours. He’s carrying a large book bound in aging leather. “And we think we can help.”
You sit at the top of the ladder, Erwin leaning on the sliver of platform to your right, as the two performers explain. When Bertholdt claims to be a real-life, practicing sorcerer, your eyebrows inch upwards with skepticism. But you quickly learn he’s telling the truth when he conjures several tiny balls of light, scattering them throughout the room.
The book, he says, is one he’s only recently been able to track down. And it contains a spell he believes will help Erwin escape — and, more importantly, lead something close to a normal life.
“Why haven’t you cast it yet?” Erwin’s tone is curious rather than accusatory, and Bertholdt looks grateful for it.
“We didn’t know how to get you out of here,” Pieck says, spreading her hands wide. “It would be too noticeable if one of us disappeared. And we can’t leave you on your own.”
“The spell will give you legs,” Bertholdt elaborates. “You’ve never walked before, so you’ll need to be assisted or carried. And you still don’t know all that much about the outside world. Not enough to get by alone.”
“But now he has you,” Pieck interjects, smiling up at you. She clasps her hands together and steps forward, her expression earnest. “Please… I know it’s a lot to ask, and on such short notice, since it has to happen tomorrow… But he deserves a better life than this.”
It’s hard to process everything all at once. But the most important thing they’ve revealed is that you can save Erwin. You can keep your promise and stay with him. You can make sure no one ever hurts him again.
“I’ll park my car in the woods over there.” You point to the opposite end of the tent, nearest the tree line. “It’s on the Magnolias’ property. It’ll be dark enough that no one will notice.”
Pieck nods, looking relieved. “We can help get him into your car, but then we need to come back. Magath can’t know we were involved. He’ll suspect, of course, but he won’t have any proof.”
“Magath?”
“He owns and runs the circus,” Bertholdt explains, his face grim. “We’ll need to watch out for Zeke, too. He’s mentioned seeing you around, thinks it’s strange how you come back every night.”
You suddenly remember the bearded man at the ticket booth, his pale eyes cold and unsettling. “I knew there was a chance that would happen,” you admit.
“Why can’t we do it tonight?” Erwin asks. For the first time, his impatience bleeds through, his tail swishing back and forth with increasing speed in the water below.
Bertholdt looks apologetic. “I’m sorry… I still need to procure some items for the spell. But I’ll definitely have everything by tomorrow.”
Hoping to soothe him, you reach down and stroke his cheek. As you’d hoped, he instantly relaxes, placing his hand atop yours to keep it there.
“Everything will be okay,” Pieck assures you both, her soft voice brimming with optimism.
You carry her words close as you crawl into bed later that night, staring through the darkness at the empty space beside you. Everything will be okay. And tomorrow night, Erwin will be here beside me. He’ll be safe and happy and mine.
•••
When you arrive at the Paradise Circus on its final night, you sneak inside rather than enter through the front. You’ve parked your car in the woods, as promised, facing away from the tent to help with a quick getaway later.
You chose dark clothes to help you go unnoticed, but no one is around anyway, not even Pieck or Bertholdt. Entering the tent, you find the latter inside, sitting next to the tank, an assortment of glass jars and bottles gathered around him in a half circle.
Erwin floats near the bottom of the tank, watching him intently, gills fluttering the tiniest bit as he takes deep, slow breaths. It seems you’re not the only one trying to settle your nerves.
When he sees you, Bertholdt gives a small wave and quickly returns to his book, muttering under his breath as he combines one ingredient after another. Erwin smiles and surfaces, pressing up against the glass.
“Not long now,” he says. “Pieck will be back soon. The closing acts should keep people distracted, including Magath.”
“He always makes a big speech at the end,” Bertholdt says, keeping his eyes on his spellwork. “If we work quickly, we can time it just right.”
You circle around to the ladder, and Erwin follows. Moments later, the curtain parts, and Pieck steps inside, followed by a man with a pouting mouth and a familiar slicked back undercut.
Erwin flinches. “What’s he doing here?”
Pieck smiles in an attempt to placate him. “Good news and bad news,” she says. “Good news is that Magath is preoccupied and will remain so. I convinced Reiner to help with that.”
“And the bad news?” you ask, afraid of her answer.
Pieck sighs. “Zeke is on the prowl. He knows something is happening, but he doesn’t know what. If he gets too close, I’ll intercept him, and Bertholdt can back me up.” She jerks her thumb at the man beside her. “Porco will help you get Erwin to the car.”
Porco… The fire-eater. You narrow your eyes, remembering Erwin’s description of him — as well as his dislike of him.
Seeing the mistrust on your face, Porco raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want to help.”
“Only because Pieck asked you to,” Erwin grumbles.
Porco scowls back at him. “What does it matter why? Helping is helping, fish-man.”
Before you can retort, he earns an elbow to the stomach from Pieck and is immediately apologetic. “Ow! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”
“If you’re done being a menace, I’m just about ready,” Bertholdt says dryly, lifting a glass bottle filled to the brim with purple liquid.
It’s bubbling, which is a little disconcerting. You grow even more worried when he climbs up the ladder and joins you on the platform. Erwin backs away, looking expectant but also wary.
“I really hope this doesn’t hurt,” Bertholdt tells him, brows drawn together with worry. “But I’m sure it’ll be at least a little unpleasant.” And then he pours the potion into the tank.
He speaks under his breath in a language you don’t recognize, and as he does, the purple liquid clouds and spreads. Erwin goes still, and you can tell he’s trying to remain calm. But when the tank is engulfed with it, it grows brighter, and he hisses, his jaw clenching in pain.
“Here — come here,” you plead, sinking down to your knees. It looks like it’s a struggle for him to move in the water as it grows brighter and brighter, to the point where you’re squinting against its light. But then he reaches the platform, and you hold both of his hands tight.
“I’m here,” you tell him as he cries out, thrashing in the spelled water. “Just a little longer. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”
You don’t know that for sure. But you believe it. You have to. This will work. He’ll escape and come home with me, and we’ll look at the night sky together and read books and drink tea, and he’ll be safe, he’ll be happy, he’ll be mine —
There’s a flash of blinding light. And then it’s over. When you open your eyes and look down at the water, it’s clear again.
And instead of a tail, Erwin has legs.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Bertholdt mutters, his voice shaky as he sags back against the ladder. Pieck bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, and even Porco cracks a stunned smile.
You don’t realize you’re crying until Erwin reaches up and wipes a tear from your cheek. “It worked,” he says hoarsely. “This… feels so strange.”
A laugh escapes you, sounding a little like a sob. “I’m sure it does. Come on… We need to pull you up here.” As you and Bertholdt haul him up and onto the platform, your face grows very, very hot. “And we definitely need to get you some clothes.”
“Already thought of that!” Pieck jogs over, the little bells on her sleeves jingling as she tosses a pair of sweatpants up and into your outstretched hands.
It’s a struggle to get Erwin dressed when even standing is a foreign concept to him. He looks as if he’s in shock as he leans heavily on you, his new legs shaking like those of a newborn fawn.
And then, when he’s clothed, another challenge presents itself: getting him down the ladder. It’s as he’s clumsily descending the bottle rung when Porco, who had stepped outside to keep watch, runs back in.
“Zeke’s headed this way. You’ve gotta go, babe.”
Pieck’s face pinches in annoyance before it smooths over and she throws her arms around Erwin’s neck. You keep him steady as he hugs her back, whispering a quiet, fervent, “Thank you.”
“Of course, Erwin. Stay safe — and keep in touch,” she pleads, pressing a slip of paper into your hand. On it is her phone number, along with Bertholdt’s scribbled below it.
She crawls out under one of the loose sections of canvas, making it look enviably easy as her slim body contorts to fit the small space. A few moments later, you hear her voice calling out to someone, light and airy.
“I better go help,” Bertholdt says, waving Porco over. “Her car’s in the woods. Go out the side. He won’t see you that way.”
“I know,” Porco snaps, half-shoving Bertholdt towards the curtain. “Circle around the strongman’s tent and approach him from behind. Tell him one of his horses has a thrown shoe or something.”
Bertholdt nods and vanishes, leaving you and Erwin alone with Porco. The fire-eater grimaces and then pulls one of Erwin’s arms around his shoulders, helping to support his weight. “Alright, big guy… Gotta learn to walk sometime.”
It feels as if you’re all moving at a painfully slow pace, Erwin grimacing as he tries to mimic the way you and Porco place one foot in front of the other. His skin is still warm, but it won’t be for long. Once you step outside, you’re certain he’ll be shivering. I should have brought the blankets with me. But there’s no time to think about that.
As the three of you stumble through the side of the tent, where Bertholdt untied a section and left it partially open, you can hear voices moving closer. One of them belongs to Pieck, and the other…
“Dammit,” Porco hisses, half-dragging Erwin forward. “We have to move. Zeke didn’t take the bait.”
Your heart is thundering in your chest, your muscles aching as you do your best to heave Erwin closer to the woods. You don’t have far to go. If you can just make it past the tree line, you’ll be out of sight.
In a desperate move, Porco stops you with a raised hand and takes a few bolstering breaths before crouching down in front of Erwin and hauling the larger man onto his back. He swears colorfully under his breath, his own legs shaking under Erwin’s weight. But it makes enough of a difference to speed things up, and within moments, you’re in the woods.
You’re glad your car isn’t far, since by the time Porco shoves Erwin into the front passenger seat, he looks like he’s about to collapse. “Shit… Heavy fucking fish…” But there’s only exhaustion in his voice, along with noticeable relief. Looking up at you, he watches as you bundle Erwin up in two big fleece blankets. With his hands on his knees as he catches his breath, he says, “Get going. Don’t worry about us.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You quickly dash around to the opposite side of the car and jam your key into the ignition. Porco’s already gone by the time you’re driving through the fallen leaves, making your way onto one of the Magnolias’ dirt paths that leads back to the main road.
You’re driving too fast. You know you are. But it’s not until you turn onto smooth asphalt that you can even breathe, let alone ease up on the gas. Erwin stares out the window as you take a longer route back home, paranoid that someone might be following you. His silence has you feeling worried. Does he regret all of this? Was he truly willing to give up his previous form for a life with you? What if he’s changed his mind?
But when you finally pull into your driveway and cut the engine, resting your head on the steering wheel as you suck in deep, calming breaths, he finally speaks.
“This is… home.”
You look up at him and see that he’s gazing at your house with wonder, his eyes alighting on the pumpkins and potted mums sitting on your porch steps, the warm yellow glow of the lamp you left on just inside the living room window.
He turns to you, his eyes glistening with tears as he smiles.
“We’re home.”
•••
ONE YEAR LATER
You’ve just finished cooking dinner when you see your husband emerge from the lake.
It’s mid-October, so there’s a chill in the air. But he walks quickly in the near dark, grabbing the towel you left for him on the deck railing.
As you wash your hands at the sink, you hear him enter your little mud room and open the closet, drying off before he pulls on fresh clothes. He’ll wash up later, after eating. After a few days spent outside, he’s always eager for a hot meal.
“Something smells good.” Erwin is still towel-drying his hair when he walks in, smiling at you.
You cross the kitchen and give him a kiss before saying, “I made pasta from scratch.”
His eyes crinkle with affection. “You always spoil me when I come back.”
And your cozy little house at the lake’s edge has its perks. It’s given you both the solitude you needed after Erwin’s escape for him to get his footing — both literally and figuratively. Its location also proved ideal when Bertholdt contacted you and explained a footnote to the spell that he initially mistranslated.
He informed you that although Erwin would have his legs nearly all the time, the keyword there was nearly. Once a month, for three days around the full moon, he would revert to his merman form.
It was a surprise, but nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. Now, whenever the change is set to occur, he goes down to the lake and stays there until his legs reappear. You swim with him during that time, spend late nights on the beach together, bring him meals and tea and whatever else he needs.
You’ve built a simple but wonderful life together. One week after what Erwin cheekily calls his “escape from Paradise,” Pieck finally returned your call. She didn’t mention the aftermath of his disappearance, and you didn’t ask. Some things, you knew, were better left handled by others. But she did put you in contact with an associate of hers, Kruger, who was able to give Erwin a proper legal identity.
He kept the name Pieck gave him, and the two of you chose a very common last name, one unlikely to be looked at twice: Smith.
You had a courthouse wedding, something small and private, as well as convenient. It quickly became apparent that things would be easier if you were both married. But since then, he’s repeatedly mentioned wanting to plan something bigger, with your friends and family in attendance.
He’s a househusband, mostly, since your job pays well and he’s still learning what it means to be human. You’ve spent the past year teaching him how to read and write, and while he’s now very adept at both, he still likes it when you read aloud to him. He’s become rather handy around the house, and he has a voracious thirst for knowledge. In recent weeks, he’s expressed an interest in wanting to study history and anthropology.
Tonight, the two of you eat dinner and then take a bath together, in a tub he most definitely fits in, and then you read side by side in bed before falling asleep, your head nestled against his chest, your legs tangled together.
He now has his own favorite teas and likes jam on his toast. You’ve been to many cafés and go hiking often. He knows what it feels like to stand barefoot in the grass, though he prefers the sand. He’s enamored with libraries, to the point where you’ve set aside a room in your house for a small one of your own. He knows why the trees change color and what the constellations look like through his own eyes.
And most importantly of all, both of you know what it feels like to love and be loved in return.
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