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retrievablememories · 8 months

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cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader #black reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #fem reader #female reader

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writtenfangirl · 1 month

Text

Hungry For You

Another TikTok trend has sparked an idea in me.

Another (short) Charles Leclerc Fanfic

Y/N spooned the food carefully on to the two plates, casting the hidden camera a wide grin as she did so. While the plates were similar in size, one had a significantly larger portion. The grilled chicken on one of the plates was practically the size of her palm, the pesto pasta still steaming as she dumped it on the plate. On her own plate, she placed barely a handful of food, the chicken cut into three small strips and the pasta’s serving size so tiny, not even a small cat would feel full.

“Babe, it’s time to eat!” Y/N called out as she shot her phone another wink. She’s placed the devise inside one of the cups of utensils, hidden away from Charles’ keen eyes. The camera had a full view of the kitchen island, where she and Charles frequently ate their meals when they were alone.

She heard his footsteps bounding towards the kitchen, the door to his gaming room slamming shut behind him.

“I am starving and it smells delicious.” He practically beamed at her as he took his place on the kitchen isle, oblivious to the camera that was filming his every move. “I don’t know how you manage to impress me with your cooking every time, cherie.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“It’s pesto. I already know I’ll love it.”

Pesto pasta was one of his favorite dishes and with the aromatic smells of the basil and garlic hanging in the air, Y/N had no doubts about his statement.

She circled around the isle taking her seat next to Charles, placing the plate with the larger portions in front of him and the smaller sized portion in front of her. But Charles paid the food no heed.

He grinned up at her, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for cooking for us, cherie.”

He did this every time she cooked. Thanked her for her efforts and grinned up at her like she hung the moon and starts. And every single time, without fail, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of that smile.

She handed him his utensils, his food finally snagging his attention before his eyes wandered to her plate. He frowned at the sight of it. “Why is your food so little?”

“What do you mean?” She asked innocently as she took the pitcher of water she had set and carefully filling their glass.

“Your food, it is so little.”

“Yeah, this was all we had,” she shrugged. “I forgot to stop by the grocery store this week and this was the last of the chicken and the pasta.” She took her utensils, getting ready to dig in when all of a sudden her plate disappeared.

“Charles? What are you doing?” Bewildered she watched as her boyfriend dumped the contents of her plate on to his already full one.

“Eat,” he said as he pushed the fully loaded plate in front of her. There was no annoyance in his eyes, no hint of his previous hunger as he looked at her in earnest, waiting for her to dig in.

“Babe, I’m not even really that hungry,” she protested. “Come on, you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry either,” he shrugged.

Liar. He’d been complaining the whole time she was cooking about how hungry and excited he was to eat. He always got that way after a training session and he’d been training since 9AM. Whatever lunch Charles ate during a training day was usually only enough to get him going and by the time he found his way home, he was always positively starving. And Y/N knew today was no exception.

“Just five minutes ago you said you were starving,” she deadpanned.

“You spent two hours on your feet, cooking. I know how tiring that is. I really am not hungry.”

She rolled her eyes, even as love bloomed at her chest. “You came from training.”

He waved off her concerns. “I promise, I am not hungry. And tomorrow, I will go to the grocery, buy our stuff and cook you a meal.”

It was a true miracle that Y/N didn’t grab her boyfriend right then and there and drag him to the bedroom. How she managed to snag a boyfriend so thoughtful and so selfless was beyond her. “You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

He grinned at her, his voice going deep and husky as his eyes darkened. “I’m hungry for you.” He gave her what he probably thought was sultry wink but that only served to have Y/N howling in laughter.

There was no denying how in love she was with her boyfriend but she had always been immune to his attempts at flirting. His charms would no doubt have worked on other girls but Y/N only found them cute.

She was shaking her head as she took the other plate and dumped half of the food onto it. She ignored his protesting as she pushed the other plate towards him. She had given him the bigger chunk of chicken and the bigger half of the pasta but the piles of food were still more or less equal to each other. She doubted he even noticed the slight difference, especially since she pushed the other plate far away from him. “If we’re still hungry at the end of the meal, we can go to the cafe down the street.”

He raised a brow at her, a smirk pulling at his lips. His face was barely an inch away from her, his green eyes practically glittering as he spoke. “Is that your move, cherie? Starving a man so you can take him out on a coffee date?”

She didn’t even try to stop her laughter, not as Charles pulled her chair closer to his own until she was pressed flushed against him. His arm automatically pulled her to him, his own lips pulled into a smile before he lowered himself on to her mouth. Their kiss was sweet, as sweet as this moment was. A moment that Y/N was sure she would never forget.

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inkykeiji · 4 months

Text

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too.

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart.

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes).

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives.

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate.

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan.

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible.

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want.

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling.

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want.

Because it always is.

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed.

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded.

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels.

“Oh, I remember this one!”

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.”

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle.

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.”

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.”

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…”

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears.

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole.

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock.

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…”

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.”

You can’t always get what you want.

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you.

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny.

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?”

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too.

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please.

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile.

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention.

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony.

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?”

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.”

No.

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No.

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no!

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do.

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example.

But he can’t.

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth.

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup.

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile.

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.”

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.”

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat.

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth.

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!”

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.”

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted.

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff.

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest.

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.”

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple.

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity.

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs.

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity.

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.”

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should.

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?”

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little.

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?”

“Well, sometimes I…”

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.”

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot?

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…”

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water.

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?”

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…”

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?”

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does.

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer.

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores.

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?”

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes.

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear.

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit.

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.”

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific.

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it.

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.”

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint.

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder.

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps.

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—”

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice.

But not him.

No, he knows better now.

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls.

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!”

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.”

“You little bitch!”

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight.

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?”

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower.

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful.

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching.

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine.

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.”

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy.

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure.

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good!

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?”

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan!

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars.

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?”

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.”

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous.

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!”

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine.

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!”

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!”

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form.

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?”

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #this ended up being waaaay longer than i originally indended #absolutely no one is surprised #tw:pseudocest

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katsutora · 1 year

Text

— HEED

ft. isagi yoichi ; itoshi rin ; nagi seishiro ; bachira meguru ; chigiri hyōma ; itoshi sae

summary: how they are when you’re busy but they’re not

note: did you call, egoist? your fluff writer could only be me. NO JK ashsjdjahahah i love you guys sm though! thanks for the support! <3

⚘ ISAGI YOICHI

ㅤㅤthe sanest one a very decent one. idles somewhere near you because he doesn’t want to bother you, but obviously keeps tabs on you and will bring you snacks and drinks once in a while. a walking convenient store. will also drape a blanket over your shoulders when he notices it’s getting cold. sooo attentive 1000/10. he loves helping you so he’ll definitely feel honored if you ask for his contribution — though it’ll catch him off-guard too. “yoichi.” “!!” he can be funny like that. will carry you to bed regardless of whether not you fall asleep at the end. chef’s kiss. in conclusion: get you an isagi yoichi.

⚘ ITOSHI RIN

ㅤㅤgets... surprisingly clingy? yep, he’s battling his pride. whenever he’s mustered up enough courage to call your name, it’s instantly defeated by his overthinking and so the words died out in his throat. looks like a lost puppy just sitting there in the corner of the room. the embodiment of a CCTV, watchtower incarnate. very quiet too it’s kind of unsettling. when you finally turn to look at him, he’s going to pretend as if he didn’t spend the past thirty minutes trying to figure out how to get your attention. “rin, haven’t you watched this match five times already?” “and? you took five whole hours finishing up one lukewarm task.” gasp. man needs a subtitle like [you didn’t give me any attention for five hours straight and now i'm sad]. is down bad for cuddles and horror movie night but only if you ask him lmfao.

⚘ NAGI SEISHIRO

ㅤㅤdoesn’t care. flops on top of you. needs to be constantly reminded that he is, in fact, 190cm. NAPS in that position if you still don’t give him attention (a menace fr). spends the entire day attached to your hip like that. no but in all seriousness, he only pesters you like this if he thinks you’re overworking yourself. will just drag a seat beside you and go about his day (re: ranking up in games and watching matches chigiri recommended to him + annoying barou in the group chat) if you’re just finishing a task. fidgets with your fingers the moment he finds your hand idling; leans his head on your shoulder when his game character dies. good for you.

⚘ BACHIRA MEGURU

ㅤㅤcurious on what’s gotten you so caught up that he didn’t see you around the house for hours. once he realizes you’re doing some work, he immediately channels his inner motivational speaker. your #1 supporter fr. “you go!” “you can do it!” “you’re doing great!” but he kinda derailed halfway through so … “eat 3 square meals per day!” “get 8 hours of sleep!” “drink 8 glasses of water!” ?? sure, that’s probably just his way of telling you not to forget to take care of yourself. oh and he’s also made himself comfortable in a blanket fort that’s definitely not sloppily constructed to persuade you to take a break. BSJDBKSNDKS !! d-did something just collapse? “meguru?” *MUFFLED SCREAMING*

⚘ CHIGIRI HYŌMA

ㅤㅤyour cup: *exists* ; chigiri: *slowly pushing it to the edge* lmao. likes to think he’s very patient (not at all he's kinda bored). tried calling your name four times to no avail. the first one was only met with a short reply, then you merely hummed in response to the second and third one. got hella confused when you finally didn’t react at all. at some point, he found himself laying his head on your lap, somehow managing to squeeze in between you and the desk. how? kept staring at you trying to catch your attention but you wouldn’t budge, so he resorted to booping your nose. occasionally reaches a hand across your face to test your patience focus. congratulations, you have a house cat.

⚘ ITOSHI SAE

ㅤㅤit’s only fair that he finds himself right beside you just like you’ve always been there beside him — every step of the way. he’s doing random stuffs to pass the time: scrolling through his phone, ignoring rin’s texts, watching a game, reading a magazine, etc. mmm what’s that second one again? will tuck your hair away for you if it’s falling onto your face. places a hand over the sharp corner of the table to protect your head when you’re trying to grab something from the floor. will stay up with you if you’re determined to finish up the work despite having an early morning practice tomorrow. “aren’t you tired, sae?” “aren’t you?” “not at all because you’re here with me.” yk who’s tired? his manager having to reschedule all his appointments because he ended up oversleeping. help.

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revehae · 3 months

Text

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold.

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an ameteur.

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny.

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped.

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden vicap’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting.

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned.

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know.

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman.

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat.

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded.

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself.

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve unanswered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” johnny ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back.

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale.

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest.

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late.

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued.

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him.

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time.

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come.

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch.

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?”

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch.

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness johnny had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded.

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, johnny’s fingers itched.

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked.

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered.

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’re just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute.

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door.

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him.

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners.

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse.

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity.

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed.

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake.

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further.

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare.

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling.

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion.

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle.

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance.

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life.

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head.

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

#johnny suh smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh scenarios #nct smut #tw: noncon #tw: murder #revehae fics

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winterrrnight · 1 month

Text

heartless

PAIRING: rafe cameron x dark!fem!pogue!reader

SUMMARY: rafe finds out you've been dating him only for the money.

WARNINGS: dark content! dark!reader, naive!rafe, reader is a liar, a manipulator, dishonest, two faced, takes a big advantage of rafe, usage of guns, threatening, poor rafe is oblivious to it all (he's just blinded by one sided love), minimal swearing, minimal usage of nicknames, alcohol consumption, reader lowkey believes in toxic masculinity, rafe is kinda a crybaby, it's also longer than my usual stuff + please let me know if I missed something!

EDITH SPEAKS: my second ever dark!fic! just like before, dark!content is something I've just gotten into, so this clearly isn't the best dark stuff you've read, but I promise I put in a 100% effort. please please heed all the warnings and make sure you proceed only if you are comfortable with each and every single one of them! if you liked reading this, please reblog and please please let me know what you think of this! 🌩️

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somewhere far along this road he lost his soul to a woman so heartless

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You enter Tannyhill, a huge smile on your face as your fingers remain hooked through the expensive branded gift bags, the black credit card of your near and dear boyfriend in the back pocket of your pants.

“Baby I’m home!” You say out loud as you enter, keeping the humongous amount of gift bags in your hand on the couch of the living room. You hear footsteps echo as they transcend down the stairs, and you turn around to see Rafe making his way to you.

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your lips. “What did you get?”

You gesture your head to the couch and Rafe sees the enormous amount of bags on the couch. He knows you like to shop, and he never refuses to buy you anything because he believes you deserve it so much; never ever denying you when you approach him with a puppy dog look on your face asking for a shopping trip, which basically melts him into a puddle.

He always accompanies you to your shopping trips, his arm slinging around your shoulders as you both hit store after store in the mall, buying whatever you ask for, and he doesn’t think twice before swiping his card in the machine. He knows you haven’t lived in the best financial conditions as you grew up; that’s what it meant if you lived on The Cut. When you got together, he was more than determined to always give you gifts, his way of covering up all the things he believed you deserved to have but never had a chance to own.

But today, you suddenly had a need to hit the mall again when you had been there not even a week ago, and you had already bought a lot. But Rafe isn’t one to say no to you; how can he say no to your cute face? So you are sent off with a driver with his credit card given safely to you as he himself is busy with some business work.

And right now, here you are with the biggest number of handbags he’s ever seen you with. His eyebrows furrow in the slightest as he looks at how the couch is completely covered with the gift bags from exorbitant stores; the bags themselves cost a lot on their own.

“What happened baby?” You ask as you see him eyeing the couch. He turns to you and lets a smile spread on his face as he gives a peck to your forehead.

“Nothin’ baby,” he says softly. “Did you have fun at your little shopping spree?” Little? Hell nah.

“Yes it was absolutely wonderful,” you smile.

“Good good,” he mutters, smiling a little.

“Oh I’ve got brunch date at the country club with my girls today,” you say, pulling away from him, his arms now falling back to his sides. “Are you done with your work?”

“No,” he sighs. “I have to head to the office in a bit,”

“Oh,” you sigh, a pout on your face. “Such a shame… ’cause I was wondering you could come too,”

He smiles softly, gently moving to caress your cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay baby, you have fun with your girlfriends yeah? You and me can go some other time,”

You just nod at his reply and tell him how you absolutely can’t go to the country club in the same outfit you wore in the mall, and you need to have a wardrobe change. He watches you make your way to the couch and pick two out of the numerous handbags and make your way up the stairs. As you walk, he can see his credit card peeking out of your back pocket. He opens his mouth to ask for it, but then shuts it back realizing you’ll need it at your brunch with the girls.

He just lets out a small sigh before busying himself with more of his work for the business.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe rubs his eyes as he leans his head back against the cushioned back of his chair, letting out a groan of complete exhaustion. His eyes flick to the digital clock sitting on his table, the numbers 12.53 am flashing back at him. He blinks his eyes multiple times before focusing back to his laptop screen, left with just the end of the work.

As he gets himself back into the working mindset, a little notification pops at the right bottom corner of his screen. Narrowing his eyes, he reads the notification.

As his eyes run over the words, they widen more and more with each passing second.

Your credit card has been declined. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to process your payment.

Right before his eyes, the same notification appears two times more, flashing momentarily at the corner before it disappears itself.

It disappears itself from the screen, but not from his mind. The little notification with its white background and dark blue text remains ingrained in his brain, and it’s as if that’s the only image he’s only ever known.

He quickly gets his phone and opens up the texts between you and him, the last one being him asking you if you’ve reached the country club safely and you replying back with a simple ‘yes’. He hasn’t had any time to go back home as he’s been stuck in his office since the afternoon.

All you said was you were going to have brunch with your girls, so that’s when the credit card should’ve been used. But why is he getting notifications about his card being declined at 1 in the morning?

The notifications are quiet shady, because they don’t reveal where the transaction is being made and is failing, it just tells him the credit card is declined.

He logs into the credit card company’s portal on his laptop, and looks around to find what balance is left in his card. And there he sees it.

The balance is negative.

And not any small number, a big one at that.

-$1000 is written on his screen in a bright, red font, that number being the only thing that can attract his attention throughout the entire mundane black webpage.

Rafe stares at the screen in disbelief – clearly you’re out there somewhere with his card and you’ve overpaid, and now transactions aren’t taking place.

Despite having a little too much money in his card, he never expected for you to ever overpay. He knew it was a huge privilege for you to have so much of something you never before had in your life, but he never expected you to be reckless…

He shakes his head, getting the thought out of his head. No, it’s just some kind of mistake, he thinks, and as if right on cue, his phone rings. He sees that it’s in fact you calling him. He quickly swipes his thumb across the screen, accepting the call.

“Rafeeee,” you whine on the other side, and Rafe realizes you’re drunk out of your mind.

“Baby, where are you?” He asks, his brows furrowed as he anticipates your reply.

“Your card isn’t working anymore,” you slur. “Come on, I just needed some stuff!”

“Where are you?” He asks again, more sternly this time.

“I’m out… are you not listening to me? Your goddamned card isn’t working!”

“Yeah ’cause you used the last of the money in it!” He snaps. “I’m asking you again: where are you?”

“Fuck you!” He hears you slur out loud, and the next second, all he hears is the monotonous beeping, meaning you’ve cut the call.

Rafe sighs, slamming his phone on his table as he holds his hair in his hands, his fingers scrunching around his hair strands as he pulls onto them, hard enough to cause blinding pain in his scalp, feeling as if he’ll just rip his hair out. He slams his laptop shut and gets up from his office chair, deciding to retreat to home for now.

You aren’t telling him where you are, and he most certainly isn’t going to go around looking for you.

The best he can do right now is sleep, and worry about the negative balance in his card the next morning.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe’s eyes snap open when he feels something cool being pressed into his forehead. It takes him a second but he makes out your outline in the dark room, blinking a few times to adjust to the bare amount of light in the room.

“Rafe…” your cold voice cuts through the darkness of the room.

It’s dead silent, and Rafe’s ears can only process his own deep breathing. Not yours – it feels like you aren’t breathing, you’re just standing silently.

A breeze blows outside, causing the flimsy curtains hanging in front of his window to fly to the side for the moment, letting the white moonlight to leak in through the room.

And he sees it.

He catches the cold look in your eyes, as if they’re dead, not a single emotion swirling in the depths of them. His breath gets caught in his throat, and he slowly turns his head up to find the cause of the cold feeling on his forehead.

A sharp click is heard, and the pressure against his forehead is increased, causing him to let out a shaky breath.

“Now you know I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger,” your voice is cool, emotionless, and monotone. You push the muzzle of the gun more against his forehead. “Tell me where the money is, and I’ll let you go unharmed.”

“What money?” Rafe croaks out, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

A moment passes.

Another moment passes.

All Rafe hears is the rhythmic, yet fast thumping of his heart deep against his eardrums.

“I know the credit card wasn’t the only money you have,” you say. Your voice is so calm, it terrifies the smallest, thinnest nerve in his body. “I know you’ve got money – cash somewhere in here. I used to keep my eye on it. You moved it, didn’t you? It’s not in its usual location.”

Rafe’s eyes widen as he turns his head to his left just slightly and sees the doors of his wardrobe opened, drawers pulled out they’re threatening to fall out, and all his clothes are messed up, unorganized as if someone went through them frantically to find something.

He slowly turns his head back to you, realizing you always knew about the cash he keeps hidden behind his clothes in the wardrobe for all sorts of emergencies.

“I don’t have it,” he mumbles, his eyes widening, and you can clearly see the fear swirling around in his baby blues.

“Liar,” you snap, pushing the muzzle of the gun even harder into his forehead, which causes him to let out a wince. “Now’s not the time to fuck around a’ight? Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you go-”

“No,” he says silently, cutting you off. He’s trying his best to not be afraid of you, to not let it show. But, his shallow, erratic breaths leaving his rubied lips show something entirely different.

Right in the next second, you take the gun away from his forehead and direct it to your right, pulling the trigger with ease as a loud bang echoes throughout Tannyhill. Rafe flinches at the sudden sound which causes ringing in his ear, his eyes shut closed as a reflex. The sound of glass cracking and bursting echoes as an aftermath. He slowly opens his eyes and looks to his left, and sees the lamp on the bedside table absolutely shattered to pieces.

You now place the gun directly on his throat, digging it into his skin harshly. You push his face up with the gun, forcing him to make eye contact with you, which causes his hair to fall in his eyes. Through the hair in his eyes, he catches the glimpse of the crazed, wide eyed look you have.

It gets dead silent, and Rafe can still hear the bang of the gun and the breaking of the glass in the back of his head. You slowly pull the trigger, but not completely, and Rafe’s breath hitches in his throat as he hears the silent creak of the trigger being pulled.

“One last time…” you whisper, your voice having an eerie touch to it. “Where’s the fucking money?”

You notice the glassy layer of tears forming in his eyes, and you groan, throwing your head back.

“Stop being such a crybaby and man up!” You yell. “Just tell me where the goddamned money is!”

Rafe’s lips part slightly, and he raises a shaky hand, pointing to something behind you. You turn around to see he’s pointing to a safe kept safely away in a corner.

You let out an exhale as you turn your attention back to Rafe, the gun still digging into his skin. “What’s the pass?”

“4-” he starts to speak but his words get caught in his throat. “4, 3, 1, 7, 9, 5,” he mumbles out, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels the gun digging in his skin starting to form a bruise.

You look at him for a moment, and then slowly take the gun off his neck. He lets out a shaky breath and moves his fingers to the skin, and as predicted, he can feel an indent in his skin.

“Good boy,” you mutter as you walk to the safe and put in the combination. As you put it in, the safe opens and voila, there are stacks and stacks of dollar bills kept safely inside. You take them out and put it in the bag you had with you, making your way to the door.

“Rafe?” You say as you turn to look at him, and he notices your ‘sweet’ tone coming back in. “I hope you remember it’s our 1 year anniversary tomorrow, yeah? I’ve been eyeing this diamond necklace for ages. We’ll go to the jewelry store alright? And we’ll throw a party, at My Druthers of course. I need a new dress for that so we’ll shop for that too. I’ll see you tomorrow morning baby,” you smile as you open the door and leave, not giving Rafe even a moment to speak before the door is slammed shut with full force.

Rafe sits still for a moment, tears running down his cheeks silently as the past moments settle in him. Nothing could have ever prepared him for what just happened.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

“Yeah, I have the beach cleanup to attend tomorrow, and the soup kitchen volunteering is throughout the week, along with atleast three hours of working at The Wreck everyday, and the biweekly cleaning of the boats for Mr. Smith,” he hears you go on and on about your jobs to your friend JJ. “And then maybe we’ll have enough to pool it in and get ourselves some of that fancy champagne for your birthday J,”

He hears you sigh, taking a sip of your drink as you rest your back against the wall. “You know cheap beer will do it too right? We don’t have to go all out for the alcohol,” JJ tells you.

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes at him. “It’s your 18th birthday! We are getting nice, expensive champagne for it, whether you like or not. Listen, I will have enough to buy it okay? There’s no way we aren’t having that on your birthday. We’ll be like Kooks for that day, with our champagne in those long ass glasses,” you giggle and JJ laughs with you too, nodding his head.

“That’s tempting you know? The part of wanting to feel like the Kooks,” he says.

“It sure is, and you deserve it alright? So I’ll make it happen for you,” you smile at him. You take the last sip of your drink and peer into the now empty cup. “I’ll be back alright?” You say, walking away from JJ.

Rafe watches you make your way to the bar, and decides to give you a follow. As you sit at a barstool, he sits at the one next to you, catching your eye.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the kook prince,” you smile smugly at him. He can’t help but smile back at you.

“In his full glory,” he says, his smile showing off his teeth.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, kook prince?” You ask. Rafe sees a certain glint in your eye; one that he is almost certain is of the same interest he is looking at you with.

“Let me buy you your drink, that’s all,” he says. He sees your eyebrows furrow, but they relax the next second and you nod.

“Okay…” you say, “but what’s the catch?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No catch, saw your pretty face, and I just wanted to do something nice for you,”

He sees you say nothing, just a smile on your face as you receive your ordered drink and he tells the bartender to put it on his tab. You get up from the barstool with your drink firm in your hand.

“Will I see you around, kook prince?” You ask.

Rafe’s lips are tugged in a soft smile at your words.

“You sure will,”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

That’s all he ever wanted.

He liked you, heck – he fell in love with you, and all he ever wanted was to relieve the pain of financial troubles off your shoulders. He always thought he had a lot of money – too much if he insists, and if it means it’ll help someone and provide them some financial stability, especially when that someone is the person he’s so deeply attracted to, he doesn’t mind, at all.

But what he didn’t catch is that you never loved him back the way he did. He loved to shower you with gifts and whatever your heart desired because he wanted to be there for you.

But did he ever expect you to get so up in your head that you’ll forget all about him and just see him as someone who can give you as much money as you’ll ever need?

Absolutely not.

The wind howls outside the open window, the safe is opened and every single note in it is taken away by you, his wardrobe is opened and clothes are spilling out from it, and he’s sitting, staring at the wall, his fingertips gently grazing over the indent on his neck as tears spill down his eyes.

He’s stuck, and you’ve made it really clear that he can’t back out of this.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @oceandriveab @valeskafics @diqldrunks @ladyinbl00d

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brittle-doughie · 9 months

Note

Can I get yandere triple cone cup champions pretty please? 🥺

Capsaicin Cookie is a giant, flaming ball of fun who makes sure you never spend a moment bored around him! He’s always stoked to do anything with you, whether it be a good spar or a good workout, Capsaicin would never find himself bored with you!

Which is why he’ll tend to get a little..volatile if he’s found himself unable to hang around with you for so long. He’s touchy with you, pulling you into big hugs to display his forever burning love for you! He fears losing you that he’ll fire up if something ever gets in his way to you, he’s not letting the Cookie who understands be kept away from him!

Kouign-Amann Cookie is very passionate when it comes to you, you’re the reason she even gets up in the morning! Incredibly sappy and loving with you, there’s never been one hangout where you two haven’t been exchanging hugs and kisses. She couldn’t find herself stopping! She just loves you so much, it makes her heart soar when you give her love, it really energizes her more then anything!

So please forgive her if she ever gets a little…possessive when she finds other cookies hanging around you, trying to get some of the affection that is meant to be reserved for her and her only! She’ll try asking nicely for these cookies to move along, she wanted to spend with you alone. Her patience is little, so it’s better they heed her first and final warning before she draws her blade to their necks..

Prune Juice Cookie is such a little weasel when it comes to monopolizing you. It doesn’t matter if you’re talking to other cookies, he’ll just casually enter conversation and steer the topic away towards you and him. If not, he’ll be quite the attention seeker, announcing how today was so taxing on his dough, won’t you carry him in yours arms to help him out? Oh and kisses too, that will definitely make him feel much better~

As you’re too busy coddling him, his eyes turn dark in hidden fury as he stares at the cookie that was too close to HIS Y/N Cookie. If looks could kill, the darkened stare, showcasing his almost slit-like pupils, would have the cookie crumbled hundreds times over. Prune Juice has already decided that potential competitors were already enough of a headache and will nip it in the bud before it progresses. You’re left baffled when cases of sickly cookies started coming in recently…

#cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk capsaicin #capsaicin cookie #prune juice cookie #prune juice crk #kouign amann cookie #kouign amann cookie x reader #prune juice cookie x reader #capsaicin cookie x reader

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jamespottersdaisy · 10 months

Text

It's blue, the feeling I've got

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Is it really worth it to run from the hurt if running hurts you all the same?

thank you @tendous-pretty-hair for the prompt!

author's note- kinda like grumps x sunshine except remus is the sunshine here, trust issues?

You grimace at the filthiness on the floor, your eyes scanning for the target.

Your quill.

You are not in a comfortable position, your torso stooping while you support yourself with a tight grip on the desk. One more inch forward, and you are certain you will fall, and yet the quill is nowhere to be found.

It’s not hard to feel the annoyance building up. It’s merely a feather, for God’s sake, how far can you possibly drop it? But again, it is a feather; what keeps it from floating out of the window?

You hear your name and straighten yourself. You can feel the blood circulation visiting your fingertips from the change of positions.

You turn your head and stare at Remus with a frown, who, in turn, has a tiny smile on his face. His smile wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t used to heeding every detail about him.

“Here,” he says and stretches out his hand to you with a quill in it. It’s not yours, but it will suffice.

Your countenance doesn’t soften even though your heart flutters at his widening smile. You should offer him a smile or at least relax your brows or something to let him know your gratitude.

But you just mumble a quick thanks before turning.

He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind your rudeness somehow.

“Don’t look at me like you want to commit a murder,” he says, his eyes not leaving the paper before you. Your paper. Your ripped paper.

“I’m thinking about it,” you scowl.

“I’ll fix it, don't worry,” Remus smiles. You wouldn’t mind a ripped parchment if you hadn’t already written three thousand words on it.

“Not like you have any other options.”

He finally looks at you, and you expect a bitter expression at your words. But his eyes are still tender, and his smile still bright.

“I’ll even bring you pudding afterwards as an apology.”

Sometimes you would come across as rude, not because you intended to, but because your lips work faster than your mind.

“Remus made your cake!” Lily says and looks at you with emerald eyes filled with joy. She looks beautiful in her green dress that you’re sure she bought specifically for your surprise birthday party.

“Why?” you ask because you don’t understand why he would bother when he could’ve just bought it.

Everyone looks at you like you just screamed in a library. You should’ve probably said thanks instead of blurting the first thing that crossed your mind. Remus doesn’t seem to care, though.

“Because it is your birthday,” he says and pushes you by the shoulders to sit on the sofa. He takes the cake and kneels before you. “Make a wish.”

You look at his eyes, and his hair and his lips. You notice how they look…a bit too perfect. You realise it’s been more than a few seconds, and no one makes a wish this long.

You blow out the candles.

Other times, it would be because you don’t know what to do exactly.

You raise your head when a sandwich enters your eyesight.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Remus says and sits beside you. You watch him open his book and shuffle through the pages.

“How did you know?”

“We’ve been studying since morning,” he raises an eyebrow at you. “It’s nighttime.”

You hum and say nothing more. You didn’t know he was paying attention to that detail.

You open the sandwich and take a bite, satisfying your hunger. You want to thank him and talk to him, engage in some friendly conversation. But your mouth is full, and you don’t know what to talk about. You don’t want to speak while chewing, and you don’t know how other people manage to talk with someone so easily.

You feel bad that you never treat him with the same kindness he has for you.

By the time you grasp an opportunity to open your mouth, he’s already asking about your favourite drink.

That’s why you have a strange infatuation with Remus. Not like the way you care for James or Lily. It’s a bit different.

You never catch yourself staring at James’s lips when he’s talking. You never want to play with Lily’s hair. And you surely never think about your other friends before bed.

Anyhow, you’re too busy to dwell on those feelings or act on them.

At the end of the class, you want to return Remus his quill. You walk up to him, and he sends his friends away. You offer him the quill ashe smiles.

“Keep it,” he says and starts walking with you.

You think so hard about what to ask him, how to hear his voice, how to make him smile at you. Maybe you should ask him what he thinks of cats. But what if he doesn’t like cats? You should go a bit simpler, then. However, before you decide to ask him about his day, he’s already voicing some words.

“What?”

"I said you seem tired," he speaks softly, glancing at you while letting you leave the class first.

You are tired. You were up all night, studying.

"I didn't sleep well," you shrug. "Homework."

"Did you finish it?"

You nod with an accompanied 'uh-huh'.

"Would you mind helping me?"

You are sure he is already done with his homework.

"Didn't you, like, finish it two days ago?"

"I did mine, yes. But," he inhales deeply, and you know he's about to ask a favour from his stiffened shoulders. "You know how I help other students in the library sometimes?"

Oh, no.

"Yes?" you crunch your brows.

"I was hoping you could help me out a bit today."

"Why?"

"Because I need your help."

"That's what I'm asking. Why?"

He stares at you before you two start climbing the stairs. You'll later realise that wasn't the best thing to ask at that moment and scold yourself for it.

"I'm having a hard time handling all of them by myself."

"You can always just stop holding study sessions," you point out. "But I'll help you."

He smiles. "Thank you–"

"Only for today."

Remus nods several times, his hair tousling. "Only for today."

You don’t enjoy the company of too many people, mainly because of your awkwardness. Albeit you love helping people, you’d rather do it not in front of dozens.

Only for today.

Besides, you love spending time with Remus.

“How about Mistletoe Berry?”

“Yeah, you should use it–”

“Why not Silverweed?”

“It doesn’t mix well with the berry,” you say, trying to help all five of the students at once. Somehow, your regard for the teachers is changing a bit because of all this.

“Can you check my essay?” a boy asks, and you nod.

The moment you take the parchment in your hand, a girl decides to challenge you with some complicated questions that you won’t be able to reply to without focusing on her.

“Just a moment–”

“Yeah, sure, can you check my essay too afterwards?”

Why the hell does Remus do this?

He doesn’t even get paid for this headache.

You glance at him, seeing that he’s doing much better than you are. At least he has a smile on his face indicating that he actually enjoys holding these study sessions.

You take in his unfairly beautiful looks, trying your best not to get lost in his smile. You fail when he looks at you.

He laughs at your frown, mouthing something that you don't quite catch. You frown a bit more, and he moves his lips again. In the end, you give up and roll your eyes before averting them back to the parchment.

You don't see his smile lingering on your frame.

Remus doesn't notice that he's staring. You don't notice, either. The students do, though.

They see how his eyes soften when they are on you, just like your frown melts into a somewhat smile when you talk to him. They see how he's much more patient with you and how less grumpy you are with him.

"I don't think she enjoys being here," a boy with raven hair and tanned skin speaks to Remus, pulling him back into the moment.

Remus shakes his head, his lips still curled up. He lowers his head to the books before him.

"She just doesn't like people, Charlie," he says, eyes scanning the essays and looking for any mistakes.

Charlie doesn’t seem convinced.

"She likes you, doesn't she?"

"Well,” Remus hesitates for a moment. He thinks of the right thing to say, “That's different."

It is different, and Remus knows this too well. It would be an insult to his intelligence to think that he has never noticed small things.

You dither what to say to him, take your time with your words, and your faltering smile blooms flowers in his heart. Remus is smart enough to take heed of your soft demeanour when he is near. You don’t sulk when he walks with you around the castle, and you don’t frown when he is making lame jokes.

Sometimes he would even notice you staring at him adorningly when you think he is not aware. The way your eyes caress every blemish on his face would make him want to crash his lips onto yours to quench the fire in his core. But he would withhold.

Seeing a reserved one like you crack a smile, sing a laugh, and gift a loving glance just for him could not not do things to him. How could your soft spot for Remus in your heart not emerge gardens for you in his soul?

It was impossible. However, he would never act on any feeling that stormed in him. Not because he was too proud but because he wanted you to acknowledge them first. He wanted you to drop your high walls a bit, open up to him and show him that you are indeed willing to embrace your emotions.

He never pushes you, but sometimes he would wish that he did. Moments like this, knowing that you could do something you are not entirely comfortable with just on his request, would urge him to voice words that he knows for a fact would scare you off.

So he keeps silent for now.

“How is it going?” he asks, walking up to you. He has never seen you this uncomfortable in an environment before. Dozens of students nagging and shoving papers on the table, carelessly shuffling everything.

You immediately look up to him and push some parchments to his chest.

“Great,” you say, “Do me a favour and read these, yeah? I am a bit busy with…”

You stare at the five essays before you and sigh. “...these.”

Soft tunes of Remus’s chuckle greet your soul, and while you are more than happy to listen to it forever, you arch a brow at him.

“In my defence, you look funny,” he holds his hands in the air.

“You don’t get to laugh at me after putting me into this position,” you mutter, albeit your lips fracture into a subtle smile.

“I didn’t force you, did I? You agreed to help,” Remus starts tidying the table for you.

“Damn my helpful nature then.”

“Hang on, it’s almost nine,” he glances at the clock in the library. “You’ll be free to go in five.”

“Who’s gonna clean the whole mess?”

“I am,” he sits next to you and points out the mistakes of the essay to its writers.

You look at him for a moment before focusing back on the ink on the paper. You have no intention of leaving him alone to clean after those guys without you, but you don’t say that to him. Mainly because you don’t see any need to. But also because you don’t want others to think that something is…different with Remus.

It is none of their business, after all. At least, that’s what you always tell yourself.

Not that you are too scared to let your feelings surface, you despise being vulnerable, or you lock up your weaknesses because you are afraid of being hurt. It’s just not their business.

That’s why you try to suffice with the glances, jokes, and smiles when it comes to Remus. That’s why you never entertain the thought of his arms around your waist or your head against his shoulder or even his lips against yours. You never think about if they would feel soft or chapped when he kisses you, if he would place his hands on your hips or your cheek, if he would crash into you before pushing you against a wall or be gentle by caressing your face and slowly leaning in. You never think about if his kiss would lead to something more as he sinks lower to your neck–

“Stop staring into space and read it,” Remus calls without looking at you.

“I was reading it,” you scowl, feeling a fire in your core. You don’t look at him; you are sure it won’t help with the fire. His chestnut hair and shaped jawline have never helped with anything except fueling the yearning for him in you.

Remus simply mouths a satirical hum.

After long minutes of tortuous readings, students were thanking you as they got ready to leave. You simply put on a smile– which Remus was sure of being forced– and said that ‘it was totally okay’.

“Was it?” he whispers to you, lowering his head to match your ear. You move your head to look him in the eye, only to almost bump into his nose. You take a step back.

“Was it what?”

“Totally okay?” he grins, and you are not sure if it is because of your reluctance to be so close to him.

“It was indeed,” you turn your back to him and start tidying the place.

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” you cut him off, knowing what he’s gonna say. You don’t have to help him clean. You just want to be near him…for some reason.

“On your charitable day, eh?”

“That makes you a charity case.”

He laughs before you can overthink your words. You don’t feel a smile creeping up on your lips, but Remus feels his heart warm up at the sight.

He places himself next to you, hands stretching out to grab the useless papers. Your arms are crashing, but you don’t complain like you would if it was someone else.

“Thank you,” he says, and you look at him. Your smile widens, and Remus can swear he saw your eyes twinkling.

“Anytime,” you nod but shake your head right after. “Not anytime. It was tiring. But whenever it’s a life or death situation.”

“If I didn’t know you, I would say you’re a bad person.”

“Good thing you know me, then.”

Remus forces himself to focus on the task at hand. That’s what happens when you offer him a tiny smile or a joyful laugh. It’s distracting. It makes him want to do and say bold things that he knows are not the right time.

Still, he manages to keep his attention on the litter and not your velvety smile.

You are running with a deep frown on your face, your eyes looking for the best spot to shield yourself from the roaring gas back in the classroom. İt is as ugly looking as it smells disgusting.

And you know damn well who is responsible for that spectacle.

It’s not like you could somehow protect yourself from the side effects of their pranks. No matter how close of a friend you are to the Marauders, you are never immune to their misbehaving.

Thus, there you are, sprinting out of the room with the hopes of escaping the wrath of…

You didn’t know what it was, to be exact, but it surely made you gag.

Your eyes are scanning the surroundings, estimating the best route of escape for you, when you feel yanked by your arm.

Before you know it, you are in a room filled with barrels, brooms and weird-looking skulls on the shelves.

“What the–”

“Hi.”

Your frown deepens, and you are sure you will have wrinkles around your forehead when you are old.

“Remus?”

He smiles sheepishly. “How you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your ass from stinking,” he shrugs as you take in the room. It smells of wood, and the dust makes you sneeze. “Bless you.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, sniffling.

“To save your ass from stinking,” he repeats, and you ogle at him.

“Attaboy then,” you murmur, walking around the Artefact Room.

You don’t see it, but Remus’s eyes travel in the room with you. They take in your every movement, especially when you raise your hand to touch the skulls.

"Aren't they dirty?" he asks, and you pull your hand away.

"You are the one who chose this room."

"Weird way to say thanks, but you're welcome," he steps forward a bit awkwardly.

You roll your eyes at him and realise that you don't beat yourself up for your inept interactions with him anymore. They feel natural, enjoyable even. The feeling almost makes you smile.

"Thanks," you say to him, knowing that you are thanking him for an entirely different reason than he thinks.

He waves his hand and turns away. He points to a blackboard, dirty with dust, fading away.

"Did you know you can draw anything in your mind by touching this board?"

"I can?" you step up, eyes on Remus.

"No, of course not," he laughs, "It's just a blackboard."

You stop in your tracks and give him a look that makes him chuckle.

"Sorry," he smiles, "Just wanted to hear your voice. Not my fault that you don't talk much."

Your heart takes a leap at his words, your mind suggesting too many claims that you can not keep up. You don't stay stuck with them, not right now. You let his words lead you on.

"You're the only person I talk to too much," you say, and Remus takes another step towards you.

"That's a confession," he raises his eyebrows.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he's too focused on your lips to mind it. He's been waiting for this. For a moment that you would let him see a glimpse of the person behind the frown.

"I can confess much more," you murmur mindlessly, regretting it on the spot.

You shouldn't have said that. It's more than what you've allowed yourself. It's a crack in your walls.

You're hoping that he's going to smile and nod and move on. You're hoping so hard that he's not going to dwell on it.

"Like what?"

Of course, he is going to dwell on it. He's going to dig and make sure to leave no brick on your walls.

You won't let him, though. You can't.

You gaze at his brown eyes, taking in the intense hope and desire. You can't let those orbs bury you, it's too early to give in to their affection. You're struggling to get to the surface, saving yourself from his infatuating arms.

"Like how I can fall asleep anywhere," you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, wishing for it to be enough to move the topic.

Remus shakes his head, and the next thing you know, his hands are on your wrists, his face close to yours. You refuse to raise your head and look him in the eye, insisting on staring at his shoulders.

"Don't do that," he whispers.

He can feel the nerves in every inch of his skin stretch out, urging him to act recklessly. He has already seen the glimpse of light between the crack of your walls; there's no turning back for him. He wants your light to ignite his soul, and he's ready to fight for it.

"What?" you ask, this time resting your eyes on his. They are darker, or maybe you're just confused because of the suffocating distance.

"Don't close yourself off," his one hand slowly glides up across your skin, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "It's not fair."

Your heart is in your stomach, storms raging in your core, ready to rain with his one movement.

You are fighting with your shadow, struggling to grant the boy the well-deserved light.

"Remus, what–"

"It's not fair, dove. Stop torturing us," he cuts you off, and you hold your breath when he leans in.

His actions are painfully slow as if he's testing your limits. By the time you can feel his hot breath on your lips, your whole body is screaming his name, ready to melt under his touch.

It's what you've always wanted; you know that. To know how his lips would feel, where his hands would rest, and what he would whisper to you before taking your breath away.

The answer to all your questions lies only an inch away, and your skin is aflame with expectations.

You close your eyes when he brushes his lips against yours, breaths mingling, hands intertwining, and bodies begging to be held.

Just a second more and you'll finally rest;just a moment more and your walls will crumble, and just an inch more and his rain will take care of your garden.

"I won’t kiss you until you let me in," he whispers, and you frown.

Before you can register his words in your mind, the door of the room is being put to the test. Remus takes a few large steps back, his darkened eyes still gazing into yours.

The next thing you hear is James begging Remus to teach him the spell that will 'get rid of the stench'.

The next few days were nothing but a headache for you. The biggest battle you’ve ever fought has been torturing your mind, your heart and head clashing brutally.

Your heart is begging you to smile at the love that’s waiting for you, rooting for you, ready to embrace you. Your mind is reminding you of each and every bitter memory that made you who you are right now, that built up your walls and cast a shadow on your smile.

It’s not an easy fight, especially when you're fighting it alone. Silent and peaceful nights are the worst. Your mind replaying the memory like a film to remind you what you’re losing, but also lurking behind to whisper all of your dreadful doubts to your ear.

You will get hurt again. You know you will. That’s what it is to trust someone, to love someone, to let yourself be vulnerable before them. You can’t love Remus without accepting the risk of getting hurt. You know it all too well.

You just can’t accept the risk.

You are not ready for your heart to shatter again, for your tears to cry a river, and for your soul to suffer through many times. It's not fair. It’s not fair that you can’t be happy without being hurt.

You are too tired of being hurt.

The strength in you can not handle another knife in the heart.

It’s not fair.

That was what Remus said.

You groan and push your head to your hands.

It is not fair to offer him a smile when you know you want to hide behind a frown. It’s not fair to let him brush his lips against yours when you know you want to put distance between your bodies. It is not fair to find his frame in every room when you know you should let him down slowly instead of letting your eyes feast on his smile.

You can’t seem to let him go, and it’s frustrating.

He is looking into your eyes from across the room, and you are sure somewhere in your heart, there is a sting that bleeds.

“What happened?” Lily asks, and you know she can feel the ice between Remus and you.

“Nothing,” you say.

That’s what you always say. Never letting yourself find comfort in others, never letting them see the pain surging in you. Lily knows better than that.

“Do you need me to pester you, or are you going to talk?”

You’re not going to go talk, and she’s going to pester you. She is asking questions until she has all the facts. She is making you talk about every little feeling you have regarding every little thing Remus said. By the time she's done, you feel like you’ve crumbled under the weight of an elephant.

“And how long do you think you can keep yourself safe like this?” she asks. “You’re going to refuse to trust anyone till what? End of your life?”

You shrug, and she frowns.

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do,” she stands up, and you remember she has to meet with James. “But is it really worth it to run from hurt if running hurts you all the same?”

“Have fun," you murmur before she leaves.

That's what echoes in your mind for days.

‘Is it really worth it to run from hurt if running hurts you all the same?’

At first, you allow yourself longing glances. You don’t break eye contact when he looks over at you across the room.

Then you slowly offer him a faint smile. You don’t see it, but your eyes light up with your smile. Much to your happiness, he always returns it with a bigger smile.

With time, you two start talking again. He’s the same person he was weeks ago, you are the one that’s trying to make a change.

You talk about what makes you happy to him and notice that the next day he has your favourite sweet in his hand.

“You didn’t have to,” you say instead of asking the reason for the gesture.

“I didn’t intend to,” he chuckles, handing you the sweet you’ve been staring at since it came into view. “But then I remembered that you’ve mentioned liking those.”

“Strong memory.”

“For you.”

You confide in him about how your day went bad, and he listens for almost an hour.

“You sure there’s nothing I can do?” he asks when you stop talking.

“Absolutely nothing,” you smile, feeling the burden in your heart vanish.

“I can always put some dog fur on his coat,” Remus offers, his eyes indicating no humour. “I hear he’s allergic.”

You laugh this time, and his shoulders relax.

“Where are you going to find the dog fur?”

“I have my ways.”

You even let him hold you sometimes.

“What did you get?” you wonder, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“What do you think?” Remus says, and you falter for a moment. He’s been going on and on about this exam for a long time. Surely he would at least have a grin on his face if it went good, no? But would he be this relaxed if it went bad?

You stare at him a bit long, mouth opening and closing.

He chortles at your expressions. “Outstanding!”

You hit him in the arm. “Congratulations, jerk–” and he’s already hugging you.

You are still frowning and scowling when someone trips on your foot. You still hate Remus’s study sessions in the library, and you still never let James mess with you.

But you have allowed yourself to open up to Remus, and you know you can do more.

You have been waiting for the right moment to do it.

You are pacing around the lake. It’s peacefully quiet, and usually, you would appreciate it. Not at this moment, though. Your heartbeats are rapid, your hands a bit sweaty. You rub them together.

“Do you think we should start with Transfiguration today?” Remus’s voice calls and, you quickly turn around. You scold yourself internally for not noticing that he was approaching.

“Sure,” you say and sit beside him.

“You alright?” he narrows his eyes, “You look pale.”

“All good.”

He nods and starts talking about some stuff that you don’t listen to. Your eyes running around just like your attention. Sometimes they place on Remus’s hands, making you ache for his touch again. The moment is so tense for you that you overthink about his thumb and forefinger that held your chin.

They focus on his neck, too. You are a bit angry at yourself for wanting to put your lips on it. But nothing tops the irritation building up in you when you glance at his hair. You shouldn’t want to run your hands through it, at least not now. You definitely shouldn’t peek at his red lips that urge you to make a mistake.

“Okay, you are not listening,” he snaps the book closed. “What is wro–”

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know how,” you say, holding no punches.

His eyes widen a bit, and his lips part in the look for the right words. He stares into your eyes, making you regret everything and want to get the hell out of there.

“How about just lean in and–”

“No, you were studying, it would be awkward,” you cut him off, feeling a different type of warmth emerge, sweating your palms.

“I’m not studying now, am I?” he arches a brow, and your breath hitches.

You stay still, taking in everything that’s happening. That’s your cue, it seems. You should take it, you shouldn’t waste it or mess this up–

You swiftly lean in and kiss his lips.

It’s a quick kiss, one that doesn’t give you a chance to put your hands around him or feel his hold around your body.

Remus doesn't even have time to react or kiss you back.

When you pull away, you glance at his face, which is pretty smug. You furrow your brows at him, feeling annoyance paint your expressions.

“Took you long enough,” he chuckles and places himself closer to you. “Let me.”

You are still frowning when he holds your waist and leans in. You are looking at his eyes with a scowl that makes him imitate you. He mirrors your expression mockingly for a moment before smiling against your lips.

When he kisses you, your face softens, and your eyes close. You feel the cool breeze around your heart that lets you know you made the right choice. Your soul finds peace in that moment, just like your mind that goes quiet for the first time in a long time.

He deepens the kiss, and you bring your hand to his hair. You can feel the movements getting heated from his tightened grip on your waist and the heavy sigh that comes from you. Just when you bring your hand to stroke his neck, he pulls away, looking at you breathlessly.

“Just for clarification, this means you like me, right?”

You roll your eyes as you crash your lips into his, but not before muttering a low ‘yes’.

i don't really know how i feel about this but again i say this about almost everything i write so please let me know what you think <33

thanks for reading!

and if you liked it, buy me a coffee<33

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

yandere!Azul thought 4: what starts as a contract for no strings attached intimacy soon turns into something complicated when you find yourself swept up in a certain cecaelia’s charm, unaware of just how deep his love swims.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, contractual fwb, mention of blackmail, attempted sexual assault (from nameless student, not azul), obsession, pregnancy mentions, characters written as 18+)

“It’ll be easier if you stop struggling,” Floyd grumbles, his fingers digging into your arm with so much force you think he might snap the bone. “Jaaade, tell our shrimpy to stop squirming so much!”

Jade smiles at his brother’s whining, feigning blissful ignorance to your current predicament. “It would be in your best interest to relax. Broken limbs are not a pleasant experience.”

“Neither is kidnapping! I already told you I didn’t do anything. I never even signed a contract.”

“Not yet.” He peers down at you, challenging you with a single yellow eye. “Although we can’t ignore it when a precious friend fails to heed Azul’s summons. That’s not very polite, is it? And since you’ve chosen to be oh-so-cruel, we have no choice but to resort to similar treatment.”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, brows furrowed in annoyance. “You’re the worst.”

“I don’t think you qualify as the best in this scenario.”

“Azul just wants to have a simple chat with you. No need to be such a meanie,” Floyd adds, forcing you upright when you begin to drag your feet. His sharp teeth wink at you when he grins, and it’s enough of a threat to cow you into temporary submission.

As you allow yourself to be escorted through the grand, aquatic halls of Octavinelle, where you pass fellow dorm members going about their day through a magnificent glass tunnel, you know deep in your heart that this ‘simple chat’ will be anything but simple. They hardly pay you any mind; most avert their eyes as to not get caught up in whatever nonsense you’re currently bound to. The Leech twins are enough of a repellant. Stay away if you value your skeletal structure and unblemished skin, their combined presence boasts. You stare at the ocean that sprawls beyond the confines of the dorm, its depths dark and spiraling and tempting.

I wonder how much force you’d have to apply to the glass before it shatters, you think, coveting a means of acquiring superhuman strength to test your curiosity. Maybe the glass can’t be broken after all and I’d end up looking as graceful as a mer-turned-human trying to walk on land for the first time.

You’ve learned that it’s not so frightening to be approached by the Leech twins when you’re on pleasant terms and they’re not actively tugging you along like you’re nothing more than a weightless rag doll. Unfortunately, this is their usual treatment of those who try to evade payment or break the terms of their contracts. Even though you haven’t done anything of the sort, they’re still pulling you into the gilded lair that is the Mostro Lounge. Apparently—according to your most benevolent friends at Octavinelle—ghosting Azul is just as sinful as cheating your way out of a contract.

You try to stay away from the suspicious dealings that happen in Azul’s VIP room when you can, but it’s only a matter of time before it catches up to you. Perhaps this is your day of reckoning and you ought to start counting your blessings and penning a will with what little time you have left.

Aside from ignoring him, you’re not sure why he would be so insistent on meeting with you. Azul’s ire is not something you wish to toy with, lest you enjoy the coils of two dangerous eels. You surmise you’ll get your answer to every burning question once you’re seated in front of him, listening to the twins’ footsteps as they click out the door.

There’s no time to get a breath in before Azul’s own confidence fills the room like hot air, stifling any excuses you might’ve had at the ready. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and, with the lenses glinting under the dazzling light, he declares, “Let’s make a deal.”

What a greeting. He’s really something. You’d throttle him if you could, but then you’d probably find yourself at Floyd’s mercy as he returns the favor.

“Not happening.”

Azul sighs and runs a hand through his silver hair, so deceptively soft it reminds you of clouds and candy floss and cotton—gentle things that shouldn’t contain razor blades. And yet, when it comes to Azul, he’s a sea sponge full of hidden tricks and sharp objects. But right now he’s not wearing his fedora or coat, and he’s a portrait of defeat as he looks into your eyes. An inkling of sympathy bubbles up in your chest. It must be tough managing academics, a café, and everyone’s wishes in order to maintain a benevolent façade. But you know better than to feel bad for Azul Ashengrotto—someone who would trade you in an instant if it was to his benefit. So you find yourself slumping in the chair, no longer interested in the deal he’s trying to proposition or the sad image he’s carefully manufactured for your discerning eyes.

I should’ve known this was his goal. Was it really worth dragging me out of Ramshackle for?

“I ask that you hear me out.”

“If you had Jade and Floyd bring me here—against my will, might I add—just so you could get me to sign one of your scummy contracts…”

“I can assure you it will be worth your while.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “All right. Fine. But make it quick. I’m hungry.”

It can’t hurt to hear him out. Or so you think.

He grins, but there’s something lurking in his elated countenance that puts you on edge. He leans forward, hands steepled and elbows propped on the surface of his desk. Azul is in his element—a businessman profiting from shiny half-truths, and you’re the poor soul he’s ready to entrap.

“It seems you run a special sort of…trade among the student body here.”

You raise a brow. If he intends to squash your side hustle, you won’t allow it.

“Don’t tell me the services I’m offering are stealing your customers.”

“Certainly not.” He chuckles, but the amusement does not reach his eyes. “Sex sells. I couldn’t possibly compete with such a grand industry.”

“Get to the point, Azul.”

“Very well. I would like to enlist your services for myself.”

“I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. Let’s see the contract, then.”

Its golden shine nearly blinds you, so bright you could mistake it for a miniature sun. The terms have been written in neat, curling script. At the very bottom of the document that tempting line sits, empty and awaiting a signature. You scan the words, but none of them truly register within your mind.

“You had a field day writing this one,” you mutter. “If you wanted a handjob, you could’ve just asked. I shouldn’t have to sign a contract for a simple exchange.”

Octavinelle’s charitable Housewarden bristles at your forthright statement. “That is not the point! Did you even read the clauses outlined in the contract?”

“Not really. Care to elaborate?” You bat your eyelashes at him, lips turning downward in an innocent pout.

Rolling his eyes, he says, “In exchange for your services, I will grant any wish or desire you may have. Whatever it is—no matter how complicated or outrageous it seems—I’ll see to it.”

You swipe the contract from off his desk and read through it closely. This time the sentences click and you eye him with suspicion. “In other words, you want casual sex. This wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“If you consider it from both sides, it’s mutually beneficial. Sexual endeavors have been proven to reduce stress, improve one’s mental and physical health, and—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get that, but I’d only be servicing you. According to this clause, I wouldn’t be allowed to see anyone else for however long this deal lasts.”

“That’s only fair, is it not? If I dedicate my time to meeting your demands, you should dedicate your time to servicing me.”

“That’s not how this works. Besides, if I wanted to toe the line of lustful romance I’d have come to you already.”

“Oh? Are you saying I’m a prime candidate for what you humans call ‘holiday flings’? Well, (Name), I’m honored. Truly. You know you can always come to me if—”

“And now you’ve made it to the bottom of the list. Congrats.”

You glance at the contract once more and frown. There’s no denying that some of these terms are questionable. Not only are you unable to service the other students, you’d also have to keep the relationship a secret. You suppose Azul still wants to retain his current reputation without the tarnish that comes with a contractual fuck buddy. Who are you to decline, though? It would be reasonable if it weren’t for Azul’s tendency to cheat others and find tight loopholes to slip through. And he’s attractive enough. It’s a tempting exchange: sex for money, food, academic help, anything at all.

“Is there a limit to the amount of wishes you’re willing to grant?”

“We’ll do it this way—one wish for every meeting. You’re free to be as greedy as you’d like with your wishes. I suggest you make the most of this offer. It’s only available for a limited time.”

“Huh. That’s…weirdly generous of you.”

“I’m delighted you think so.” He indicates the pot of ink sitting atop his desk. “Well? Are the terms acceptable? If they are, just sign on the line and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Hold on. I never said I’d sign your contract. It’s not a bad offer, but I don’t want to subject myself to your wrath or the Leech brothers’ methods of…negotiation if I break any of the terms. I like my bones healthy and intact, thank you.” You set the contract scroll back on his desk, content with your decision. It’s better to play it safe, no matter how intrigued you are. “If you really want it, just pay me and we can—”

“That’s not enough,” he snaps. You’re not sure if you heard correctly because moments later his dark expression brightens and all traces of envy vanish like a curtain of rain parting to reveal a rainbow. “I understand your hesitance, considering my reputation has its shadows. But what is a risk without its possible reward? I can assure you these terms are honest and sincere. It’s in the writing, after all.”

“So it’s just a contract for sex? I don’t have to act like your girlfriend or anything?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Your narrowed gaze pierces him, as if to peer at the core of his soul, but you can’t dissect his angle. It’s difficult to imagine Azul’s contracts as straightforward deals with no strings attached, but then again he’s still just like the rest of the students here. He has his own cravings and you’re the only female on campus, a blessing that has come with its fair share of boons. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to go through with this. You might even be able to procure lots of premium tuna for Grim and some promising study guides for your friends, who most certainly need it after their most recent scores.

“If I sign this contract, how long would this arrangement last?”

“Two months.”

“Two months,” you parrot slowly, tasting each letter. “Two months?”

“Is that not agreeable? I’m certain I can offer you much more than whatever pocket change the others give you.”

It’s a fair point. You’re not trying to sell yourself cheap, but you’re not picky either. You’re willing to accept any form of payment, even though Madol is always preferred. After all, you need to make enough for you and Grim to be able to afford the expenses of campus life. This deal with Azul could easily solve some of the monetary issues you’re facing, especially since Grim’s bottomless stomach is the reason your budget is dwindling.

He sits there, hands clasped, and waits patiently for your reply. Awkward tension thickens in the air as the both of you stare at one another, challenging the other to speak up. Eventually, Azul decides to fill in the empty silence with his own smooth voice.

“In exactly two months, it’ll be the fourteenth of February. Or, coincidentally enough, Valentine’s Day. That is when this deal shall come to an end, regardless of where we may stand. You won’t owe anything. That’s something I can promise.”

“Not unless I violate the terms. Speaking of which, some of them are…strange.” You indicate a specific clause hidden amongst the paragraphs of swirling cursive. “Like this one. I’m not allowed to say ‘I love you’ once the contract has been signed. Why’s that?”

Azul follows your pointing finger and hums as he reviews the paragraph. “It would be troublesome if you fell for me. Using that pretty voice of yours to confess your true feelings—what a devious scandal! All of the students who lust after you would be utterly heartbroken and we can’t have that now, can we? It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity.”

“You really hold yourself high, don’t you? I’m not in love with you, so don’t flatter yourself.”

It’s difficult to make out most of the words in that clause because they’re all bunched up and connected with fancy loops and curls. Even though you consider yourself to be somewhat decent at interpreting cursive, the writing on this contract is almost foreign to your eyes. You’re not quite sure what happens if those three words are spoken, but it can’t be anything positive if it’s outlined so extensively.

“It’s all right if you refuse,” he adds. “Although it would be a shame if your private endeavors intersected with your school life. Good grades are not easy to come by if you slack, but I’m sure you’re aware of this.” His smile is sharp and wicked. You feel it’ll cut into you if you stare for too long. “Should you find yourself in the academic deep end, you’re more than welcome to come to me. I’ll always be here to assist you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It would be even more unfortunate if the fools who believe in your fake love learned of your nonexistent loyalty.” He tilts his head, amusement waltzing across his face like a ballerina on a glittering stage. “Photographic evidence is very reliable. I wonder how fast those bridges will burn once they realize you’re only with them for materialistic gain. Love is not easy to come by, but you seem to dish it out with ease. Isn’t that curious?”

“Now you’re just reaching. You don’t have any photos.”

“Perhaps you’re correct and this serves as an empty threat meant to coerce you into signing.” He pushes the pot of ink towards your reaching hand, fishbone pen within your grasp. “But that also means there’s still a chance they exist. It would be fry’s play to let something so fragile slip from my hands. I imagine every romantic who’s clung to you like seaweed won’t enjoy the sight. A scorned man is rather troublesome, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Some of them pay a lot! I need that money. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Who am I kidding? Of course he’d do that to me.

“It can be avoided, so long as you provide your signature. A small price to pay to prevent irreparable damage.”

Seconds tick between the two of you. Your gaze drifts from him to the contract.

It’s not so bad, the tiny voice in the back of your head pipes up, and you don’t have the heart to smother it. It speaks nothing but the truth. Two months can get you a lot. Expensive things, Grim’s premium tuna, yummy snacks, resources to cover rent and maintenance... And all you’d have to do is spend an hour or two with him.

“Okay. All right. Fine! Two months and that’s it.” You swipe the pen from his desk, dip its pointed tip in the ink, and scrawl your name on the line. “You’re lucky I’m desperate.”

“Desperation is a businessman’s closest ally.” He meets your fierce glower with a bright smile. The contract is snatched from your hands and rolled up, an important document that will no doubt find its home in the darkness of his vault. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to what’s to come.”

You wish you could say the same.

Two months. It’s an odd timeframe for something that shouldn’t have an exact timeframe at all, but this is purely contractual and you can’t expect this exchange with Azul to last forever. You suppose that if you accept your temporary fate and agree to the role you’re meant to play the days will pass quickly—fleeting moments that dissolve like sugar on your tongue. And it might even be enjoyable if you focus on the good things rather than the dangers lurking beneath the charming surface.

Azul calls you into his VIP room four days later. It’s quite the hassle walking to the Hall of Mirrors and excusing yourself from every conversation that springs upon you. You never realized just how many guys you’ve formed one-sided relationships with, and it’s a thought that lingers in your mind as you polish off what remains of a bag of gummy candies.

By the time you’ve arrived at the Mostro Lounge, seated before Azul and awaiting a command like a well-trained pet, you’re already reflecting on the contrition that comes with hasty decisions.

Let this be a lesson learned, you tell yourself. Think a little more before acting.

“So.” You admire the shell lamp on his desk, if only to occupy yourself. It curls into a smooth, cream-colored spiral. “What do you want? Office sex? A blowjob? Want me to hold your hand while you work through all that paperwork? I’m good at moral support, you know.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “The winter holiday is approaching. I’m assuming you have no plans.”

“None at all. You’ll probably go back to the Coral Sea, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not deal with the ice and frigid, sunless waters unless it’s absolutely necessary. Besides, I couldn’t leave you here while we’re in the midst of an arrangement. What sort of gentleman would I be?”

“How chivalrous.” You roll your eyes. “But it’s boring to stay on campus if everyone’s going home for the holidays.”

“Are you proposing we go somewhere?”

"It would be fun. I’ll bring Grim and we can go somewhere cozy. You can make that happen, right?”

“Of course I can,” he says flatly. “Must you bring that nuisance, though?”

“Grim’s my friend. You can bring Jade and Floyd if you want. I don’t care.”

His gaze shifts from you to the papers littering his desktop and you realize you’ve lost him.

“Or we could go. Just the two of us. Make it a private trip…” Every syllable is like acid in your mouth. “A resort would be nice.”

“Most resorts are booked for the holidays. It would be difficult to make a reservation now.”

“Then we’ll stay here.”

Somehow this feels more like a discussion between indecisive lovers instead of two acquaintances who are now contractual friends with benefits. Perhaps this entire act is nothing more than a circus and you’ll be destined to spend the next two months with a metaphorical clown nose and a gnawing sense of idiocy.

“If you’re truly invested in a resort trip, I could see what’s available. The timing is poor, but there’s always a way around these things.”

“It’s not a big deal. Staying here won’t be so bad either.” You fidget in your seat, not accustomed to casual talk with Azul. The both of you aren’t best friends, but you aren’t complete strangers either. You were there to witness his rise and fall firsthand and it’s something that brought the two of you slightly closer in the aftermath. But you wouldn’t say that you hang out with him as often as you do with your other friends. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

Azul glances up at you from his paperwork, pen poised in his delicate hand. “Not quite. We have yet to discuss boundaries.”

“I think I’d be okay with anything as long as it’s safe and we talk about it beforehand. What about you?”

“Anything related to my mer form is off the table.”

It sounds like he might add ‘for now’ to that sentence, but he shuts his mouth and continues to write.

“That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.” You flash him an encouraging smile. “If it makes you feel better, we can take this thing slowly. We have two whole months, after all.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a terrible idea...”

“We don’t have to rush into anything if you’re uncertain...or inexperienced.” Your compassionate grin quickly morphs into a playful smirk. “Making a fool out of yourself wouldn’t be a good look for you, would it? An inexperienced Azul must be a marvelous sight to behold.”

“I enlisted your services, not a clownfish who likes to run her mouth,” he says with a scoff. “And I’m plenty experienced, I’ll have you know.”

“With your hands and imagination, I’m sure.” He shoots you another look and you raise your arms in surrender, a laugh spilling from your lips. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be serious from now on.”

“You are so—” He shakes his head. “Honestly...”

The way in which he practically sighs the word sparks an odd sort of curiosity within you. You’ve never been privy to Azul behind closed doors—the Azul who tears his heavily guarded walls down when he has no need for masks. If you could pry him open like a clam and peer at the vulnerable pearl that lies within, you might come to understand him more than you did before. You hope that’s what you’ll glean from doing so because even though you’re bound to him via contract you want to get a better analysis of him.

“We have to start somewhere,” you say, admiring the way his hand moves effortlessly across paper. You’d like to charm him into comfort because, despite the nature of this agreement, you wish to be comfortable, too.

He risks a sideways glance at you, trapped between paperwork and persuasion. His fingers tighten around his pen ever so slightly and you don’t miss his searching eyes as they come to rest on your lips. You shed all of your apprehensions at once because this is business and you can’t let fear cloud your sensibility as you move forward in your performance, seeking his approval and satisfaction. A deal is a deal, after all, and your signature is a testament to that.

No turning back now.

“Do your kisses taste like salt, or will they be sweet like sugar?” It’s a silly question—an icebreaker, if anything—but it has him quirking a halfhearted smile. Part of you hopes he’ll divulge more details on the nature of his kisses, even if the act of kissing is something you’re well-versed in and have done enough times for it to be routine.

“You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

You rise from your seat. Each deliberate step brings you closer to Azul until, eventually, you’re standing before him like a sinner on trial. He gazes up at you and there is a hint of subdued anticipation in his expression. When his hand finds the small of your back, your fingers ghost over it and guide it to your waist. Azul squeezes your hip, almost experimentally, before he yanks you onto his lap.

You lean in until your nose is touching his, legs straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck.

“This is okay, right?”

“Of course,” he murmurs, nearly dazed as his fingers trace your hip, mapping the curvature like a painter’s expert brushstroke. “It’s more than okay.”

“Captivated so soon? I guess my charm really is irresistible.”

You wink at him and he responds by tilting his head to seal the distance between the two of you. His kisses do not taste of the briny, tumultuous ocean. Rather, they taste of tea and you envision an overgrown field of wildflowers as you savor the floral notes on his lips. His other hand comes to rest upon your back as he holds you against him, unwilling to let your bodies part, and your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers running through silvery locks with exploratory intent. Azul sighs into your mouth, melting like a glacier.

“Well?” His lips are centimeters from yours. You curl a strand of his hair around your finger, enchanted by its softness. “What’s your deduction?”

“Tea. And not the cheap kind.”

His trademark smirk tugs at his lips. “You taste of…candy.” As a cheeky afterthought, he adds, “The cheap kind.”

“You’re right on the money, but maybe the benevolent Azul Ashengrotto is okay with cheap.” You pluck his glasses from his face and gingerly place them on the desk behind you. “For today, at least.”

His sarcastic retort is swallowed in another smoldering kiss, and as your panting breaths are stolen by greedy lips that pursue your own whenever you pull away for a momentary respite, you can’t help musing how good he is. In the back of your mind, you ponder whether he’s had practice or if this is all some primal instinct that’s been embedded since birth. It’s hard to imagine Azul locking lips with his pillow as if it’s a real, tangible person, and it’s a humorous thought that spurs you onwards in your endeavors. You tug on his hair, intending to dig as deep as you can in search of every touch Azul finds pleasurable. You seem to have found the correct spot, for he grips you more forcefully, groaning against your teeth.

By the time you’ve mussed his hair and shared more than a few sloppy kisses, you separate yourself from him. His arms shoot out to hold you in place and his glazed eyes hold a strange glint of fear—as if he’s just come down from a glorious high and has fallen prey to encroaching paranoia.

“Someone likes kissing,” you tease, evading his hand as he reaches for your uniform shirt with the intent to tug you against him for the passion he so desperately yearns for.

He hums his agreement and allows his palm to find the side of your face instead, cradling it as if it’s fragile porcelain. His thumb traces your jaw in smooth circles and you lean into the warmth, unaccustomed to such a careful touch. The fabric of his glove is a welcome embrace.

“You’re soft.” The mumbling is wrapped in honeyed cumulus. “So soft…”

You’d be softer if he disposed of the gloves.

The tenderness with which he regards you spills into your cracked heart, and for a moment you’re certain this is the real Azul. Or, at the very least, a fraction of his true personality—one that has lost its barbs and deception and is deliciously honest. But it could just be wishful thinking, a mere delusion resulting from some sort of phantom decompression sickness.

Your hand travels down the expanse of his chest, feeling fine fabric rustle beneath your palm, and you stop just above the strain in his pants. Azul is broken from his lustful stupor, having returned to this plane of reality by gentle, wandering hands.

“Is this okay? Or is it too sudden?” You feel obligated to ask because it eases your nerves. You’re not sure why you’re on edge, but your conscious suspects it’s because the private sight before you should be off-limits. In this moment Azul is a portrait framed in dappled light and you are simply observing him from afar, unable to touch him without direct approval, lest you find your wrist snatched by a protective curator. “We can stop here if you don’t want—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

That’s all the confirmation you need.

So you slide off of him with the grace of a cat, catching his gaze as if it’s a luminous firefly you intend to bottle. Where there was once fright, there is now a desire spiraling in his stormy blues. It’s a look you’ve seen on many students when you admired them during your salacious exchanges, but none wear it quite like Azul. Even when his face matches the shade of cherries—even when his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his hair is tousled and clothes wrinkled—he still resembles seraphic perfection, and it’s so alluring that you practically dive into his ocean eyes, sinking deeper towards a yawning maw that houses a lurking monster.

As you lower to your knees, expert fingers working to unzip his trousers, you realize you want to meet that beast, if only to stare him in the face and ask why he chooses to cloak himself in shadows despite his radiance.

Once you’ve freed his length from the confines of his boxers, you admire its generous size and girth, smiling at the slight upwards curvature. Gazing at Azul, who’s watching with so much intensity you’d think he’s trying to ascertain whether this moment is real or fake, you press your lips against the head of his cock. It’s a delicate gesture that has him turning away from you, a hand flying up to muffle his voice.

“You can look,” you tell him, hoping it sounds like a suggestion. “There’s no need to shy away.”

You drag your tongue along it, which earns you a shudder, and lick the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip. For a second you pull back and, without ceremony, spit into your hand. That has Azul’s head snapping in your direction, a mixture of confusion and disgust crossing his countenance.

“What?” You blink at him.

“Why—” He pauses to clear his throat, rebuilding his default persona with practiced finesse. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t think you have any lube around, so saliva will have to suffice. Even though it’s not as effective...”

“You humans are so peculiar with your use of fluids,” he mutters, but there’s a spot of intrigue in his tone.

“We’re insane,” you exaggerate with a chuckle.

You’re leaning in again, wrapping your slick fingers around the base of his cock. You aren’t surprised to learn how well-groomed he is, and for half a beat envy strikes you. His life seems so whole—so put together and flawless, even down to the dick you put your lips on. You almost wish it were like that for you; you wish things weren’t a fractured puzzle with missing pieces. It’s a desire you can’t force, unfortunately, because Crowley has yet to discover a way to send you back to your world. For now you can only hold onto hope as you distract yourself with the friends you’ve made so far.

You wonder how long you’ll have to spend in Twisted Wonderland before you start to accept it. Maybe you’ll reject the notion of returning home when it’s finally presented to you in the future. If it’s ever presented.

A strangled gasp slips from Azul and it frees you from your melancholy. With dainty strokes, you take your time fitting him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway, and bob your head back and forth. The rhythm is easy to settle into, and it has Azul sucking in sharp breaths as his hands clutch helplessly at the armrests of his chair. Your other hand crawls up his leg until it reaches his thigh, and you pat it in an effort to coax him into shameless enjoyment. Just relax, you want to tell him. His hand grasps yours, fingers interlacing.

This is new, you think, looking at him through your lashes.

In all the blowjobs you’ve given whilst at this school, you’ve never once held hands during it. But if that’s what Azul wants, you’ll accept it without criticism. Bare skin meets the fabric of his glove and it reminds you that there’s still a barrier between the two of you. There are many, actually, and you’ve only crossed the first threshold.

Your hand squeezes his length in a tighter hold and that prompts a low moan from the depths of his throat. It’s a beautiful sound, and you hope to hear more of him as he unravels before you—a perfect ball of yarn fraying at temptation’s doorstep.

“For today…” His words are coated in lust and pronounced in a hiss. “For today—ah, no—for two months, you’re mine and no one else’s.”

You hum your compliance and the vibration causes him to tighten his grip on your hand just as another moan tumbles from his kissable lips. Had he not been wearing pristine gloves, his fingernails would have surely dug into your skin, but you wouldn’t have minded the rough treatment. You’ve encountered all sorts of temperaments at this school, some more hostile than others. You can handle a little bruising.

Your lips come off of him with a wet pop, and you lick a stripe up the underside of his dick before placing another gentle kiss to the tip. You open your eyes to gauge his reaction. Deep crimson has settled onto his cheeks and is climbing to his ears, and even when he seems trapped in his own haze he’s ethereal under the blue hues of his VIP room. You hold his stare as you close your mouth around him once more and resume the slow, sensual pace you’ve adopted since you started. His other hand cards through your scalp and for a moment you think he might force you to take all of him at once, so you prepare yourself for the mouthful. But then he brushes a few stray strands from your face, delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and you don’t feel the stretch as his cock is shoved to the back of your throat. Instead, he allows you to take as much of him as you’d like, opting to utilize a fistful of your hair to prevent you from detaching yourself. And if you really focus on his treatment, it’s almost as if he’s petting you. Carefully. Mindfully. Sweetly.

Oh.

You’d thank him if you could, but that’s not possible when your mouth is full. And so you opt to show your gratitude in another way—a way that’s wringing him of every delicious sound you’ve ever heard him make. It’s almost criminal you’ve yet to hear such saccharine love cries spill from his lips, as plentiful as a rushing waterfall, and it’s all due to the pretty contract you signed. You put more effort into the speed at which you savor him, letting a few moans slip through for the fun of it, and Azul hisses out a colorful word that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You feel almost lucky to experience this secret side of him.

“It’s a shame this mouth has tasted so many others…” he grumbles and you choose to ignore the complaint, only opening your ears to his breathless gasps and groans.

Azul squeezes your hand with so much force it feels as if he’s trying to tear it from your wrist. He’s caught between moaning and babbling nonsense, incoherent praises pouring from his silver tongue like raindrops on a dreary day, and all it takes are a few expert strokes and your talented, hollowed mouth and he’s crying out in ecstasy as he shoots his creamy load down your throat. You pull off of him, cum dribbling past your lips, and your tongue slips out to collect it before it can stain the floor.

“Wait, hold on! You don’t have to—” He stops mid-sentence as he watches you swallow it all in one gulp, unbothered by the consistency and taste. “Swallow… Ah, my apologies. H-Here.” He fishes through his pocket and produces a silken handkerchief from within.

You take it from him, marveling at its softness, and dab at your slick lips. “Thanks.”

“Consider it remuneration for…that.” He clears his throat and retrieves his glasses before working to clean himself with another handkerchief. “An even exchange, if you will.”

You exhale through your nose, amused. “It was like salty pudding. Kind of, but not really. I’ll know for sure next time we do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” He’s fit himself back into his boxers, trousers zipped and adjusted appropriately. He’d look presentable if it weren’t for his tousled hair and rumpled uniform, evidence of the past few minutes, but even then he’s still a pleasant sight for your eyes.

“Your semen.”

He absorbs your words and then flusters. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t compare it to pudding.”

“I think it’s fine. Your kisses are sweet and flowery and your cum is salty like the ocean. It’s a good balance between—”

He coughs, rather loudly, and you replace your words with jovial laughter. Rising to your feet, you hold his handkerchief out to him, suppressing a playful smile. He takes it from you and folds it into a neat square before placing it on his desk.

“Well, I hope today was satisfactory. You have my Magicam handle, right? Just message me on there whenever you want to do this again.”

“You’re leaving?”

You stare at him. “There’s no reason to stay. Plus, I have to make sure Grim did Professor Crewel’s homework.”

“At the very least, allow me to prepare some tea for you. I’m certain the taste in your mouth can’t be very appealing.”

“I find it’s quite the delicacy, actually,” you tease. “But what’s the catch?”

Now it’s his turn to ogle, brow furrowed as if he doesn’t quite understand the implications of your question.

“The catch. Nothing’s free here.”

“Oh. Right. Well.” He stands from his seat, smooths the wrinkles in his outfit, and adds, “Do you wish to have tea at this moment?”

“Sure, if you’re offering I don’t mind—wait. Wait!”

“And there we have it. Your first wish and it’s so simple. I hardly have to exert any energy.” He flashes his pearly whites at you in a smirk that’s more teeth than lip. “You’re too kind to me, (Name).”

You stick your tongue out at him while he grabs his coat from where it hangs limp on the leather sofa and drapes it over his shoulders. He pats his hair down in an effort to look somewhat together before placing the fedora on his head and putting his glasses on. You move to follow him through the door, but he stops you.

“There are patrons out there. Recall that we aren’t meant to be seen together, lest someone put two and two together.”

“Ah, right.” You fall back on your heel as you remember the stipulation outlined in the contract. “I’ll wait here.”

He doesn’t spare you another word and slips through the now open doorway. Left to your own devices, you could snoop through the many tomes lining the shelves, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. So you flop onto the sofa and listen to the faint chatter that drifts in from outside. Part of you wonders if anyone managed to eavesdrop, but knowing how noisy the Mostro Lounge can get it wouldn’t be surprising if your activities went unheard. At the very least, you’re certain the Leech twins might know of what occurred if they happened to linger near the door. You’d invite them in for the same treatment if they were willing to pay, but according to the contract you aren’t permitted to service anyone outside of Azul.

It’s a shame, but luckily Azul can provide you with anything and everything; so two months of time with him is more profitable than what you’d make in a week servicing the other students. It’s not exactly a loss, and as long as he doesn’t try to cheat you this arrangement will start and end smoothly.

You raise your hand towards the ceiling and flex your fingers, recalling the way his hand fit in yours so effortlessly. There’s a lot you don’t know about Azul. You don’t know what he does in his spare time. You don’t know the things he finds interesting. You don’t know why he chose to hold your hand or treat you with such caution. You’re only familiar with the businessman: the clever, scheming octopus who masquerades as a human with enough faux confidence and bravado to kill a man. And beneath that there is self-doubt—a constant, deteriorating fear that if he does not possess everything he is nothing. He’s an enigma decorated in ornate locks, and you’d like to discover every key until the chains have rusted away and you’ve worked out his complexities.

The door opens on smooth hinges and you sit up, your arm lowering to your side. In walks Azul, holding a saucer with a porcelain teacup. The fragrant scent of herbal tea fills the room and he sets it on the coffee table with an elegance that could rival Pomefiore’s. He lowers into the cushion across from you and nods towards the beverage. Steam rises from the liquid in wispy curls, aromatic tendrils that entice you to drink despite its scalding temperature.

“I sincerely hope you find it enjoyable.”

“I better because it was my wish,” you mutter, lifting the dainty cup from its accompanying saucer. You blow on it in an effort to accelerate the cooling process before glancing at Azul. “I won’t be fooled a second time, Ashengrotto. From now on I’ll choose my words wisely.”

He leans back and smirks. “A wisefish will fare better in the sea than a clownfish. You’re learning.”

Was that…a pun?

“Well, this ‘clownfish’ had you gasping like a beached mer.” Now it’s your turn to bask in amusement as you sip at the hot tea, careful not to burn your tongue. “I’d say I did a pretty good job, too.”

He rolls his eyes, but colors reminiscent of a ripened pomegranate are already climbing up his face. “It was an acceptable way to unwind. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

The flavorful tea rolls down your throat smoothly. “You liked it. I’m good at what I do. No need to skirt around the truth.”

“Sure. Fine. It was…okay. You’re…okay. Mere stress relief, if anything…”

With the way his voice trickles into a murmur of reservation, you get the impression that he’s not exactly confident in admitting the obvious. You surmise you might be the same if this was your first time getting intimate with a classmate. It’s almost invigorating to feast your eyes on his reactions. If only some of your other clients were as entertaining as Azul.

As you work to finish the tea, a single thought lingers in the back of your mind. Yeah, that was definitely a pun. A fish pun.

Your meeting with Azul is purely chance—a ‘luck of the draw’ one might say—and it’s no longer awkward to be caught up in him whenever the two of you are alone together. The past two weeks have been filled with exhausting study sessions, coercing Grim into putting paw to paper, and balancing Azul’s requests in the privacy of his VIP room. The latter feels more like work than the other two, but at the very least you’re rewarded after every exchange.

Azul really can work miracles you’ve concluded. Not that you doubted his capable nature to begin with, but something about him always seemed too good to be true—too perfectly manufactured. A lie inlaid in fool’s gold, and he was simply tipping poison disguised as a panacea into everyone’s gullible ears. Perhaps you’re just as bad as the rest because you’ve signed his contract; you’re trapped for two months, forced to walk the daunting line of staying within the terms.

But it’s an agreement that has pulled you out of your looming financial crisis and has provided you and Grim with delicious foods. And all it costs is an hour spent with Azul, catering to his whims like a doll who only knows how to obey the strings that set her elegant body in motion. You couldn’t have asked for a better deal. Of course you know to keep your wits about you when you willingly enter the too-good-to-be-true lair of a beast and you’re careful to accept the tea he prepares after your acts, ready to hear the steep price for his so-called generosity. So far he has yet to trap you in some elaborate con and you’ve done well to satisfy him with each encounter, but you remain wary of him and his plans. He’s always scheming, and there’s no telling if he intends to help or hurt you with his well-kept secrets.

And if you know anything about Azul and his knack for self-preservation, you’re certain it’s the latter.

You’ve yet to cross into any other territories regarding sex. Azul seems to be content with kissing and stuffing your mouth full of cock and those aren’t tall orders. You manage them well. But you can’t help wondering if it’s truly satisfying for him. He can have anything he wants from you, in any position and in any location, and yet he chooses to move at a snail’s pace. You aren’t faulting him for it, but falling into the same routine isn’t nearly as exciting as the dread of not knowing what comes next.

Maybe it’s safer this way. At least you know what to expect when you stride into the lounge.

“So the clownfish can study.”

“I can do tricks as well.” You gaze up at him from the thick textbook resting on your lap. Suddenly, the once peaceful air in the library’s dimly lit alcove feels colder than it actually is. With your back pressed against the chilled, snow-stamped windowpane, you view Azul from your makeshift fort of cushions as if he’s a prince standing just outside of your glass palace. He’s leaning against the bookcase in front of you, arms folding casually over his chest, and he makes no move to cross into your space. “What trick shall I perform for you today, Mr. Ashengrotto?”

“I’m not in need of your services at the moment.” Faux surprise paints itself on your face and he tuts softly. “Our paths just happened to cross, that’s all. I’m here for matters unrelated to you.”

“That’s a shame. I was here for you.” You turn the book towards him so that he can observe its cover. A panorama of the ocean has been printed on both the front and the back, and a beautiful coral reef resides in the bottom corners while a school of fish swim clustered in the deep blue. “I’m doing research on merfolk.”

“And why is that?”

“They’re interesting.”

“‘Interesting,’ you say.” He narrows his eyes at you, not quite believing or trusting the innocence in your claim.

“I’m serious! I want to learn about your species. Is that so wrong?”

“You could just consult me instead of an outdated, dust-filled textbook.” He gazes past you at the falling snow outside, each tiny flake fluttering through the gloomy sky like coconut shavings. “Although a lesson will cost you.”

“And here I thought we’d reached a point in our relationship where certain favors are free of charge...” Your gaze finds a particular passage on the page and you skim it with brewing curiosity. “Since you aren’t here for my mouth, I can only assume you’re looking for something. In that case, I won’t distract you.”

“Very well.” He peels himself off of the shelf, arms falling to his sides. “I wish you a most pleasant afternoon.”

The conversation should have ended there—you were fully prepared to bid him farewell and continue with your reading—but your hand just had to seize his wrist before the words could escape your lips. And now you’re left with a bizarre predicament, one that has Azul staring down the length of his arm at your fingers secured tightly around his wrist. There’s nothing you can say to rationalize this sudden contact. Truthfully, you have no idea why you grabbed him and you don’t really want to know the reason, wherever it may hide within the folds of your brain.

“Can I help you?” he finally asks, brows raised.

“It was…a reflex,” you admit with a sheepish laugh, but you don’t pull away. Instead you make it worse by tugging him towards you. “A clownfish reflex. No, that’s not it. A-Actually, I was practicing my grip. Y-Yeah! My grip for when I—um—hug my friends tomorrow. In the Mirror Hall! When we say goodbye! Yes, my grip.”

“Oh?” Azul flashes a cocky grin at you, head tilting as he studies your grimace. “Did you know that an octopus’s tentacles function on their own? It seems your hand isn’t connected to your brain.”

It sounds like a cruel dig. It feels like a cruel dig when it embeds itself in your heart, but it’s just the sobering wake-up call you need.

“I guess it’s not,” you mumble, fighting through the confusion in an effort to keep him entertained. Or maybe you really do want him to stay and acting like the clownfish he says you are is your clever way of distracting him from his main priority. You choose to remain perplexed instead of dwelling on that possibility. “Sorry. I’ll let go of you now.”

Once you release him, you’re overcome with a wave of relief. It’s odd that you’d reach out for him when it’s Azul who usually does that, sending terse, to-the-point messages whenever he requires your service. Azul gazes at the empty spot beside you and seats himself before you can come up with another outlandish explanation for your behavior. With this new proximity, his shoulder pressed against yours, you can smell the expensive cologne he takes great pride in wearing—can hear the rustling fabric of his uniform as he scoots closer to peer at the open textbook—and you’re swept up in the murkiest current, tugged along the rolling surf like a tiny boat with shredded sails.

You meet his stare with bemusement. “I thought you were busy.”

“If tolerating a clownfish counts as ‘busy,’ then I am, in fact, drowning in work.”

“You can’t stay away from me.”

“I’d say it’s the opposite.” His gloved fingers wrap around the book and you let him commandeer it. While he scrutinizes the paragraphs of text, you catch yourself admiring his handsome side profile. Once again, it’s almost impossible to fathom sitting beside someone like Azul, whose own fineness ought to be preserved in a museum and not in a slice of this ancient school, where dust is more prevalent than polish. “You do realize I’m an octo-mer, yes? Not a full octopus.”

“I know that,” you retort, yet his disapproving expression stabs you with a terrible shard of shame. “I was just looking at octopus facts to see whether or not any of it correlates to your behavior as a merman.”

“Should I ask why?”

“My intentions are as pure as the snow outside.” His scoff prompts a chuckle from you. “It says the octopus is an intelligent escape artist. Aah, I wish I could fit inside whatever I wanted without having to worry about getting stuck. Not literally, though. That’s not a wish. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Speaking of, you’ve yet to name your wish from our last meeting.”

“You’re right.” You hum low in your throat, ideas populating in your brain at once. Eventually, after much internal deliberation, you decide to ease into it with a simple inquiry. “What’s your opinion on lingerie?”

“Lawnger ray… I don’t believe I’ve heard of that species of ray before.” He blinks at you, glasses sitting tilted on his face.

“Lingerie isn’t a fish.” Gently, your skilled fingers adjust his glasses, a warm smile blossoming on your lips when he wrinkles his nose at you. “Humans wear it. Think of it like…pretty underwear.” Withdrawing your phone from your pocket, you tap at the screen until it’s filled with images for Azul’s viewing pleasure.

He stares at your mobile as if he’s trying to see beyond the nonexistent cataracts in his pastel hues. “Humans are fond of this? I don’t see what’s so practical about wearing scraps of fabric.”

“It’s for fun or to feel sexy. Lots of couples wear it during foreplay. Some wear it during sex. I guess it depends on preference.”

“Foreplay?”

“It’s like easing into sex, but you’re exploring each other and building up to it through things like kissing, role-playing, and touching. If we were to do it, I’d give every inch of you my attention. From your lips to your chest to down there. It’s supposed to heighten arousal by exciting both parties.”

“And this ‘lawnger ray’ somehow helps?”

“If I wear it for you, you’ll understand.” As you say that his eyes drift from the screen to you, raking over your chest and then back up to your face. “But I also found slippers that look like fish, so I’m really stuck on what to wish for right now. Do I put my needs before yours? Are fish slippers better than sex?”

Azul deadpans and the electric tension in the air dissipates like smoke crawling through an open window. “Fish slippers do not sound like a worthwhile investment.”

“Oh, but they are!”

“To think you’d proudly wish for something so foolish... And in my presence, no less.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Have you no shame?”

“But they’re cute. You wouldn’t get it.” Pocketing your phone, you level him with half-lidded eyes. “Or maybe you prefer the ‘lawnger ray.’”

A scowl darkens his features when he hears your mockery of his mispronunciation. “Perhaps you’re less of a clownfish than I initially thought.”

“Then what does that make me now?”

“A megamouth.”

“A what?”

“It’s a species of shark. You wouldn’t get it.”

Now you’re reaching for his hand of your own volition like a marionette with severed strings. “Maybe you’d be willing to enlighten me, a poor, unfortunate soul who lacks marine knowledge?”

He shrinks away for a fraction of a second, but then he reassembles his confidence so quickly that you hardly notice it was deteriorating to begin with. His palm meets yours, fingers not yet interlacing. He stares at you and the rest of the library falls away into ash and dust and the scent of weathered, crinkled pages, and it really feels like you’ve found yourself at the end of the world in this cramped alcove with Azul as your only companion.

With your heart thrumming on newfound adrenaline, you murmur in a tone that you hope is filled with enough allure to tempt the most sinister devils: “Let’s make a deal. You’ll teach me about yourself and I’ll treat you as I have these past few weeks. If you’re feeling generous, you’re more than welcome to throw in those fish slippers as a bonus. I won’t complain.”

“You’re something else entirely. If you want it, work for it,” he says, but he’s listening, considering the bait you’ve dangled before him.

“That’s the plan. So do we have a deal?”

“Allow me to amend the terms. One lesson. No fish slippers. You’ll come see me after the Mostro Lounge has closed tonight.”

“You can do better than that, Ashengrotto. Where’s the challenge you love so much? The high stakes?” You’re well aware that speaking his language isn’t enough to entice him into agreeing. If you really want to wriggle inside Azul’s hearts like a worm in an apple core, you’ll need to sell your charm and negotiation skills as if it’ll put food on the table. And it technically does, as ironic as that sounds. “Let’s make this interesting. If I cum before you, I’ll gracefully accept this lesson as my wish. I’ll even let you choose lingerie for my previous wish. But if you cum first, I’ll be awaiting a pair of fish slippers. Does that sound acceptable?”

“All right. I’ll bite.” He winks at you, and your heart does a tiny somersault inside your chest. Smirking, he finally intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s a deal.”

Not wanting to dwell any further on that internal response, you jump up from the cushion, hand parting from his, and brace yourself against the bookcase. Glancing over your shoulder at Azul, you wiggle your hips playfully. “You said it yourself. I’d be better off taking a lesson from you instead of that old textbook, so there’s no need to use it anymore.”

Azul seems to be debating the risks that come with this wager, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, and for a moment you think he might back out, cowed into a premature defeat at the thought of some nosy student stumbling upon the explicit display. But, to your delight, he shuts the book and sets it aside, rising to his feet in one fluid motion.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Since you think I’m such a megamouth, I’ll use something else instead.” You lift your pleated skirt to reveal the pudgy flesh of your thighs. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”

“Naturally.” His hands find your waist, gloved fingertips ghosting over your bare skin. “I do hope you’ve prepared yourself for defeat.”

“Like I’ll let that happen.”

Reaching into the depths of your uniform blazer, you withdraw a small jar that fits in the palm of your hand, unassuming with its clear, gel-like appearance. Azul watches as you make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down almost impatiently, before yanking the cork out of the bottle with your teeth. After spilling a generous amount into your hand, you work his flaccid cock in a loose fist. There’s something uniquely appealing about doing this in a corner of the library, where you’re pressured into silence to avoid getting caught. You wonder who’d chew you out if they discovered the both of you. Just what sort of punishment comes from fucking in the library? As intriguing of a mystery as that is, you’d prefer to keep your record clean (for the most part), lest it come back to burden you in the future.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to stiffen with your gentle ministrations, each stroke slow and deliberate. Azul hisses out a breath when you pull away, and you hardly have time to react before he’s shoving you against the bookcase, slipping his slick length between the softness of your thighs. His arms wrap around you and he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck as he moves his hips, searching for the right pace. You chew your lip and stifle a dreamy sigh at the lewd delight the friction provides.

“Let’s start with the anatomy of an octo-mer,” he murmurs against your skin, and despite how textbook it sounds you shudder involuntarily. Had it been anyone else, you’re certain that pairing this topic with your current situation would have squeezed a laugh out of you. But since it’s Azul, you listen intently, even if it feels like the beginning of a lecture. “We’re eight-limbed invertebrates with three hearts. Our blood is blue, which you humans seem to find abnormal, even though it’s not that different from your own blood. It’s only blue because of haemocyanin, which contains copper instead of the iron you humans have in your blood. If you think of it like—”

“That’s great, but tell me about you.” You crane your neck and offer him a grin. “The elusive Azul Ashengrotto... I wonder what sort of habitat he dwells in. I wonder what his favorite foods are, if he hunts for prey with his silver tongue or his bare hands, and if there’s more beneath the clever conman than he lets on. Maybe he’ll say yes to the fish slippers if I kiss him drunk. Oh, I’ll have to take notes. The Ashengrotto species is not immune to kisses and blow—ow!”

A sharp pinch to your side. And then his low warning: “You’re really pushing it, Miss Megamouth.”

Laughter trickles out of you. “My bad. I’m just curious.”

“Why?” The one-word query sounds so brittle and sad, almost as if he can’t fathom why you’d ever want to know such information, and your playful nature softens.

“Because we’re so obviously more than strangers and yet I hardly know anything about you.”

“Right... In that case...” His fingers grip your chin, a touch so benign you’d think he’s handling glassware, and he guides your head so that you’re no longer looking at him. “I...like to collect things.”

“Like?”

Something wet touches your neck, as fleeting as a sun shower. You can’t tell if it’s his lips or a tongue, but it traces its way down your skin until it’s dampened your uniform collar. Your heart recognizes the liquid well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to confront him on the matter.

“Coins, mainly. Contracts. Magic…” His intonation falters and he clears his throat. “Interesting things.”

Your fingers wrap around the shelf to steady yourself, and you inhale sharply when he makes a sudden, quick thrust that has his dick rubbing against your clothed pussy.

“I—hah—hope our contract...made it into your collection.”

“Of course. I take pride in every arrangement, no matter how personal it may be.” He squeezes your hip playfully and the melancholy gradually evaporates. “Ours is by far my favorite.”

“Even though I can’t give you any magic?”

“You’ve given your time to me. That’s incredibly valuable. Priceless, I’d say.”

“And yet it’s the price I pay in exchange for your ‘bottomless generosity.’”

“Oh, hush.”

Now you feel his lips on your neck, a sensation so wonderful and warm that you can’t help tilting your head to offer him more of your bare skin. You hum your approval, eyes fluttering shut as you resign yourself to the moment. The only sounds that permeate the crisp silence are the delicious squelches of skin on skin, Azul’s lustful whimpers, and your soft pants. He holds you against him as he fucks into your thighs and presses delicate kisses into your heated skin.

For the first time since you arrived at this school, you feel so secure and wanted—genuinely wanted and not just for secret exchanges behind alluring architecture. It’s reassuring to be held and kissed and touched, a special sort of comfort you’ve found in Azul. You wonder if this is just another sugary dream you’ve trapped yourself in and Azul is merely a performer in the play orchestrated by your mind. When his hand moves to unbutton your blouse, skillful fingers tugging your tie down, you realize this isn’t just an alternate reality constructed from the secret desires locked away in the confines of your heart. And knowing this is so very conflicting because you’ve never done anything like this with previous clients. Nothing has ever been as emotion-driven as this currently feels.

But you’re as good an actor as Azul. Perhaps the both of you realize a certain level of showmanship is required for this unique friendship.

Friendship. Since when did the two of you become friends? Was it that day in the lounge when he’d first proposed this arrangement? Or was it the minute you met him after he’d trapped so many unfortunate souls in his tricky contracts, and you, Jack, and Grim had debated whether you should sign Ramshackle away under the dimming glow of the VIP room? Or maybe it was the day you sat at his bedside in the infirmary, offering your ear while he agonized over his ruined reputation and the fact that everyone—that you—had seen his true self: a clumsy, crybaby octopus who can’t exist without gilded lies and stolen skills.

In the midst of his self-loathing, you’d placed your hand over his trembling, bandaged one and said, “Ruined reputation or not, you’re still you. And the people who really, truly care for you won’t abandon you because of everything that happened. If they’re really your friends, they’ll forgive you. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re just relieved you’re alive.” He stared at you, confined in his own silent awe, and with his defenses momentarily compromised you delivered a quick smack to his arm, to which he immediately flinched away from. “But that also doesn’t mean you can pull a stunt like this again. If you do, I’ll turn you into takoyaki and feed you to the twins!”

Azul's wry laughter had him grimacing seconds later. Despite the pain that flashed on his face, he managed his classic smirk. “I’d like to see you try.”

“There he is! Welcome back, Azul,” you said, grinning through the discomfort of your own wince-worthy bruises. If he noticed the way your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach, he didn’t verbalize it, instead choosing to peer at you with his lips pursed in a thin line. Thinking, as always, of what to say next.

“I never want to let you go.”

Your heart trips over itself and every musing promptly disintegrates. “S-Sorry?”

“Ah. It’s…nothing,” he whispers, smiling against your skin.

A shudder racks through you when he tugs your bra down to free your breasts. The cold air immediately hardens your nipples and you shiver against him. His gloved hands fit perfectly over those tender mounds and he handles them with his usual gentleness. Even though he’s murmuring about his affinity for the piano and how he’d like to play you a piece he composed, all you can focus on is the euphoric feeling of his dick sliding between your thighs, back and forth in a drag that sends electricity up your spine.

You whine pitifully, a snuffed sort of sound that only entices Azul more. With a breathy chuckle, he rolls your puffy nipples between his fingers, and more lovely moans cascade from your lips. There’s no point in hiding your obvious enjoyment from him—not that you had any intentions of being opaque with him in the first place. You want to unravel with him, fending off orgasmic highs for the sake of preserving your pride and winning a bet. And as you push back against him, clamping your thighs around his length, which has him hissing lowly, competition catches a spark and ignites.

“You can cum whenever you’d like,” he reminds you, and you bark out a chuckle that’s more gasp than laugh.

“Only if you cum first.” You wriggle your hips against his pelvis and sigh dramatically. “It’s not nice to make a lady wait.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Derisive as ever, it hardly carries an ounce of sincerity. One hand detaches itself from your breast and you observe him in your peripheral as he pulls his glove off with his teeth. It’s tucked between your breasts next, and you roll your eyes at him, a humorous grin settling on your face when his fingers dip between the cleavage, a fleeting, teasing touch. His ungloved hand travels further down, ghosting over your stomach, before finding the delightful space between your legs. “I won’t keep you any longer, Miss Megamouth.”

His hand slips into your panties and the pads of his fingers brush along your clit. You jolt against him, posture going rigidly stiff.

“Hey, no fair…” Your whine is loud in the desolate quiet of the library.

“If I recall—” accompanied with another determined thrust— “you never specified what can and cannot be done in order to achieve victory. That was your first mistake.”

You attempt a weak scoff, but his finger grinds against that sensitive nub, rolling in precise circles, and your legs tremble. “I just... J-Just made it easy for you. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that so? Your mindless generosity rivals that of the S-Sea Witch.”

“Ooh, was that a voice crack? Are you close?”

“N-Nonsense.”

“There’s no shame in cumming first. So—haah—be a good boy and cum for me, okay?”

The sweetness in your voice is enough to elicit the tiniest whimper, and so you clench your thighs tightly around him again, certain that this is enough to guarantee your well-earned win. Azul pulls you against him in a way that mirrors possessive greed. But just before you can tease him any further, you look up and find someone peering right back at you through an empty space between the many texts that line the shelf.

“My, my.” Jade tilts his head at you, a wide smile sharpening on his lips when he observes the situation laid out before him. “Pardon my intrusion. I do hope I’m not interrupting your extracurricular.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Azul rests his chin on your shoulder and replies in a voice that’s now surprisingly composed, “You’re right on time, actually. We’re just about finished here.”

“But I haven’t even—oh!” Your fingers curl around the ledge when Azul tugs on your perky nipple and squeezes your clit with his other hand, and before you can stop yourself you’re biting into your arm to muffle your keening cry as your orgasm washes over you unexpectedly, soaking your panties and leaving you shuddering in the aftermath.

“Your second mistake,” he whispers against your skin, pride encasing every syllable, “was thinking you could beat me at my own game.”

He slides his slick cock out from between your thighs and removes his hands from you, instead guiding you around to face him before forcing you to your knees. Through hazy, lust-filled eyes, you meet his victorious stare. Pulling the other glove from his dominant hand, he grips your chin, forcing your lips apart, and he pumps himself a few more times before releasing his sticky load all over your face. By pure instinct, your tongue darts out across your lips to gather the cum that’s smeared on it like pearly gloss. You don’t miss the quiver that wracks Azul’s rigid frame. He clears his throat and assumes his usual poise, though the reaction is not lost on you.

“To conclude our lesson with a final fun fact.” He retrieves the handkerchief Jade offers through the gap in the bookshelf. “Should an octopus become bored or stressed, it may resort to autophagy as a means of stimulation.”

“Is that right?” You peer up at him through your lashes, intrigue crawling across your face.

“Luckily, I have no need to feast on my limbs. You’re plenty stimulating.” After cleaning himself up and sliding his gloves back on, he passes the frilly cloth to you, gazing sidelong at Jade. “Let us be on our way. Time is of the essence.”

Jade bows his head in agreement before turning to address you, a hand over his heart. “I would suggest you stay warm on this dreadfully cold day, but it seems you’ve already found an adequate heat source.”

And then they depart, leaving you and your flustered heart on the floor.

“Damn it! I nearly had him,” you grumble, gripping the handkerchief in a tight fist. The loss doesn’t cut very deep, but it does provide you with some useful insight. You’re left to dwell on it as you button your blouse and clean your face.

The Ashengrotto species is not immune to praise.

Grim is treated to the sight of you twirling around your room at the crack of dawn. He narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed with your melodious humming or the arrhythmic ballet you’re performing.

“Yer dancin’ and singin’ like yer in love. It’s gross.” He buries his face in his paws. His next words are muffled, but they reach your ears nonetheless. “Some of us are tryin’ to sleep. Nngh...”

“You’re not going to believe this!” you exclaim, jumping from foot to foot. “Look at this!”

Despite his initial complaints, Grim still lifts his head from the bed to observe the neatly wrapped box in your hands. “Is it food? If not I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“Hold on! You have to be awake for this.” Grinning, you hold the parcel’s accompanying envelope between two fingers. “Voilà! A letter.”

“Ya lost me.”

“It’s from Azul.”

Your furry companion pulls a face at the mention of Octavinelle’s slippery Housewarden. “Not that guy… What does he want now? I’m not washin’ dishes again! No way!”

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” You set the box beside you and sit on the edge of the bed, turning the letter over to analyze the golden stamp and the sender’s name scrawled on the front in looping script, delicate letters connecting to form a pretty slant. “His handwriting’s really nice.”

“Ya might as well kiss him at this point,” Grim mutters, sticking his tongue out in disgust. Oh, Grim, if only you knew... “He’s nothin’ but a no-good, lyin,’ cheatin,’ fraud!”

“But he’s also rich. Or… Yeah, right? Isn’t the majority at this school rich?” The inquiry hangs heavy in the air while you break the wax seal and tear the envelope open to get to the letter that rests within. It’s a short message—hardly worth the fancy stationery—and you read it aloud. “‘Dearest Clownfish, enclosed you will find those vile slippers. They are not cute and I refuse to waste brainpower fathoming why humans are charmed by peculiar oddities such as these shoes. I suppose that is the nature of contrasting species and the limitless curiosity that dwells in the capacity of one’s brain. In any case, I shall await your arrival at the Mostro Lounge tonight. 9:30 p.m. Do not be late, Miss Megamouth. Otherwise I will send two of my finest escorts to retrieve you.’”

Miss Megamouth. You roll your eyes. I liked ‘Dearest Clownfish’ better.

“I don’t get it. Why’s he want you to come down at night?” Grim snatches the parchment from your hands. “Sounds suspicious…”

“I’m…washing dishes.”

“Ugh. Good luck.” He casts the paper aside and you catch it as it flutters midair. “I’m goin’ back to sleep now.”

Riddled with excitement, you wave Grim off as he yawns and curls up under the blankets and pull the package onto your lap. It’s the size of a shoebox, and the wrapping paper is an iridescent silver. When you tilt it one way, it shines purple. Another way and it’s blue. Unable to speculate on the truth in his letter, you shred the wrappings and tug the lid off. Sure enough, a pair of fish slippers rest within and your heart skips a beat.

“Weird.” You run your finger over the smooth material. “He’s so weird.”

And his generosity lingers with you for the rest of the morning.

Farewells are not so depressing when they indicate a temporary absence and an eventual return. When you throw your arms around each of your friends, laughing at the way Deuce’s cheeks burn as pink as the flamingos in Heartslabyul or the way Ace grumbles into your hair about how he won’t miss you, you realize that a few weeks without them won’t be the end of the world. If this had been the last time you’d ever hear their voices and feel their comforting warmth, you’re certain there would be more emotions. Plenty of tears to out-rain even Kalim’s Oasis Maker.

That isn’t to say you aren’t sad to see them vanish through the impressive mirror, its foggy surface devouring each student like the powerful jaws of a Great White. You wonder if it’s ever sent a student to the wrong location before. Then again, if you came here through some old mirror’s summons then you’re certain that’s not too far from the realm of possibility.

Envy tugs at your heart when you pull away from Jack, whose embrace is far too tight and tense yet endearing enough. You feel the jealousy coil around the beating muscle until it’s constricting it, and you have no choice but to force a smile as you send the rest of your friends off with hugs and, for those who are too stubborn, a cheerful fist bump/high-five—or, if you’re Riddle, a stiff handshake. Really, you’d have thought he’d be more relaxed in the time following his Overblot. But you’re not Riddle and the both of you have different feelings about the things that keep you awake at night.

Still, you wish you could leave through that mirror, if only to see your loved ones for a coveted day of holiday cheer.

You and Grim are starved after wishing everyone safe travels and happy holidays. He’s sprawled in your arms while you carry him from the Mirror Hall, groaning about how if he isn’t fed within the next few minutes he’ll shrivel into nothing. A drama queen, that Grim.

“Ya walk too slow!” he declares after a full minute of whining. “If ya ain’t gonna walk fast like a good hench-human, then I’ll just get a head start.” And with a huff, he jumps from your arms, landing perfectly on all fours, before trotting off in the direction of the cafeteria. “And I won’t be savin’ ya any food. Not even a morsel!”

You watch him go with a fond grin. Maybe this winter holiday won’t be so terrible after all. You’ve got Grim and the ghosts to keep you entertained and when it comes to bed-warming you have Azul.

“(Name)!”

You turn at the utterance of your name and spot a student you’ve dubbed the Pomefiore Pest. He’s nice, if not irritatingly insistent, and he’s been sending you message after message wondering where you’ve been and why you haven’t responded yet. Thank the Great Seven for that glorious mute button; it works wonders. You were hoping you could evade him for a little longer, but what is life without its inconveniences?

“Oh! Hey… You? What’s up?”

He falls into step beside you. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought I’d catch you at the Hall today, but you were so busy with everyone else.”

“That’s me—the busiest bee on campus.” You wink at him. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah? I think that much should be obvious.” His brows knit into the beginning of a glare, but he catches himself before he can scowl outright. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “I want to use your mouth today. You’ll let me, right? I’ll give you double from last time.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m about to eat right now. Maybe later?” You try to force as much dejection into your tone as possible, hoping it’s enough to garner his sympathy and drive him away.

“There won’t be a later, though. You’ll just keep ignoring me. I get that you’ve got stuff to do, but we had a deal. I pay you and you suck. That shouldn’t be so hard to follow.”

For a student from Pomefiore, his vocabulary sure is crude. Surely Vil has taught him better. You’d jest if you could, but he seems slightly worked up for your liking. And from observing Ace’s interactions with Riddle, you’ve learned it’s not smart to poke a seething bear.

“I really wish I could, but I can’t. I’m busy right now.”

“You’re going to see Housewarden Ashengrotto, aren’t you?”

That stops you in your pursuit of good food and even better company. You gaze at him with a frown.

“Why would I?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.” With a sigh, he folds his arms over his chest. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that guy. It’s impossible to get near you without those Leech brothers getting in the way.”

Someone’s perceptive. Or maybe you just like to watch, you stalker.

“You think so?” You rack your brain for a suitable scapegoat. It would be so easy to play it off as a fake crush or part of some elaborate plan to get closer to Azul to learn all of his secrets, but no one’s meant to know about Azul’s involvement with you. And you’re really not itching to break that term on this beautiful, albeit chilly, winter morning. “Give it time. In a month or so, we can get back to our usual routine. New year, new me, right?”

“I’m not waiting that long! Why can’t we just do it now? This was never a problem before.”

“Is it so wrong to want a break? You should put yourself in my shoes and try sucking half the school’s dicks. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“You little—”

With an offended scoff, he seizes your wrist and yanks you off the cobbled path in the opposite direction. You stumble along, glancing at him and then over your shoulder at your destination as it grows smaller and smaller. The wintry wind whips at your face, snowflakes cutting into your frosted skin like a dozen intricate blades. Your annoying acquaintance says nothing when he slams you against the nearest surface, but the frustrated expression he wears speaks volumes about his intentions. You don’t react when he pulls your blazer open and sloppily unbuttons your shirt, too dumbstruck to realize the gravity of the situation. But once it dawns on you, your heart nearly stops.

“Hey, wait a minute.” You reach out to push him away, but he snatches your hand and places it just above his crotch.

“You can take your break after I’m done using you, got that?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It’s snowing.”

“So? The weather doesn’t mean anything.”

You jerk away when his hand slips under your shirt to give your breast a squeeze that’s so rough you’re certain his fingernails will leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. Wincing, you squirm in his grasp when his knee slides between your legs.

“Stop it. This isn’t funny anymore.”

“Now you know how I felt when you ignored me, you stupid slut.”

That’s as far as he gets because he’s doused in a surge of water seconds later. Shocked, he detaches himself from you and grabs at his soaked clothes. You can’t tell if he’s feeling the chill or is just so enraged he’s started trembling, but you hope it’s the former. Standing a few meters away and tucking his magic pen back into his breast pocket is your aquatic savior.

“Oh dear. What loutish behavior and towards a lady, no less. To be devoid of common courtesy and basic manners… Were you raised by barbarians?” Azul tuts as he covers the distance with graceful strides. He shrugs his coat off and drapes it over your shuddering frame before facing the drenched student. “It’s insulting an ignoramus like you resides in Pomefiore.”

“H-Housewarden Ashengrotto!” he manages to say through chattering teeth. “I promise t-this isn’t what it looks like.”

“No? Then am I a fool to assume (Name) wanted to be treated so callously?” He narrows his eyes at him as he stands in front of you like a protective knight in finely ironed uniform. You wrap his coat around yourself, relishing in the scent of his cologne. If you really think about it, it’s almost as if Azul’s hugging you. “I’d prefer not to waste my precious time or breath on a poor creature such as yourself. Lying will only hollow your grave and further cement your guilt.”

The Pomefiore student trips over his own tongue as he attempts to keep up with Azul’s quick wit. Eventually he grinds out a halfhearted excuse about how you were just playing hard to get and that you’re not normally this cold. According to him, you just needed a push in the right direction.

Azul chuckles, and the sound is cruel and harsh. “If I recall, you said the weather wasn’t a problem. I do hope you enjoy ice sculptures. They’re popular around this time of year, are they not?”

And with that, he turns on his heel and guides you away from the student, whose feet are now frozen to the ground. You ignore his shouts and inauthentic pleas for forgiveness as you walk beside Azul, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Even his hand on your back is a comfort and you don’t quite hear his voice as you walk, focusing on his touch and presence rather than his words.

Azul’s determined gait comes to a halt in the courtyard under leafless trees with their gnarled limbs reaching towards the gloomy clouds above, and he’s looking at you with so much concern it twists your heart into knots. Your stare slides from him to the trees, and they remind you of a skeleton’s hands with their bent fingers scrabbling for a handhold in the vast, endless sky.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m…just a little shaken, but I’ll be okay.” You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you showed up when you did.” Your breath materializes before you in a puff of air that’s reminiscent of fire-breathing dragons. Your grip on his coat tightens. “Um… That student will be fine, though, right? I know he’s terrible, but freezing to death can’t be ideal or enjoyable.”

“Jade and Floyd will carve him out once the ice has reached his knees. I surmise the chill will have worked its way into the very marrow of his bones once they’re done. Hopefully this little lesson will leave him with plenty of time to reflect.”

Yikes.

“I can pay you back for saving me. I know nothing’s ever free with you, so just name your price and—”

“Is that really all you can say?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is your brain wired so foolishly that you’d sell yourself without having considered the consequences?” he snaps, glaring. “If you used a sliver of your brain… Honestly. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you didn’t throw yourself at every student like a slab of meat!”

Shock digs into you like a sharp blade and you take a step away from him, betrayal flashing across your face. Suddenly, his coat feels less like a welcome embrace and more like a heavy burden.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything sexual. I meant a favor or something…” With narrowed eyes, you meet his frosty scowl. “Is that all you see me as? Just some toy to be passed around amongst the students here?”

Azul’s expression softens for a moment. “That’s not what I—”

“No, that is what you meant, you ass!” You shrug his coat off and shove it at him, disgusted at his insinuation that you’re nothing more than a human sex toy. “I do all of this for a reason, but you wouldn’t know anything about that because you’ve never been forced into a strange world with no way out. You try making enough Madol to live in Ramshackle! You think I enjoy what I do? I don’t even know half of these guys and I definitely don’t like any of them.” You inhale a breath of icy air, hold it, and then exhale slowly. Arguing won’t accomplish anything, and throwing meaningless insults around would just add more fuel to the already flaming fire. “Now that I know what you really think of me, I’ll be leaving.”

“You misunderstood me. I only meant to say—”

You’re already walking away, gritting your teeth as you force yourself to remain composed. Hot, salty tears gather in your eyes, but you’re not quite sure why you’re on the verge of crying. It’s strange; you’ve never cared about Azul’s opinion before. So why now?

When you make it back to Ramshackle Dorm, you flop onto your bed and allow hidden emotions to seep through the cracks. Even the prepackaged sandwich Grim salvaged from the cafeteria fails to lift your spirits. Instead, he curls beside you and listens to your tearful rant. And when you’ve exhausted yourself, he lies on your pillow and falls asleep with you.

Nine-thirty rolls around, but you’re too busy playing card games with Grim and the ghosts to bother with the time.

After a week of ignoring countless summons from Azul, narrowly dodging the twins, and ranting your frustrations to Grim over tuna cans and candy, your rebellion ends at two in the morning when a slew of notifications shake you from your peaceful slumber. With a sleepy groan, you reach for your phone to shut it off when your eyes catch sight of the sender. It’s Floyd, and he’s bombarded you with one-word messages that spell out sentences when you skim through them.

He’s relentless, you think, irritated. I’m sure Azul told him to do this. The octopus doesn’t want to look desperate.

Yawning, you mute Floyd’s contact just as a final message populates: come to the lounge, shrimpyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!! :D

With so many exclamation points and an emoticon that would have been disarming had it not come from Floyd, you wonder if it’s truly worth getting out of bed for. But then you realize that it isn’t a suggestion—it’s a demand—and if Azul really wanted to see you at this very moment he’d send the twins to fetch you regardless of your willingness or the state of your consciousness.

I hate him, your brain concludes, but your heart houses covert disagreement.

Since you value Grim’s beauty sleep and are against paying for the damages that will inevitably come should the twins break into Ramshackle Dorm, you slither out of bed. Throwing a robe on over your nightwear, you slide your feet into your fish slippers and stomp out into the cold. The walk is frigid, and the chill bites fiercely, but irritation fuels you as you storm through the Hall of Mirrors and emerge at Octavinelle’s entrance, a foul tirade brewing on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can burst through the doors of the Mostro Lounge to confront Azul, someone’s hands shield your face.

“How much is Azul paying you, Floyd?”

“You’re good!” he exclaims with a breathy giggle. “I thought for sure you’d guess Jade.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s your slimy boss? I need to have a word with him.”

“Azul is waiting inside.” Jade’s voice. “Before you decide to converse with your fists, I suggest you take a moment to appreciate the view.”

“The view? What are you—hey!”

Floyd twirls you once before shoving you into the Mostro Lounge. The doors shut behind you with a resonating boom and you can hear the faint sound of footsteps as the twins depart. Frowning, you survey the dimly lit lounge. The aquarium’s luminosity dyes everything in an icy blue, an eerie hue that reminds you of submarines cutting through the deep, dark sea with a single searchlight. Someone claps and a spotlight clicks on, illuminating a table filled with drinks and finger foods in a pale yellow-green glow. Some of the dishes are recognizable—like the tower of chocolate-covered fruits and sparkling juices in champagne flutes—but some are foreign to your eyes—like the green clusters of what looks like tiny grapes and the seashells with a filling unknown to you—and you assume these originated from the Coral Sea. You gaze up at the octopus-shaped chandelier, brows furrowed.

“Humans have the most interesting terminology. What was it? Oh, right. ‘Comfort food.’” Azul stands before you with his usual debonair grin. Unlike you, he’s still dressed in his uniform and he looks presentable and perfect. As expected of a showman. “I would like to indulge in the comforts of good food with you. You’ll join me, won’t you?”

Your only response is the longest, loudest sigh you can muster.

Azul fidgets. “It’s not exactly a resort, but it’s still something.”

“Resort? Oh. You...remembered that?”

“Of course. I have an impeccable memory, after all.” He chuckles at your unimpressed glare. “For tonight, Octavinelle shall be your resort.”

“Wow, Azul. You’re really...” You trail off and his eyes widen in anticipation, awaiting praise. Your next words are like salt to the sensitive octopus that lives within him. “The most foolish clownfish I’ve ever met. No, more than that. You’re a megamouth and an annoying, pathetic, mean-hearted octopus. All three of your hearts are mean.” You cross your arms over your chest, but your defiance soon shrivels. “But…I also signed your contract, so I guess that makes me your contractual fool.”

“For two months,” he agrees, and you roll your eyes. “I deserve your ire, and now that you’ve rattled off such endearing adjectives I would like to formally apologize. It wasn’t proper to say those things to you. You were right. I don’t know how it feels to be forced into a magical world with no way out, but I can at least relate to how helpless you must feel. I, too, felt helpless when I came to the surface for the first time.” He clears his throat, awkwardly wringing his hands. “In any case, I do hope you’ll find it in your human heart to forgive me.”

“That depends. Is this entire feast for show, or are you genuinely apologizing?”

“I am genuinely apologizing.” He huffs. “And here you are in my humble lounge, fishing with your doubt. That saddens me.”

“Keep running that mega mouth of yours and I’ll leave without an ounce of forgiveness. I don’t take kindly to being woken from a good dream, Ashengrotto.”

“And yet you remain.” He whistles as he steps around you, a playful glint in his bright hues. “In the business, that’s known as getting your tail fin in the door.”

“I only came because I didn’t want to get kidnapped.” Shaking your head in disappointment, you stride towards the buffet and plop down in the booth. “And I’m only staying for the food.”

He lowers into the seat across from you. “Then please eat to your heart’s content. Free of charge, of course. Consider this an extension of my apology.”

Forgoing hesitation, you reach for a champagne flute, which houses a liquid that’s as blue as the sky and as frothy as sea surf, and admire its shine when it catches the light. “You must want something in exchange for all of this. The Azul I know wouldn’t go out of his way for an apology.”

“Your skepticism wounds me. I’m a gentleman.”

You take a long sip from the sparkling juice, savoring its sweet effervescence. “What do you want?”

“Patience, my dear. Comfort food is meant to be enjoyed in tranquility, not suspicion.”

Your heart jumps at the words ‘my dear.’ The aquarium looks much nicer at that moment. Coral twists in an array of colors and various species of fish swim freely, undisturbed by the meal taking place right in front of them. You catch yourself wishing to join in their aquatic world, a breathtaking place where your heavy feelings turn weightless in the deep blue and you can simply float away.

“Truthfully, I had intended to share this moment with you many nights ago.”

“So that’s what you meant in your letter,” you muse, hazarding a glance at him. He’s bathed in that same dappled light from the VIP room and you reach for him, wanting so badly to run your fingers through his hair, over his chest, on top of his hand. But then your fingers pluck a chocolate-covered fruit from the silver platter and you bring it to your lips. “The fish slippers are comfortable, by the way.”

“It seems you’ve taken quite the shine to them. I’ll admit they’re unique.”

A subdued smile threatens to blossom, so you bite into the strawberry. Sweetness coats your tongue at once, and a delighted hum escapes your pursed lips. Azul’s expression softens at your obvious enjoyment.

“Why’d you get them, though? I lost our bet.”

He rubs at a nonexistent stain on the tablecloth. “You looked so enthusiastic talking about those dreadful shoes. It was hard to not want to get them after enduring your ramblings.”

You freeze in your pursuit of another bite, the half-eaten strawberry poised at your mouth. “So it was a gift?”

“It was not a gift. I do not give...gifts.”

“You so do!” You slap the table and smirk. “Maybe I should lose our next bet.”

“Perish the thought. There won’t be another bet.”

“Fine, fine. But you admit it’s a gift, right?”

“Ugh. Honestly... Yes, it was a gift. I suppose it’s because you’ve charmed me.”

“O-Oh. Um…” You force a scowl despite the rising heat in your cheeks and add, “Well, I’m not charmed. I’m still angry at you.”

A sudden laugh bursts from him, unrestrained and filled with honest amusement. You gawk at him, bewitched with shock. Real, raw laughter sounds so musical coming from him—a sound that can only be produced when he’s effortlessly comfortable. Your resolve melts, and with another saccharine nibble you begin to dismiss every hostile barb that once occupied your thoughts. This Azul, you’ve decided, is by far the most enjoyable to be around. His shoulders lose their stiffness as he leans back against the cushioned booth, pure joy scrawled on his youthful face.

“For the record, I don’t truly see you as a piece of meat. It’s a distasteful comparison—an immature gibe, if anything. You’re more than that, but I’m certain you’re aware of this fact.” When you don’t reply, he smiles at you. A real smile, not his usual smirk-grin that he wears for confidence’s sake. “I’d say you’re quite the siren or something akin to a dessert. Sweet and tempting, a tantalizing human with a pretty voice and a pretty pair of legs. From every angle, you really are a painter’s finest work. I’ve found myself immersed.”

Sitting before him, clad in an oversized robe, sleepwear, and fish slippers, you do not feel like a painter’s finest work. Hell, you don’t even fit the classy theme of the Mostro Lounge, and you almost refute his claims outright. But with his gaze pinned entirely on you, you absorb his flattery like a greedy sponge in a puddle.

And with another sip from the flute, your heart pounding out an erratic rhythm and head swimming with elation, you realize you’ve shipwrecked into Azul’s three hearts. Even if his honeyed sentiments are insincere—even if he’s doing all of this to gain your trust and forgiveness—you want him to reciprocate for just a minute.

“It’s nice to feel wanted,” you whisper, and he perks up at the truth you’ve just uttered. “Knowing that someone waits for you and enjoys your company… I guess I just wanted to feel like I mattered here. I can’t use magic like you. I can’t grant wishes or fly on a broom. There’s not a magical bone in my body. For the longest time I felt so…useless and alone. There’s only one thing I am good at here and that’s making everyone else feel wanted. Because when I do that—when I’m able to give everyone else whatever it is they want—it makes me feel like I belong. Like I have a purpose.”

Azul stares at you and the silence that stretches between the two of you is so palpable that you hurry to shove another chocolate into your mouth. Why did I just say all of that? I probably sounded like an idiot. He reaches for your hand and you meet him halfway, fingers interlacing.

“But you’re not alone.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, squeezing.

“And who cares whether you can use magic?” Azul exhales noisily. “Honestly, there are plenty of respectable professions out there that don’t require any magic. Plus, the fact that you were even able to come here in the first place is magical enough. Call it destiny or fate or, Sea Witch forbid, ‘luck,’ it’s not every day Night Raven College is graced with a fascination such as yourself. And you’re very wanted! I want you, so don’t think for a minute that you aren’t... Ah. No, that’s not what I—well, it is what I meant. But... S-Stop looking at me like that! Forget I just said that! I meant, I want you as... As a companion. Like a friend! A contractual friend, all right? So stop smiling like a fool!”

He yanks his hand back and picks up his champagne flute, huffing around the rim. A flustered Azul is so very rare, and it’s a rich sight you savor.

“Oh? So we’re friends now?”

“We’re just two souls engaging in mutually beneficial affairs.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of saying we’re friends.”

He raises a loose fist that’s not entirely threatening and your heart floats.

“Azul, I really—” You bite your tongue. “I’m…sorry for calling you an ass and ignoring you. You deserved it, but right now I just want things to go back to normal. That way we can end on positive terms come Valentine’s Day.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He lifts his glass from the table; the golden liquid winks at you as it sloshes with the movement. “Shall we toast to that?”

You raise your flute and the two glasses join with a gentle clink. And it’s at that exact moment when you feel a tightness in your lungs—the kind that’s reminiscent of suffocation and drowning. You down what’s left in your glass before turning your perplexed and slightly unnerved stare on Azul, who regards you with a growing smirk. Just when you thought you’d gotten a glimpse of the real Azul, he returns to his scheming self. Your throat continues to close up despite the liquid that travels down it, and it’s a familiar feeling that brings forth a recollection of your visit to that fantastical museum in the Coral Sea.

Azul reaches for something under the table before passing it to you. It’s another gift wrapped in that same translucent paper from before.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I’d like to see it on you at the very least.” He rises from his seat, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. “You did say I’d come to understand the allure of lingerie if you wore it for my eyes.”

You listen to his retreating footsteps, wasting no time in tearing the present open. Inside lies a beautiful two-piece in the same shade of purple as Octavinelle’s crest. The top is bejeweled with pale gemstones, beads, and small seashells—polished baubles that glimmer when touched by the light—and strings of pearls hang low from the straps. The bottom is a short, wrap-front sarong skirt. Sequins wink at you when you lift it from the box to feel the sheer material between your forefingers.

It’s innocently modest, almost like a swimsuit, and you wonder what the significance is in this particular set. He must have browsed dozens of types and designs. There’s a reason he does everything, after all. Perhaps this is just a stepping stone in some bigger plan. The mere thought that he’s orchestrated all of this, down to the very foods you indulged in, kindles nervous excitement within you.

You don’t have any time to admire the design any longer, even if you want nothing more than to gush over its beauty, so you strip as gracefully as possible and change into the outfit. Your sleepwear and robe are discarded in a haphazard pile, and you secure one final chocolate from the table before following the path Azul took. There’s a ladder that leads up to the aquarium and you grab at the sturdy rungs with determined hands, breathless exhilaration fueling every step.

I wonder what his plans are, you ponder once you’ve reached the top, where the yawning mouth of the aquarium waits. Peering down at its illuminated depths, you note a stunning coral reef, dozens of colorful fish, and a spotted eel curled within the rock formation, its mouth parted to reveal rows of razored teeth. It reminds you of the twins.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest and you’re about to jump in when a hand fits into yours. Azul spins you around to face him, his other hand settling on your waist. You blink at him, unable to utter anything as your lungs shrivel. You have half of a mind to scold him for such an underhanded method, but you’re too speechlessly awestruck to do so. Instead, you allow him to guide you towards the water’s edge.

“Drown with me,” he whispers and you’re so ready to comply. You want to fall, fall, fall into the deep, spiraling blue. And your wish is granted without the need for deals or signatures. He tugs you against his chest and allows gravity to take the both of you.

With a resonating splash, saltwater envelops you in its whimsical embrace. The fish scatter at once, hiding amongst the reefs and in openings spotting the coral. Your eyes snap open in the water, lips parting in a soundless gasp, and you’re immediately put at ease when breathing comes naturally. Something slips through the bubbles and mist. At first you don’t recognize the creature who regards you with horizontal pupils and sharpened fangs, his beauty suspended in the angelic light as if he’s been frozen in time. But then a tentacle nervously curls around your arm, and your mind reels in an attempt to keep up with the sight that’s currently blessing your eyes.

“Y-Your mer form!” you sputter, reaching out to touch him. He flinches and you stop short, hands grasping water.

“It’s…weird. I’m aware. My apologies. I’m not sure why I assumed this would be a good idea. I just thought that maybe—well, you spilled your emotional guts, and I thought that it would only be fair if I—”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” You hold your hand up and watch as he slowly lifts his palm to meet yours. “You’re still you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He swallows thickly, eyes darting to and fro, unable to settle on your face for more than a minute. “But this form is so… So very undesirable. I’m weak and clumsy and—”

“Beautiful,” you insist, closing your hand around his. “You’re so beautiful.“

Tears well in glassy eyes, an indication of grief withheld for years. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him that before. Or perhaps he’s never allowed anyone to refer to him in such a lovely manner, for when he peers at himself in the mirror he sees the opposite.

“I don’t need your pitying words.”

“They’re not pitying. They’re the truth.” Maybe it’s because you’re feeling especially emotional tonight or it’s your lack of sleep that has honesty sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t stop yourself from admitting every single thought that crosses your mind. There’s something else that’s dying to escape the confines of your throat, three precious words that are locked away in your heart and are begging to be set free. You almost give in—you want to give in and allow the water to cradle your sentiments as it currently does you—but you can’t. “You’re amazing, Azul. I don’t know of anyone else who’s as dedicated and strong as you are.”

“Yes. Well.” He opens his mouth to retort and whatever self-deprecating excuses he had at the ready dissolve immediately. He shuts his mouth with a sigh.

“I like your true form.” Your fingers trace his jawline, holding his cheek with mounting fondness. “And I think you should like it, too.”

His gaze flickers to your midriff and a trembling tentacle curls tentatively around it. You glance at it as it holds you with such precise care—as if you’re precious pottery that might shatter at the slightest touch.

“But I hurt you,” he whispers mournfully. “Back then when I…”

Your head snaps up to view him. He averts his eyes at once, cowed into humiliated submission. You weren’t expecting he’d remember and you certainly didn’t think he had noticed your pain all that time ago. Has the guilt always lingered with him? Has he always been crushed with that memory?

“You remembered,” you mumble in disbelief, yet your voice sounds louder in the surrounding water. Almost as if you’ve been enveloped in a bubble. In fact, now that you’re realizing it, you don’t feel nearly as wet as you should. The lingerie isn’t sticking to your skin, soaked through with saltwater, and your hair is still in pristine condition. You surmise some unknown enchantment is to blame for this puzzling coincidence.

“Of course!” His tone rises in pitch, bordering manic panic. “How could I not? I was so cruel to you. Even if I wasn’t truly conscious for most of it, the fact still stands that I hurt you and endangered so many others. But I… I was just so terrified. Terrified of losing you like I’d lost my contracts…”

“Azul…”

“And to go so long without properly apologizing—horrible! Absolutely disgraceful,” he adds with great haste. “That’s why this form… It’s not pretty. It’s not cute. It’s ugly and gross and squishy. I hate it. It’s only good for causing harm. That’s why I—”

“Azul!” He snaps back to his senses when you place your hands in his and gingerly guide them to your mouth. And then you place a single kiss upon each. He nearly melts into a puddle of weepy octopus. “None of what you say is true. You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his voice falters. “I... It’s not proper to say things you don’t mean. I’d much rather you tell me I’m hideous now than continue dragging this nonsense out any longer.”

“Oh, Azul, delusion is not a pretty look on you.”

“So... So you don’t find me repulsive?” he ventures nervously. “You truly, honestly don’t?”

“Not at all. You take my breath away. Literally.”

His tentacle comes down upon your thigh in a soft smack. It’s a lighthearted admonishment, coupled with an unamused groan, and you find yourself laughing in delight.

“Can we make another deal?”

“That depends. What will this deal entail?”

“You can kiss me as much as you’d like, but you must first look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re beautiful. And you have to mean it.”

“What? Why? That’s—” His protests die in his throat. “I suppose...I can do without kissing for tonight.”

“How about this? Repeat after me.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not going to—”

“I, Azul Ashengrotto, am beautiful and wonderful and smart.” A delicate smile sprouts on your lips. “Go on. Your turn.”

He exhales dramatically, a bluish tint settling on his cheeks, and parrots the affirmation in a shaky mumble.

“And I’m not ugly, gross, or squishy.”

“And... Ugh. Honestly, (Name), this is completely senseless! What good is this going to do?”

“If you want to accept compliments, you have to accept your reflection first because it’s what the mirror will always show you whether you like it or not. And mirrors never lie. Your mer form is perfect as is, and so are you, Azul.” You lean in to press your lips against his cheek. His frown wavers. “I like you for you. That’s the truth. And I’m honored you’d feel comfortable enough to show me this form. That means a lot.”

Azul’s shoulders tremble with his inhalation, and you think he might cry. But after composing himself and chasing away creeping waterworks, he places his hands on your shoulders, sliding further down to caress your arms. He’s examining you like one might a rare luxury, handling you as though you’re a priceless artifact he’s only just unearthed from the murky depths of the ocean, and there is a certain glint in his eyes—one that reflects the truth in your heart.

“You’re perfect...” he admits suddenly. “You’re so perfect. Far more beautiful than I could ever be.” You open your mouth to object, but the tip of one of his tentacles prods at your lips to shush you. “I understand the appeal of lingerie now. It’s very nice on the eyes.”

“I told you you’d like it.” You kiss the tentacle briefly. It jolts in response, drawing back only slightly so that he may observe your pretty lips as they curl up in a wicked smirk. “But you’re avoiding our deal. To think the master of contracts would do such a thing...”

“I don’t recall agreeing. We never even shook hands, therefore it has no relevance.” He peers at you for a short while before sighing, the tension in his shoulders slackening. “But if what you say is true... If you really don’t find me unattractive... I... I suppose I can be beautiful. For tonight.”

“Just tonight? Why not forever?”

“Because forever is much too long of a delusion.”

“Whether human or mer, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

Azul exhales a disbelieving laugh. “You sycophant... You really are a siren, aren’t you?”

“I learned from the best.”

His eyes roll, but there isn’t annoyance in the act. Rather, a lopsided smile stretches on his face and his blue eyes are alight in the ethereal glow of the water. You touch one of his hands, admiring the seamless transition from black to grey. His skin looks so sleek—almost like the wax job of a newly built ship—and you’re certain that if you were to watch him swim he’d cut through the water without hindrance.

And to think that you get to experience Azul in such an intimate setting. You’d never have imagined this is where you would be with him last year, where you’d previously been at one another’s throats. Call it unresolved sexual tension or Azul’s determination to get you to sign a contract, but you’d avoided him and all that he was solely to prevent yourself from falling into one of his schemes. Now that you’re here with him, you realize the nature of your arrangement has only gotten so much more comfortable since you first started. It doesn’t feel like an obligation anymore. It doesn’t feel like he might cheat you out of something.

It really feels like he might feel the same things you feel. Or, at the very least, you can delude yourself into false hope, a balm that pairs nicely with the cracks in your heart—cracks that only Azul seems capable of filling in this moment.

“I’d like to try something,” he murmurs, his voice muffled in the water. You nod mutely, and a nervous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Anxiety does not suit a suave individual like Azul, but you suppose all negative feelings are undeserving of residence on such a handsome countenance. A tentacle traces up the length of your leg, slowly, enticingly, winding like ivy along a garden trellis, and he inhales a shuddering breath. “Would you... Ah, well, if you wouldn’t be opposed to this... Would you maybe, possibly, hopefully like to...”

“Fuck in your mer form?” you finish and he blanches, his eyebrows knitting in disdain.

“When you put it like that, it sounds so vulgar.”

“I’m sorry. Would you have preferred ‘make love’ instead?”

Azul pinches your cheek in what can only be considered lighthearted scolding. “I would have, yes. Very much so.”

You open your mouth to correct him—but this arrangement isn’t built on love—and promptly close it. You’re certain he’s well aware of that, even if it isn’t spoken outright. Instead, you throw your arms around his neck to mold yourself against him, to feel his hearts beating against yours.

“But only the tip. I don’t think I could do any more than that.”

“Is that so? What a pity,” he teases, and you scoff at him. “Perhaps we should add another month to our agreement? That would be more than enough time to properly accommodate that tight, little space between your legs...”

“Now who’s the vulgar one?” You press your forehead against his and swallow the truth. “Two months is enough.” But it’d be nice to do this forever.

He pouts at you—truly pouts!—and says, “The tip it is.” And then he’s glancing at your lips. “May I kiss you?”

“Kiss me until I’m dizzy.”

He seals what remains of the distance, a mere sliver of space, and you melt into him. His mouth is sweet against yours, a missing piece that finally completes your puzzle, and you tangle your tongue with his, sighing into him as though the sound is enough to keep the both of you afloat. Unlike the floral flavor from your first few kisses, his mouth tastes of chocolate and some fruity drink—pineapple, most likely.

You pull away briefly to catch your breath. He’s staring at you so intently now, horizontal pupils flicking about your body as if scanning you. He looks good without his glasses you’ve realized. But then Azul always looks good regardless of whether or not he’s wearing his glasses, and it’s a happy thought that trickles through your head like a stream slicing through a mountain.

“I won’t hurt you this time,” he whispers, and a tentacle curls around your hand, lifting it to his lips so that he may place a tender kiss upon it. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“Should I be scared instead?”

“Now there’s a question.” He hums and runs his fingers along your throat, a sly smirk settling on his face. “Fear is very delicious to us creatures from the deep. I wonder how yours might taste... Will it be salty or sweet?”

“Who knows,” you say in a sing-song. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself...”

He’s decorated you in his tentacles, twining them around your legs and waist, and it occurs to you that escape is impossible. But no matter how intimidating he may act, you could never be frightened by his real form. Even if he has the strength to subject you to a bruising death, he holds you so carefully, merely exploring every inch of you with curious touches and suctions. His hands cradle your face, pulling you in for another candied kiss, and your fingers wrap around his wrists to keep him there while you exchange breath as if the both of you are the only oxygen sources to exist in this wondrous world.

And this time he isn’t wearing gloves, and you’re no longer standing on the other side of the Do Not Cross line in the museum that confines his portrait. Now you’re right in front of him, offering yourself as a sacrifice at an underwater altar, and there aren’t any thresholds you must work to overcome. Even if there are still mysteries yet to be uncovered—and you can’t say you know Azul as well as you would like to—you’re astonished that such a relationship like the one you began with him could ever blossom into something so perfect.

Maybe Azul was the key to your heart all along—the single variable needed to solve the complex romance equation you’ve been unable to answer.

A stray tentacle slithers beneath the fine fabric of the sarong skirt, coiling between your thighs, and Azul smiles to himself as he curls another around your chest, the tapered tip sliding under the bra studded with remnants of the sea to take hold of your breast.

“Did you know,” he says conversationally, “that an octo-mer can taste with every sucker?”

“Really? Then I expect you to tell me my entire flavor profile by the end of this.”

He laughs a mystic laugh that surrounds you like wool stretching around your head, muffling all outside noise. You reach blindly for one of the few free appendages, to which he obliges and wraps one around your forearm, constricting good-naturedly. You guide this one to your other breast so that he may toy with both of your puffy nipples. He wastes no time in fondling you, utilizing his suckers in even succession. One moment you can feel the intensity of the suction as it squeezes you and then it relents, only to come back much fiercer. A people-pleaser to the core, he seems to be well aware of every touch you find pleasurable, and the idea that he may have found some covert way to study you in order to glean this secret information sparks gratification.

Perhaps he, too, has watched you from his own boundary, unable to indulge in the museum that houses your brilliance for reasons that will remain unknown to you.

Another tentacle finds your other hand—the one that isn’t currently stroking the tentacle that bestows tantalizing touches to your breasts—and briefly you’re considering how he can keep track of so many limbs. But you’d expect nothing less of Azul, who’s had years to master the art of multitasking with ten arms at his disposal.

The tentacle between your legs pokes curiously at your clit, and you inhale a quavery breath.

“This nub...” he mumbles, partially to himself, as if he’s in awe of the sexual anatomy that composes the human form. “Your pretty, little pearl...”

Your hand covers his tentacle, halting his exploration. His eyes flick up to meet your wide grin. “Did you...call the clit a pearl?” A giggle rises in your throat, and his face colors the deepest shade of blue.

“D-Don’t laugh! I’m trying to...” He looks away, chewing his lip. “Trying to be romantic...”

“No, no. It’s plenty romantic.” You bring it back to your thighs, pressing the sucker-lined side flat against your slit. Azul sucks in a sharp gasp. “You’re so cute, Azul.”

That seems to fluster him even more, for he pushes the tip of one of his tentacles past your lips, effectively silencing you. Never one to pass on an opportunity for teasing, you run your tongue along the underside. The contact has Azul suppressing a delighted shudder.

“You really are so peculiar,” he mutters, but there is an incredible amount of adoration twined throughout every syllable. “To call someone like me ‘cute’ without a shred of apprehension...”

Azul tuts at you, taking note of the half-lidded stare you level him with when your eyes meet, and he strokes along your pussy slowly. The lazy swipes are accompanied by another tentacle, its tip rubbing perfect circles into your clit, and you grind down against every limb satisfying your lower region out of carnal instinct.

“I find you much cuter when you’re like this, restrained and at my mercy.” He tilts his head to survey you from another angle, blue hues observing every tentacle that’s laced itself around your body, sliding between your thighs, breasts, and even your armpits. You remain in the very center of such a desirable piece of art, working diligently to lather the tentacle thrusting into your mouth with as much saliva as possible. Though it’s impossible to tell whether you’re successful in your endeavor when it mixes so freely in the water. You think you’re doing well because there’s a breathiness to his next words that has you humming in satisfaction. “Although my surroundings seem so empty without your pretty voice to fill the silence. That’s most unfortunate.”

He’s flattering you now, laying lovely adjectives on his phrasings as if he wasn’t the one to silence you in the first place. But for once you’re glad to have been quieted because it allows you to focus on his electrifying touches while he speaks. To think you were once so averse to his voice solely because of its grand intonation and the snarky, backhanded remarks that would always fill the spaces in his sentences.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be very fair to call you Miss Megamouth right now...” He chuckles to himself, bringing his knuckle to your hollowed cheek to pat it endearingly. “And you aren’t a clownfish either, certainly not when you’re dressed as—how do you humans call it? ‘Eye candy,’ was it? So then that would make you my tempting siren or my sweet, little mermaid. Which do you prefer?”

How about angelfish? you try to say around the thick appendage, and by some marine miracle your suggestion does not go unheard.

“Angelfish! Isn’t that beautiful? And so very fitting, too.”

You've never seen so much innate tenderness settle on his face before, softening his gaze and adding another exquisite level to his beauty, and it’s a scarce sight you engrave into your memory so that it will linger for years to come.

Azul presses his lips to your forehead, sighing blissfully when you squeeze your legs shut to lock the tentacles between your thighs in place.

“I’d like to call you that forever... May I?”

The tentacle in your mouth withdraws, much to your disappointment, so that you may provide him with a response.

“Of course. But I’m going to miss the other names you’ve given me.”

“Those aren’t going anywhere.” He offers you a small smile. “I’ll admit I’ve grown rather attached to them.”

“Then... Can I call you something, too?”

His hand fits into your awaiting one and he presses his body flush against you. “You may call me yours.”

Even though you know you’re treading a dangerous line, you wrap your arms around his neck and mumble into his mouth, “I like the sound of that.”

He fits his lips on yours again and the last of your apprehensions wither away. You kiss until you’re dazed and breathless, clinging to him as if you’re intoxicated. Every one of your sighs and moans are swallowed in heated, open-mouthed kisses, each more sloppy than the last. He’s still massaging your pleasure points with a dozen circular suckers, all of them attaching to you like persistent barnacles, and you arch into his grasp, a string of pleasant praises falling from your lips.

“Feels good... Really good. Hah...”

You grab at him for another kiss, and he closes the gap in seconds, his hand resting upon your lower back to keep you pinned against him. Your fingers tangle through his hair, and it is indeed softer than the clouds above. You think he might have been modeled after a deity because it’s nearly impossible to fathom how he can look and sound so divine, even in the midst of mindless ecstasy. You’d worship him entirely if you could, though you know that doing so would only feed his ego. But maybe you want to inflate it a little, if only to be granted the smiles and laughter you’ve fallen for ever since you found yourself trapped in the net he’s cast.

Azul does not suppress his needy whimpers when he separates from you, his face twisting into the approximation of blissful desperation when he drags a thicker tentacle along the lips of your pussy. You moan around a teasing remark, your own playful composure slipping into submission.

“Wanna put it in,” he mumbles hastily, nearly panting his desire, and he’s flushed blue from stimulation. “Please, angelfish...”

“Mm, yeah... G-Go ahead.”

More tentacles hold you steady in the water, and you peer deep into his sea-tinted hues, hoping to catch sight of his very soul.

“Just...take a deep breath. I’ll be gentle. It’ll fit.”

“You look like you’re holding back. Am I that tempting?”

He sighs dreamily. “You have no idea how much I wish to ruin you right now.” The tip prods at your entrance; you bite your tongue in anticipation. “I want nothing more than to stretch you wide enough so that no one else will be able to ever again—to mark you from the very inside so that you’ll be addicted to my every touch. That way—” It pushes past rings of tight muscle and a subdued groan spills from his lips. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you’re certain you’re leaving half moons in his skin. If it hurts, Azul doesn’t seem bothered by the pain. Instead, he holds you even closer, peppering your face with dozens of fleeting kisses. “That way... Haah. That way you’d only look at me. You’d only need me to properly fill you. No one else could ever satisfy you like I can...”

Most of his ramblings fall on deaf ears, for you’re so focused on the way your pussy stretches to accommodate him. He’s much bigger than any human male, but that’s to be expected considering he’s not fully human, and even if the stretch is more uncomfortable than you thought it’d be his attentive touches distract you from most of the ache. You pull him in for another kiss, squeezing your eyes shut, but then the tentacle working its way inside you suddenly bottoms out so deeply that you tear yourself away from him, choking on a gasping moan. You bury your face in his shoulder, crying out in a mixture of pleasured pain, and Azul brings a hand to the back of your head, stroking slowly.

“You’re doing so... Mmh... So well, angelfish. I told you it would fit without issue.”

“That...was way more than just the tip!” you hiss, and his delirious laugh comes out strangled.

“And yet it went in so easily! We were made for each other. See?” He rocks the tentacle once and it fills you entirely, further stretching your gummy walls. When you pull away to survey it you can see its outline bulging against your stomach. Azul sighs happily. “You’re so pretty... And all mine. Mine to mark and fill forever.”

All you can manage in response is another feeble whine.

His hand comes to rest on your stomach. “When you’re officially mine, I’ll kiss you here every night.” To cement this promise, the tentacle pokes at the spongy opening to your cervix and you melt in his hold. His deceptive blues flit to your eyes, which then admire your lips and then your stomach and then the way your pussy has swallowed so much of the tentacle that’s writhing within you, and a smirk sharpens on his lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my dearest angelfish?”

“Yes. Of course. Always,” you babble dumbly, numb to rationality. “That sounds like... Aah, like a dream.”

You roll your hips in an effort to take more of him, and he responds by thrusting the tentacle in and out of you, searching for a suitable pace. Any other words quickly melt in your mouth, reduced to mindless utterances of pleasure. Azul’s self-control seems to be slipping much like your own logical nature because he’s gripping you tighter than he was before, his tentacles curled possessively around every inch of you, as if he must mold himself to your form to truly connect as one with you. He’s tugged your bra down in his impatience and your breasts spill out with newfound freedom, though both are quickly covered by a reaching tentacle. His suckers affix to your nipples, and you throw your head back in pure bliss.

“It’s a dream that will soon be our reality,” he whispers, and a tentacle grasps your chin to guide you into another messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

You lick into his mouth with desperate fervor, swallowing the taste of him with every magnetizing connection of your lips. The tentacle that pistons in and out of you continues to batter your sensitive cunt, leaving you clawing at his back as you move your hips to the best of your ability, shamelessly moaning the filthiest of things. How good it is. How you never want this moment to end. How no one else could ever fuck you as good as Azul can. You think, for a split second, you’re losing your mind because Azul is the only one whose image is imprinted in your brain, strung up in your thoughts like a constellation in the night sky.

You’ve never felt so overwhelmingly full before, and you’re almost certain that by the end of this you won’t be able to think of anyone else because there isn’t any other person who can possibly compete with Azul’s octo-mer form.

At some point, amidst every delicious suction and touch, you can feel your climax mounting, and Azul moans so salaciously when you tighten around him. But just before you cum, he’s suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You stifle your disappointed whimper when he turns you so that your backside is pressed against his front. Two tentacles curl around your legs, spreading them wide, and another set hold your arms apart. He embraces you from behind, hands closing around your breasts, and the tentacle slides in in another quick, deep thrust that has your vision whitening.

Azul’s lips practically sear your neck when his teeth graze your bare skin. “Octo-mers are venomous,” he warns, as if it’s a reminder you ought to remember. “But I’d never—mmh—never hurt you. Just wanna keep you numb and dumb for me. Numb so that you can’t run away and—” He breaks off with a whimper, panting wet, hot breaths in your ear. “And dumb so—hah—dumb so...”

He’s quickly derailed from his ramblings, his pace having spiraled into something erratic and quick, and the tentacle is practically pummeling your cervix now. You’re crying in his arms, a broken wail ripping from your throat when he sinks his fanged teeth into your neck to muffle his own waterfall of love cries as he fucks into you a few more times. Another tentacle splays across your stomach, cradling it gently, while the one inside you stills at the entrance to your womb, filling you to the brim with copious amounts of viscous cum. There’s so much that it leaves you completely stuffed, and when you gaze at your stomach through teary eyes it’s bloated in a way that makes you appear pregnant.

In the midst of your own orgasm, which descends upon you so suddenly that it has you squealing, you manage a few semi-coherent phrases, all admitted in a garbled rush: “Please fuck me forever! You feel so good! Oh, I’m... I’m cumming!” You stiffen against him, struggling to catch your breath, while the tentacle limply fucks you through the aftermath. “L-Love you... I love you, Azul!”

“Me too!” he exclaims, gasping, and tilts your head so that he can capture your lips once more. You taste salt, ink, and blood all at once, and the contrasting flavors linger on your tongue when he pulls away. “You’re my everything... My perfect, pretty angelfish...”

You’ve never been anyone’s everything before, but right now you want to be exactly that for him. That, and so much more.

“Do you really mean it?” you whisper hoarsely, still catching your breath. Every word seems to dry up in your mouth, as if your own voice is shriveling from the sheer amount of stress it’s undergone. You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s reduced to a mere mumble come morning. “Do you like me?”

“Did I say that?” he teases, and you squirm in his grasp. He laughs and strokes your stomach to settle you. “Humans and their loveless sex traditions continue to baffle me. I couldn’t possibly picture myself chasing a relationship in which love is nonexistent.”

“We call those one-night stands.”

“Fascinating. Where I’m from, we refer to such relations as ‘eat or be eaten.’” A dark fingernail traces its way from your hip up to your ribs. “Shall I devour you now that we’ve thoroughly enjoyed ourselves?”

“If that’s the case, have fun tasting all of the cum you’ve emptied in me,” you joke and he stiffens, his face coloring blue. You crane your neck to shoot a disapproving look at him. “You really had no issue cumming inside, Mr. Azul ‘Just the Tip’ Ashengrotto.”

“Yes, yes. Forgive me for succumbing to my instincts.” He rolls his eyes with an indignant huff, a grin settling on his flustered features. “If you’re so worried, you can choose from all sorts of contraceptives, some more magical than others.”

“They better be magical! With how much you came I wouldn’t be surprised if I was pregnant within the next few weeks.”

“Could you imagine?” he muses, spinning you to face him. The tentacle inside you twitches, but he doesn’t remove it. “The two of us. Parents.”

“We’ve skipped ahead too many chapters. I can’t even keep Ramshackle in good shape!”

“And yet there’s no one else I’d rather tackle parenthood with than you.”

You sandwich his face between your hands. He reaches up to touch each hand, his larger ones covering yours. For a long minute, the two of you hold eye contact until, eventually, you exhale noisily. There’s a numbness that’s become increasingly prevalent and is slowly spreading its roots with every passing second, and you suspect Azul is to blame.

“Azul, you didn’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear.”

“‘Octo-mers are venomous,’” you repeat in a silly tone, and that prompts a devious smirk from him.

The tentacle inside you slides out, and you shudder bonelessly against him. Its slick tip prods at your lips next.

“Let’s continue our lesson from the library. I do hope you’ve taken adequate notes. You’ll need them if you want to recall octo-mer anatomy. But since I’m so very generous, I’d be more than willing to thoroughly teach you.”

Azul is just as insatiable as he is cunning.

Rustling sheets rouse you from your slumber. You blink through crusted eyelids and snuff the groggy yawn that rises in your throat, peering at the figure who lies on his side, his stare fixed on you. A smile softens his features when he notices you’ve awoken and he reaches out to pet your cheek.

“Good morning, my dear. Actually, I should say good afternoon. It’s rather late in the day, but you deserve to sleep in. You had a long night.”

It was definitely long, you think, recalling what felt like hours of endless sex. You’re not sure how you wound up in Azul’s room, where the scents of sea salt and chamomile tea combine effortlessly, but you think he might have carried you here after your late-night tryst. Your memory halts at the moment when you went limp in his arms and he’d stilled inside you to spatter your walls with thick, plentiful amounts of cum. After that, though, reality falls away and you’d found yourself swimming weightlessly in a dream composed of calm oceans and a breathtaking coral reef beneath still waters. Now, lying beside him in his bed, underneath a shell-like canopy that obstructs the ceiling’s light fixture, you bury your face in the pillows, thoroughly worn to exhaustion. Azul’s melodious chuckle fills your ears.

“You tasted like the sweetest pudding,” he adds cheekily. “A little salty as well. It was very delicious.”

The callback to an old joke has you swatting lazily at him.

No fair. You’re supposed to be the one who tastes like pudding, you try to say, only nothing comes out. You lift your head and attempt to speak again. Like before, there isn’t a single sound that tumbles from your open mouth. Confusion dawns on you slowly, almost like a rising sun, and you grab at your throat to try to force the words out. All you can do is open and close your mouth uselessly, and your befuddlement quickly morphs into raw horror.

Azul smiles and props himself on his elbows, head tilted curiously. “What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”

I can’t speak! you want to shout, but it’s become impossible to will your tongue into action. You clamp your lips shut and glare, hoping one question comes across clearly: What did you do?

“I suppose you’re looking for this, right?” He reaches under his pillow and withdraws a nautilus pendant. It glows faintly when he fastens it around his neck. When he speaks next he sounds exactly like you, even down to the breathy lust your tone had taken on while you were in the throes of an orgasmic high. “‘Please fuck me forever. You feel so good! Oh, I’m cumming! L-Love you... I love you, Azul!’” He clears his throat and his voice deepens. “As musical as these words are, one of those phrases is forbidden. You’ve violated our contract, my dear, and so now your voice is mine to keep. I promise to take good care of it while it’s in my possession.”

Foolishly, you open your mouth to exclaim, but he cuts you off with your voice.

“‘But I never even offered my voice as collateral! You can’t take what isn’t yours!’ is what you wish to say, yes? On the contrary, if you’ll recall, I specifically told you that uttering the phrase ‘I love you’ would lead to this mishap.”

You said no such thing, you think bitterly, but then you’re hit with his cryptic warning from long ago: It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity. Upon realizing that he’d dangled the truth in front of you from the very start, you bring your hands to your face in hopes of scrubbing the regret from your muscles. You were too absorbed in trying to maneuver his mischief back then that you failed to pay closer attention to his wording, and now it’s landed you right in the trap you were attempting to avoid. I messed up. I messed up big time.

“Your voice really is marvelous! I could get away with so much now that it’s mine to use. Where should I start? Ah, perhaps I should call some of your friends and tell them how much (Name) can’t stand to be with them? Or maybe it would be better to ruin your little ‘business’ before it can spiral out of control. Better yet, I should just—”

You lunge at him without much forethought, scrabbling for the necklace in a blind, frustrated panic. Azul laughs at your desperation, a little too pleased to engage in the scuffle. You’ve managed to pin him beneath you, your hands curled so tightly around his arms that your knuckles grow sore from the sheer pressure of your grip. He looks up at you, a mocking grin pulling his lips apart—lips you’d kissed more times than you’re able to count. Lips that you’d thought would be truthful for one night. Lips that run faster when telling perfectly orchestrated lies.

Azul’s gaze crawls down your neck, where a dozen circular-shaped bruises paint your flesh, evidence of the areas his suckers had once lavished with tight suctions.

“There’s no need to be so aggressive, Miss Megamouth. If you wanted me that badly, you could have just said so. Oh, wait. You can’t.”

You slimy cephalo-punk! You sneer at him, a dozen curses trapped on your tastebuds. I never should’ve trusted you!

Part of you wants to slap him, but the other part—the part that still clings to the affection you received last night—has you restraining the violent urge. Angry tears well up in your eyes instead and you release him, sitting back on your haunches. You wrap your arms around yourself despite the sheer, lacy robe that provides a semblance of cover. He was right. You really can’t beat him at his own game.

“Don’t look so glum. Fortunately, I’m willing to negotiate an exchange.” He sits up, smooths the wrinkles in his nightwear, and removes the pendant. It’s dangled before you, the charm twisting innocently, and you reach for it, only for it to be ripped away with an accompanying tut. “Not so fast. If you want your voice, you’ll have to give me something of equal value.”

What could possibly have the same worth as my voice? your disbelieving expression seems to inquire.

Azul grins and leans down to procure something from the safe at his bedside. A golden contract scroll winks at you under the light, and you throw your head back with a silent groan.

Another deal. Of course. What was I expecting?

“I’ve given the road that lies ahead plenty of thought, and I’ve realized that I can’t imagine a future without you. Since you were quite vocal about your feelings for me—” He stops short to peer past the contract and at you, a single brow raised. “That was the truth, was it not?”

Slowly, you nod, suddenly hot with embarrassment. You’ve never truly despised Azul. In fact, ever since you signed his contract and became his friend with benefits, you’ve found yourself falling even further into an unexplainable love. Even now, when he holds full control over your vocal fate, you want nothing more than to pull him under the duvet and make a mess out of him in this luxurious bedroom. By some strange miracle—perhaps it’s the delusional film that’s obscured your eyes ever since you met him, twisting his every trick into something attractive—you find yourself admiring the air of self-satisfaction that surrounds him.

Azul’s next smile is far more sweeter than its predecessor. “Good. In that case, I also love you.”

Your reaction must have betrayed your true thoughts because he barks out an amused laugh.

“Is it really so surprising? I’ve loved you for quite some time now.”

For once you’re relieved he has your voice because it prevents you from sounding like a flustered, speechless mess. All this time and he actually liked me? Azul likes me. Me, who can’t compete with him on any level? It almost sounds like a cruel joke.

“Did you think my flattery and gifts were empty and meaningless? I can assure you that everything I’ve said—every compliment and sweet nothing—has been the undeniable truth.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“I’m serious! You’re so critical. That stings, angelfish.” As wounded as he looks, he’s quick to recover, shoving the contract at you for your perusal. You read through every line. “Fret not. I’ve drafted another arrangement that will benefit the both of us. In exchange for your voice, our current relationship will be nullified and we will officially become lovers. You’re to put an end to your affairs with the other students. From now on, I’ll help you with every problem that comes your way. Although it would be very convenient if you could just move into Octavinelle and take up a job at the lounge. We’d be much closer. I promise I’m a very kind boss. You’ll be paid wonderfully, both in and out of the lounge.”

You glance at him, brows furrowed. Is that really all he wants? A real relationship and for me to stop getting involved with everyone else? As ideal as that sounds, it feels a little too good to be true. But what other options do you have? Without your voice, you’re powerless and vulnerable, unable to stand up for yourself when the students get too rowdy. You’d be forced to agree to your friends’ every whims, and that would mean allowing Grim to empty your monthly budget on whatever it is he happens to be craving at that moment. It’s a predicament with plenty of terrible outcomes, and the only thing that can prevent such an issue is your voice.

“You look at me with such distrust. I was very transparent with our first contract, was I not?”

He was, in a way. You look between him and the contract. It’s shorter than the previous one, every term outlined stiffly in cursive. This one feels too simple to be a contract drafted by Azul’s intelligent hand, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe things will only get complicated after you’ve signed and have found yourself in another inescapable mess.

But isn’t this a good thing? You like him and he likes you. He can grant your every wish and this time you won’t have to forsake your own pleasure in order to ensure his needs are met. And you won’t have to tiptoe around his deceit. The both of you will be in equal standing, in a relationship where honesty and mutual understanding are valuable facets of a loving bond. You like him, after all, and he likes you.

So why does your love feel empty and insincere? Why does it feel like you’ve woken from a long, everlasting dream to face the harsh backhand reality serves?

Azul twirls his magic pen and that mystical fishbone pen materializes. Its tip is already stained in ink and it’s poised just above the parchment. You look at him again and he nods encouragingly.

“I meant it when I said I love you, and I will continue to mean it for the rest of my days.” He reaches for your hand and you flinch away. This stops him, and he narrows his eyes at you, perplexed. “I will always love you, angelfish. You’re the only one I’ll ever love.”

You wish you could force him to prove it, but even then you’re not sure what else he could possibly do. But then you realize something and you pantomime writing. Azul catches on rather quickly because a ballpoint pen and a notepad appear before you. Hurriedly, you scribble something on an empty page before turning it towards him.

If I sign your contract, you have to promise no more tricks. And you have to get me the most magical contraceptive you have. And you have to be a good boyfriend.

“No more tricks. You’ll get the best of the best, both from the contraceptive and me,” he promises, and this time there isn’t any malice behind his smile.

And I won’t lose my voice again in the future? is the following written inquiry.

“Not unless you scream yourself silent the next time we—” Your unimpressed scowl cuts the rest of that sentence short. He chuckles and takes your hand in his. Your other grasps the fishbone pen. “Do we have a deal, my dear?”

You look from the notepad to the contract, where a nameless line awaits your penmanship. There’s a weird ache in your gut—a foreboding dread that has you hesitating. Azul seemed so angelic last night, but in the crisp light of his bedroom he’s a devil with concealed horns.

Do you honestly love him, or was that simply something you uttered in the heat of the moment? Why is your love for him beginning to shrivel after it’s been growing for weeks? And why are you no longer happy to know he reciprocates your feelings?

I need my voice, you think, disregarding every other doubt. That’s all that matters right now. I’ll figure out my heart later.

You scrawl your name on the glimmering parchment, and like before it rolls itself up and Azul snatches it with a pleased hum. You watch him place it within the safe, which soon closes and locks with an echoing bang. Before you can theorize what the combination to open it is, he stands with the pendant clutched in a resolute fist.

“How unfortunate that I must break a perfectly good shell...” At your impatient glare, he raises his hands in surrender. “Very well. I’ll return it now. You wouldn’t be Miss Megamouth without your voice.”

With just a little more pressure he smashes the nautilus into a dozen brittle pieces, and from the debris your voice comes trickling through in an aureate fog. It surrounds you momentarily, like the smoke from a cigarette, before slipping through your open mouth, down your esophagus, and into your very being. You cough once, clear your throat, and croak your first words out.

“Did it work?” Upon hearing your rough pronunciation, you exhale a relieved sigh. “Yes, it’s back! Thank you!” Your happiness is short-lived, though, because you’re quick to turn your ire on Azul. He allows you to grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him up to your face. “Don’t ever take my voice again, you slimy sea creature.”

Azul smirks and leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “So cruel. And after all we’ve been through...”

“Ugh. Whatever.” You release him and fall back onto his bed with a tired groan. “Seriously... That was terrifying.”

“I’ll get you something to drink so that your voice won’t be so gruff. Is tea sufficient?”

“What’s the catch?”

Azul clicks his tongue. “Must you be so wary of me? Can’t I do something nice for my dearest angelfish?”

“No, but you can certainly find some way to attach a dozen strings to a single cup of tea.”

“You know me so well, but this time I don’t need anything in return. I’m simply doing you a favor.”

You peer at him from where you lay. “Okay. I’ll take a cup then. You know the way I like it?”

“Of course. I’m nothing if not observant. I’ve brewed more than enough tea for you to know your preferences, down to the exact temperature.”

You nod, not quite listening to his boasting, and let your arm fall over your eyes. Azul steps out without another word, leaving you to dwell on the past few minutes. Though the contents of this second contract don’t sit right with you, you push your uneasiness aside in favor of focusing on the fact that Azul has admired you for a while now. You never would have guessed he’d loved you in silence because you only saw him as a lying cheat. Naturally, if he were to confess back then, you probably would have assumed he was trying to enlist your help with something. Either that, or he genuinely wanted to make your life miserable by subjecting you to some obscure con.

You wonder what part of you captured his heart. You’d made your dislike and distrust of him very clear, and you’d sneered at him every time he attempted to rope you into a scheme involving the Mostro Lounge and Ramshackle Dorm—it was something about a temporary branch café, but you wanted him and his grimy, slimy tentacles to stay far away from the property. Maybe his Overblot really did awaken something in him. Maybe he’d fallen in love with the you who was kind and patient—the you who visited his bedside every day while he recovered. Or maybe it was the you who soon became known for not-so-secret exchanges. Maybe he simply fell in love with the idea of squashing another business competitor. How that could happen is beyond you.

But then, if he really has loved you all this time, why did he want to engage in friends with benefits in the first place? It must have been awkward for him each time you’d come to service him, especially since you merely saw it as a contractual obligation. Had he pretended there was more to the act? Were his feelings for you the reason he treated you so carefully whenever you’d meet—so lovingly and sweetly?

At the very beginning of this, you vowed to undo every lock that kept the many facets of his personality hidden away. And even though you’ve come to learn some of his secrets, there are still so many things left for you to discover.

But do I really love him? It’s a haunting question—a lock that binds your heart and prevents you from unraveling the truth. Though with this one, you’re not quite sure you want an answer.

Azul returns with the tea and a pill, and you take both from him with a grateful smile. It tastes as it always does: floral and deliciously enticing. The fragrance soothes your frazzled mind, warming it to the thought of a relationship with Azul.

We’re dating now, you realize, awestruck. We’re dating...

“I feel like I’ve just finished sucking your dick,” you say, and he exhales a long sigh.

“I was going to say something far more romantic, yet here you are spouting obscenity.”

“But doesn’t it remind you of that? You’d always get me tea after our meetings.”

“Only because you were so intent on swallowing every time.”

“And you found it attractive every time.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me your ridicule.”

Now that you’re looking at him, with his unkempt hair and silken nightwear, the feelings you’ve attempted to stifle with uncertainty come swelling to the surface. He’s your boyfriend now. He’s yours. All yours to love and kiss and hold. All yours to tease and laugh with. He's the chisel who has finally sculpted you anew, filling your shattered heart with overwhelming sweetness, and this time you won’t turn away from it.

You open your mouth to ask a single question, but Azul beats you to it.

“May I kiss you?”

Grinning, you set your empty cup on his desk and tug him into bed. His arms lock you in a comforting cage, and he stares down at you with a lovesick smile. You hook your arms around his neck, mirroring his infatuation.

“Kiss me drunk, clownfish.”

A collection of empty bottles is locked away in Azul’s desk drawer, respectively labeled Love Potion. The intolerable flavor mixes well with floral teas, but that’s a trade secret you’ll never need to know.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw #azul thought four #call him azul rizzengrotto because his rizz is immaculate!!!!#for once i have written an azul thought where azul is not actively suffering

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propertyofkylar · 5 months

Note

i dont think you've discussed kylar using just the tip to it's fullest potential... he'd be whining and begging, tears streaming down his face while he barely moves at all... IMAGINE IT!!!

hehehe m!kylar x gn!pc

“Don’t move.”

Kylar let out a feral-sounding whine, but nonetheless heeded your words.

“P-please, my love,” he whimpered, his fingers strengthening their clutch on your hips. It would probably hurt, if you weren’t enjoying the situation so much. “Why?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds, delighting in the way tears were welling up in Kylar’s eyes as you made him wait. “Mm. I dunno, actually. It’s just fun.”

He tried to glare at you, but tears started spilling at that moment and the impact was lost. “You’re—you’re mean,” his fingernails were nearly piercing the flesh on your hips and you couldn’t have felt more gleeful at that moment.

“Please, my love,” Kylar was begging now. If his cock wasn’t (barely) inside you, you imagined he might literally be prostrating himself in front of you. “Let me move. Let me love you. I—I need to feel inside of you, completely, so, so badly.”

Truth be told, you wanted that, too. But the joy of making Kylar suffer was almost as good as being fucked by him. And if your theory was right, it would end up being even better because of it. “Ah ah,” you smirked. “You can only move when I decide to let you.”

You could tell Kylar was desperate, the way his teeth were gritted and sweat dripped down his forehead, intermingling with his tears. “And when will that be?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Kylar practically howled at that, his face flushed beet red.

“Oh, fine,” you said with a huff, trying to act like it wasn’t affecting you as well. “Go on, then.”

The words had barely finished leaving your mouth before Kylar’s hips slammed against yours, leaving you breathless.

“So mean,” Kylar muttered under his breath as he repeatedly jackhammered into you. You were unable to form a response. “So, so mean.”

“Ky—” you managed to squeak out before you were cut off by your own, loud moan. His eyes flashed before he slipped a hand between your legs and began to stroke you. Clearly, your meanness hadn't damaged his dedication.

“F-fuck, I...” you yourself whimpered as your climax hit. A manic grin grew on Kylar's face as he felt your walls clench around him.

He didn't stop his rubbing nor his thrusting as you rode out your orgasm, his free hand still digging into your skin. The pain and pleasure mixed, and you could tell by the look on Kylar's face that it was exactly what he had wanted.

“So-hah-good!” Kylar panted as his hips slammed so hard into you that you felt yourself move several inches. “I love you!” He cried out as he thrust as deeply as possible, gripping your hips for leverage as he came inside of you. He didn't move, just stared at you possessively for a moment, his entire body slick with sweat. Then, with a huff, he dropped his full body weight on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck with a sniffle.

“You're so mean,” he whined for what felt like the millionth time. You giggled in response.

“You did a good job,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled back to give you a pleased smile, humming happily. A twitch inside you reminded you that Kylar still hadn't pulled out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him. “Seriously? Again? Already?”

He pressed feather-light kisses to your neck, eliciting a soft moan from you. Then, he flashed you a devious smile.

“My turn to be mean.”

#nica tries writing again #nica tries writing GOOD #degrees of lewdity #dol #kylar the loner #dol kylar #dol x reader #kylar x reader #writing #idk. hope u like it #<- week old request from kuu #i have even older ones. still in there. btw #sigh one day ill get them all done...

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hanasnx · 5 months

Note

ok so imagine work dad hayden finds out ur very inexperienced with sex and he teaches you how to give head? HHHDDGGS I NEED HIM

MINORS DNI 18+

“I’m not so sure I’m…” HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN attempts to deter you. Sex is one thing, but oral is another. Sure, he’s gone down on you, but that’s different. The prospect of giving himself to you in such a vulnerable state is intimidating, not to mention you’re already in a vulnerable position yourself on your knees. There’s a lot that could go wrong, a lot that he has to consider. What if it goes too far? He doesn’t want one of your first experiences with head to go wrong.

“Oh, please, Hayden?” you plea, clutching onto his large hands to bring them to your chin. A dazzling grin adorns your features, meant to manipulate him. “I promise I want it.”

He’s still not sure if it’s the right time. “It’s… complicated.” Not the act itself, but what it means. You’re already leading him to the couch in his trailer.

“You can help me! I love being guided.” you insist, beaming with enthusiasm to assure him. Gently, you sit him down, lowering to stand on your knees. Your hands slide from his, down his abdomen, over his belt, to his thighs. “It’ll be fun. I’m sure of it.” It’s not like he’s received this in a while, and he has no idea the extent of your porn history, but he concedes with an invitational nod and gesture. Giddy, you lean in, pressing your middle to his crotch as you incline him in your direction, pecking his lips as a reward. He sharply exhales. The pressure against him having gotten to him after a long conversation about his dick in your mouth. Eagerly, your fingers seize his belt, the familiar sound of its unbuckling sending heat straight to your core. But Hayden’s nervousness gets the better of him, catching your hands to firmly mold his over yours.

“Slower.” a soft order that’s bashfully heeded, nodding to him as your chew your bottom lip to calm yourself. You can see how he might be apprehensive towards your rather offensive attack of an area so sacred. Enthusiasm will have a place later when he’s more comfortable with you. “That’s it.” he commends you as you adjust his pants, and when you hook your fingers in the overlapping waistbands, he raises his hips for you so you can shimmy them down just enough.

It doesn’t take long before he’s relaxed into his seat, sunken into the cushions as the back of his head rests against it. “You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” he asks, breathless from your ministrations. His low voice sends chills down your spine while your tongue swirls around his swollen tip. Velvety soft, it reminds you of the texture of jello. Gelatinous and chewable. But you obviously don’t do a thing like that, you know to keep your teeth out of it. It’s been a few minutes, but you’ve allowed his hand to cup the back of your head. It’s cautious, and grateful. There to let you know he likes it, while not pulling you into it. Unused to length in your mouth, you don’t suck further past the head, so as to not irritate your gag reflex. “Let me feel that tongue, baby,” His grip on your clutches tighter, and you hum, vibrating him in your mouth as you swipe the flat of your tongue side to side. You’ve noted how he loves the vein on the underbelly of his shaft to be pet. Rewarding you for your obedience, a low moan spills from deep in his throat, unconsciously lifting his hips to chase the feeling.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and back up as he comes forward, but his hand on your scalp accidentally arrests you. A squeak emits from you. Now realizing what he’d done, he picks his head up and scoots back to his original position on the seat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, princess, I forgot. I’ll sit still. I didn’t meant to—“ Apologetically, his palm strokes down your hair. “You just…” he exhales, “you’re so good at this.”

#indy: drabbles #ch: work dad!hayden #hayden christensen drabble #indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#anon #hayden christensen prompt #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x fem reader #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen fanfic #hayden christensen fanfiction #reader insert

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bonkywobble · 2 years

Text

Kinktober ‘22 - Day 5

Day 5 - Sex Pollen with Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 1056

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, love confessions, sexual content (18+ only): male masturbation, unprotected sex, dubious consent (due to sex pollen).

Disclaimer: Please heed the warnings - if this makes you uncomfortable then click away. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. I do not give anyone permission to take, repost, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with it are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

A/N: Day 5! Tagging @cryptidcasanova. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Kinktober ‘22 Masterlist

“With all due respect, what the fuck were you thinking Harrington?”

Steve’s tongue feels heavy as he responds, “Kinda was thinking about how telling you was a bad idea.”

Pressing the bag of frozen peas to his forehead you kneel beside him, suppressing your anger to the best of your ability. “You’re lucky that I was nearby and saw you pull that shit. Next time you wanna investigate a possible portal to the Upside Down by yourself, don’t.”

Taking the time to examine your friend in the following silence, you notice despite the budding bruise under the cloth there don’t appear to be any other injuries. It should ease the anxiety swirling in your gut but it doesn’t, because then there’s no explanation for his erratic breathing or flushed face; the way his eyes are screwed shut as if he’s in pain, or the constant shuffling of his legs- Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington is hiding something from you.

“Steve?”

There’s a slight tilt of his head and drifting of glazed eyes, but otherwise, you get no reply.

Your tone is firmer, more insistent. “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you encounter anything… weird in there?” You continue, weaving your fingers through loose locks of chestnut hair as you push them away, “Anything that we haven’t already seen before?”

Steve sighs at your touch, instinctually pressing himself into it as his hot palm lands on the back of your hand. “No,” he mutters, “just the usually creepy and murderous tentacle vines. Some freaky red flowers were growing on them this time. Maybe Vecna wants to be a florist and grow his own- look, I’m sorry, but are you wearing a new perfume?”

The question throws you for a moment. “Uh, no?”

He smiles at you, your stomach filling with butterflies and confusion, “Seriously? You smell great. Like, really fucking great.”

A pained groan erupts from him as he doubles over in agony, his hands clutching you in desperation. You drop the frozen goods and catch his face, calling out his name in panic.

“It hurts, it’s not enough-”

“You’re freaking me out. I’m gonna call Nancy and the rest of the gang-”

“No!” Steve gasps, fingers digging into your denim jacket. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to get help,” you plead.

There’s a glazed but focused look in his eyes like you are a balm to his wounds - a rare and beautiful salvation. He pulls you closer until your foreheads are touching, “This is helping me. Touching you like this is making it bearable. Just- don’t go, okay baby?”

Your heart gives a sad little flip, wishing he’d been in any other state of mind. “Okay.”

Nostrils flaring he looks you up and down before removing his shirt, mud from it leaving dark stains on the bathroom tiles. Immediately you avert your eyes, wanting to offer the former king of Hawkins High some degree of dignity or modesty. Steve isn’t himself right now, you reason.

That reasoning flies out the window when his fingers start to fumble with his belt buckle.

“Jesus Steve!”

The young man licks his lips. “You can either help or not. S’too damn hot.”

When his belt and fly are finally undone you’re surprised that he keeps his pants on. Your eyes about bulge out of your head when he thrusts a hand in, however, and throws his head against the wall in relief, seemingly getting a reprieve from whatever’s afflicting him. Stroking himself furiously, the whimpers bubble in his throat when he realises you’re not touching him anymore.

“I change my mind,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Shit, stop staring and give me a hand.”

The offer tempts you briefly. A friendship of over two years flashes before you, panic mutating into dread as you imagine the end of it. What if this ruins everything? If this is how you lose him, is your crush even worth it?

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

It’s impressive how Steve manages to gain just enough control to stall his movements, sweat beading on his forehead. Despite the sight you keep going, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Steve. So please,” you beg, “don’t ask me-”

Warm, lazy, sweet. It’s how you can describe your first kiss with Steve Harrington as he reaches up and presses his lips to yours, cutting you off. He kisses you like a man starved but full of hope. Like his declaration is long overdue, Steve moves against you in a way that has your toes curling in your sneakers.

The tears escape and so does the desire you’ve buried for so long. You don’t hesitate to return his affections, your fingers returning once more to bury themselves in his hair while you gently pry his desperate mouth apart with your tongue. And he has and always will do, Steve lets you in.

Begrudgingly, you eventually pull away, the smile you wear causing your cheeks to ache. Steve’s disposition matches yours, his gaze glossy and euphoric. “I know it’s not super appropriate, but I was wanting to ask the girl I love if it’s okay that she rides me into the sunset before I take her out on our first date?”

You snort, never happier that Steve Harrington is so terrible with women.

“You sure, Harrington?”

“Damn sure, babe.”

Smiling, you stand up and it takes less than a minute for you to strip to nothing, hoping to stave off more of his sudden cramps the faster you go. The sight of ‘Pretty Boy’ Harrington looking up at you with wide eyes, mouth parted hungrily as a thumb rolls over the tip of his cock - it definitely distracts you a little.

And now you understand that everything about Steve is pretty.

Gazes locked on each other, you lower yourself onto his angry length, nails tracing the thick veins as you line him up and pump once, twice. Cursed moans leave you both as his cock pushes past your wet folds, feelings of blissful heat roaring to life in your abdomen.

“Gotta be honest, dingus,” you purr, clenching your hips as your pussy pulsates, “I’d love for you to fuck me before we go to the movies.”

Steve’s hips jerk in response. “Movies, huh?” He breathlessly asks, “I can do that, baby.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington smut #kinktober 22 #kintober 2022 #bonkywobble writes

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ruershrimo · 7 months

Text

lyney x reader: hair (drabble)

features lyney

warnings: nothing except the fact that the text isn’t capitalised or proofread ;v;.

notes: what’s this, me writing for a character that isn’t from the first three nations? anw yeah so this is a drabble but it’s over 100 words,,, also sorry but my exams are in. two days. so. I may be m.i.a. for a while… hope you guys are alright with short things like this and the childe one

synopsis: his hair is really pretty, you think.

unlike his siblings, lyney’s hair is slightly different.

lynette’s hair is soft to the touch, and smells slightly of lumidouce bells. it’s smooth to the point that it’s slippery, always slipping through the gaps in her fingers, always obeying to her ribbons when she’s out at night; the glow of her and her cats’ eyes seeping through the cracks in the walls, learning each of their secrets. freminet’s hair is a beautiful pale blonde, the same as his mother’s before she left; the same as his mother’s, a woman his siblings never knew. it’s straight, but coarse on the ends whenever he resurfaces from the water. nevertheless, it suits his eyes swimmingly. sapphire gems on gold fleece.

lyney, however, lyney, the leader, the oldest, has hair with the fragrance of rainbow roses perpetually remaining on its strands. he makes little effort to keep it as gorgeous and luscious as his sister’s, when he very well could— to him it’s not as if lynette pays particular heed to her hair anyway, he’s the one who brushes through her hair and gets her the shampoo she likes because he knows she loves it.

his hair, to himself, is waiting backstage and anticipating a new show no matter how much of a lie it may be; it’s showering as speedily as he can no matter how much he wants to remain in the steady caress of running water, out of habit yet not allowing his siblings do the same, and choosing to brush his siblings’ hair so that they feel comfortable and have the best night’s rest they can have; it’s falling asleep on accident while you kiss his head, rub the pads of your fingers against his skull and brush through the strands ever so gently, as if for a moment he is precious as shards of glass about to shatter even more, as if for a moment he has been redeemed and has never been an actor, has never been a man overdue for confessions.

lyney’s hair to you is strolling in a field, senses awakened by the heady scent of flowers; it’s the comfort in gazing up at the stage and watching him paint the world until it becomes a sea of clamour, an ocean of awe, a vast land of smiles; it’s waking up to him and coffee being brewed behind you as he’s already set and ready for the day with his hair braided to the side. his hair is pretty, pretty because there was never a time when he was not, pretty because he braids it and makes the effort to keep it neat and tidy even if it’s not gorgeous or luscious, so pretty and hence you comb your fingers through it whenever you can.

and it doesn’t have to be slippery-smooth like lynette’s, nor does it have to be as ethereal as freminet and his mother’s. you’d love his hair any other way.

—

“you’ve always got beautiful hair, lyney,” you comment, one day, resting your nonchalance and your chin on your palm and elbow. “you’re always so pretty.”

he laughs. “why, are you trying to steal my poor little heart? oh, take it away, wrest it if you will. and besides, when have I ever been fairer than you?”

“always,” you state, matter-of-factly. “but you’re the prettiest. your hair curls a little at the end and it fits the way your eyes fill themselves with wonder when you’re on stage, or how you braid your hair to the side in the morning like that, I think. it’s like lynette’s, but I think I like yours just a little more. it’s really pretty, that’s all.”

“my, you’ve rendered me speechless, haven’t you?”

your lips curl into a smile. “I suppose I have.”

#hehe. hehehehe. I put the ‘readmore’ in the middle this time. I’m being so funky rn hahaha exams are in two days I’m going to decompose #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact lyney #lyney #genshin impact #ruer writes

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inkykeiji · 7 months

Text

say you’ll love me to death, cause i will

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: alright, so we’ve discussed how touya-nii would react to encountering the man who took your virginity, but let's talk about how you would respond to running into the woman who took touya’s. set in my touya-nii au! as always please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: RUNRUNRUN by dutch melrose

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (stepcest), public sex, minimal prep, extreme jealousy, toxic relationship

words: 4.7k

synopsis:

“Well, that’s alright! How long have you two been together?” And, oh, the giggle that bubbles past your lips is downright sinister, fucking caustic, burning your tongue and eroding your teeth. No, you’re not his girlfriend, or his partner, or his significant other. You’re something so much better.

You’re off minding your own business, legs swinging idly on a bar stool as you wait for your designated reservation time, when it happens, when she appears.

“Touya?”

The name cuts through the blurred noise of the restaurant, both yours and Touya’s attention snapping to the source: a woman, late twenties or so, waving a little in indication on the other side of the bar.

She’s snaking through the patchy crowd, busy unfastening her hair from the intricate bun its been woven into—a requisite for all the waitresses at this establishment—eyes bright, smile brighter.

You don’t even know who she is; not technically, anyway, had never thought to press the issue any further than a simple how’d it happen, had never cared enough to try—especially not when he had been sleeping with so many others right in front of you.

It hadn’t seemed to matter much then. Not the way it matters now.

But she exists, because she must, because somebody would’ve had to take it, would’ve had to be the first, one way or another.

Doesn’t mean you have to like it.

She’s pretty, but you wouldn’t expect any less. Touya stands as she reaches the two of you, pulling your body up with him.

But then Touya greets her, a name you’ve heard kicked around every now and then, and it all fully, finally clicks.

Touya’s first.

“Oh my God,” she’s gushing, “I haven’t seen you in—What’s it been now? Over ten years?”

“Just about,” he responds easily, readjusting his grasp reassuringly on your hip as you cling to him, large palm flattening against your abdomen and hugging you closer to his side, tucked protectively beneath his arm.

“What are the chances! You look...” her eyes scan his body once, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, then back up again, and your fingers flex, coiled and rigid in the material of his shirt, stiff joints already aching. “Wow, incredible!”

“Thanks,” Touya says, an awkward lull in the conversation when he doesn’t repay the compliment.

Their discussion meanders for a little bit—how have you been, what are you doing now, remember when...?—most of it muddled by the blood roaring in your ears and jealousy burning in your throat.

But then her fingertip is just barely grazing his forearm as she points in indication at the ink etched into his skin, and your ears tune into their frequency again, white-hot fury slicing through hazy envy.

“I remember when you started this one,” she’s reminiscing. “You finally finished all of the pieces,” she says with another appreciative glance, and you grip him tighter, the skin of your knuckles pulled so taut it’s starting to hurt. “It’s so breathtaking to see them all come together.”

And you hate the way she speaks to him with a certain type of familiarity; an old friend, effortless and full of laughs, someone who knew him long before you did, when you were only in grade school.

God, how rude of her not to introduce herself, she’s telling you as she finally turns toward you, finally takes notice of you, rooted in Touya’s side; a growth he planted there himself, shoved between his ribs and engrained in his soul, roots so tangled you’re both irremovable, inseparable, now.

She holds out her hand in greeting, but you only clutch Touya more firmly, nails scraping against starched cashmere, face half-hidden in his chest, childish and petulant.

The woman’s smile drops from her face, a slow drooping of her mouth as her forehead crinkles, confusion bleeding through her features.

“She’s shy,” Touya says as way of explanation, but that wolfish smile is stretched sharply across his cheeks, teeth gleaming in the dim light.

“I see,” she says, almost hesitantly, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before they flit back to Touya’s face, expression brightening again. “Well, that’s alright! How long have you two been together?”

And, oh, the giggle that bubbles past your lips is downright sinister, fucking caustic, burning your tongue and eroding your teeth.

No, you’re not his girlfriend, or his partner, or his significant other.

You’re something so much better.

“Oh, we’re not a couple. This is my little sister.”

And, oh, how this is always your favourite part.

You know that it’s his favourite part, too.

Because the way that shock and disgust eats through their confusion, fucking devours any other emotion on their face, is better than anything else in the entire world. The way their expression churns into something twisted and repulsed sends sordid little thrills racing through your veins, blood buzzing with adrenaline.

The two of you must be such a fucking sight, expressions handcrafted by the Devil himself, with glowing eyes—gluttonous gazes gobbling up every little expression, two pairs wide and frantic as they glide across her face—and smug little smirks, points of your mouths so sharp they could pierce the flesh of a fingertip if touched.

Her voice sputters a little, snagging in her throat as she struggles to find the proper words, blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear the scene in front of her.

“I—Uh, I didn’t know you had another little sister?”

It’s phrased as a question, her voice beginning to tremble, unnerved as her stare swaps between your faces.

“My mom remarried,” Touya says simply. “This one came packaged with the deal.”

He jostles you in his arms a little—showing off his favourite, precious, most coveted prize—and you cuddle into him, burrowing into his chest a little, fingers flexing in his dress shirt as you clutch him tighter, gathering healthy handfuls of cashmere in your scrunched palms, buttons beginning to strain beneath the strength of your grip.

And he states it proudly, as if he’s glad to own you, to be your big brother, to call you his, staring down at you with so much fondness it melts his hard eyes, sapphire turned to something thick and gooey.

“Oh,” the woman responds, but her voice wavers through a wobbly smile on her face, lips unsure if they want to grin or grimace. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Touya responds, though his eyes do not leave yours, voice softening. “I got pretty fuckin’ lucky. Don’t think I could’ve asked for anything better.”

You can feel the sick, sadistic glee radiating off of him in dense waves—something heavy, something intoxicating—and, if this girl knows him well enough, you’re sure she can, too.

It’s so thick it’s nearly suffocating, but you breathe it in readily, greedily, draw it into your lungs and let it marinate in your tissues—infect, consume, decay.

“We should go for drinks sometime!” her unnaturally chipper tone snaps the trance, draws both of your gazes back to her. “You know, to catch up and all that.”

A noise shudders your ribs, something between a growl and a whine, and Touya laughs as if it’s so fucking cute, looking back down at you with so much adoration in his eyes it’s nearly spilling past his lashes.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, but his stare never breaks yours. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Mr. Todoroki?” a smooth voice floats above the indistinct murmur of the venue. “Your table is ready.”

“Ah, that’s us,” Touya says to you.

“It was nice—”

But you’re already turning away, a single entity in the way you move, think, breathe, be.

“I don’t like her,” you’re grumbling as Touya guides you toward the hostess, not caring that she’s still very clearly in earshot, the confession spilling from your mouth almost subconsciously, having pried past your lips, desperate to be heard.

“I can tell, baby,” Touya snorts, though the smile on his face is soft.

“I—I don’t even wanna eat here anymore,” you sulk, feet starting to drag, words filtered through a deep pout. “And I don’t ever want to see her again!”

It comes out as a demand, a little harsher and firmer than you had intended, uncharacteristically surly, and Touya stops.

Blinking down at you, Touya’s face falls, features suddenly serious, all mirth evaporated from his expression in an instant.

His head dips, voice dropped to a low, dire murmur—something secret, something just for you.

“You want me to kill her for you? Huh, princess? Does niichan need to get rid of her?”

And, oh, how your heart soars, swells, swoops then nearly bursts from your ribs, desperate to claw its way from your chest and into the palms of its owner. Tears rush to cloud your eyes, vision thick and bleary, and two large hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his.

“I’ll do it, baby, I swear to God. All you gotta do is say the word.”

He will. You know he will. You love that he will.

“I love you,” you nearly whimper, hands pawing at him urgently, the words a garbled mess in your mouth, weighted with spit and tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he laughs a little, but concern is warping his features, eyes sweeping across your face in search of an answer.

His hand squeezes your jaw gently, callouses decorating the pad of his palm scuffing your soft skin as he holds you in place.

“Just tell niichan what he needs to do to make this better.”

Your gaze holds his for a moment, heavy and unblinking.

“Fuck me,” you finally say. “Remind me who I belong to, remind me who you belong to, remind the whole fucking world who we belong to.”

Sapphire turns to navy, lips spreading into something sinful.

He can do that.

The parking lot is sparsely populated, rows of cars jagged and gapped like knocked out teeth. A small cluster of people hover outside the restaurant’s golden doors, encased in a hazy cloud of smoke and murmuring quietly amongst themselves, and a few people are scattered throughout the lot, just arriving or preparing to leave, but for the most part, you are alone.

The Audi is parked near the back, narrowly missing a pool of white light from one of the tall lampposts.

A chuckle is huffed from tattooed lips, shining eyes trained on your profile as you march toward the car, his long legs easily keeping up with your own.

His baby is on a mission tonight.

“You know, it’s really cute,” he’s saying as he presses you up against the driver’s door, “to see to see you so fucking determined.”

“Want everyone to know you belong to me,” you whine a little, forehead scrunching as your pout deepens.

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“And how would you like to show everyone that niichan is yours?” he murmurs into your flesh, lips tracing the curve of your neck.

“Want—Want you to fuck me, right here.”

“Right here?” his hips shove against yours in emphasis. “In the car?”

“No,” your hips push back into his, back arching, already so needy for him. “Right here, in the parking lot. I want that bitch to see.”

And for once, you do not get scolded for such foul language.

“Yeah?” Touya’s breathing into your mouth, hands already rucking up your little cocktail dress. “All out in the open where everyone can see how much of a little whore you are for your big brother?”

“Right here, right here,” you’re nodding, words cracking with desperation. “Right now.”

“So greedy, my little sister is.”

“I don’t care,” you gasp. “Show them, Touya-nii, show them all.”

And he’s so fucking hard you swear you can feel his cock throbbing with each rush of blood, each of your little pleads and dirty words sending another bout of it southward, swear you can feel it twitching and gorging with lust.

“You don’t care, huh?” Hardened fingertips sink into the plush flesh of your ass, kneading a little as his hips gyrate in pitiful little circles, more teasing than anything else.

“No, no,” you’re shaking your head. “I want it now!”

A palm collides with your flesh, hard and sharp, the sound echoing out among the space, chased by your resounding yelp. It draws a handful of glances from the throngs of people loitering around the restaurant’s entrance, but doesn’t keep their attention for long.

“Don’t be impatient, now,” Touya warns, but the glint in his eyes begs you to keep misbehaving. “Get my cock wet first.”

Your face falls as your fight fades, a small frown on your lips.

“Wh-What?”

“You want my cock so badly, baby? Get it fucking wet, then.”

He pauses, watching you closely, smirk growing into something sinister when you freeze in hesitation.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending it scathes your cheeks. “Not so bold and brave now? I thought you wanted everyone to know; I thought you wanted to show everyone who I belong to,” his tongue tuts, head shaking in mock disappointment, “and you can’t even take my cock down your throat?”

“I do,” you nearly growl, eyes flashing with sudden jealousy, uncharacteristically fierce.

His expression softens, that sharp glint in his eye dulled to a smoldering glow, full of fondness.

“Then get niichan’s cock wet,” he says, hips shoving against yours in emphasis again, “so he can fuck you properly.”

And although it is still very much a demand, a direct order, his voice is tender, his edges worn down by years of affection.

Sliding down his body, your fingers furl in the waistband of his suit pants and tug a little, pulling his hips closer to your face. The buckle of his belt clanks heavily as you tug it undone, the button on his trousers pops easily, and then you’re yanking them halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock.

It’s so fucking pretty, dusty pink from base to tip and smoother than the most expensive velvet, and you just can’t help but nuzzle your cheek into the head with a cute little hum, smearing a thick stroke of pearlescent pre-cum across your skin.

But you know that Touya doesn’t like that, no matter how beautiful you look with his pre-cum slathered all over your face, that Touya can’t stand anything he deems even remotely teasing, and you’re quick to wrap a hand around the shaft as the beginnings of a growl rumble against his ribs, feeding him to yourself.

“S’it, there you go,” he praises as you gorge on him, stuffing him down your throat in a single swallow, reflexive tears burning your eyes.

Lashes flutter quickly, desperate to clear your vision, little drops of crystal collecting in the wispy strands.

It’s pathetic, really, how much your heart soars with such bland praise. But it doesn’t matter, you don’t care, willing to soak up any scraps he’ll afford you, an addict endlessly chasing a fix.

You force your mouth open wider, hinges of your jaw stretching, straining, your tongue curling around the underside as you suck him in further, viscous globs of drool already beginning to collect at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, swallow me whole, baby,” he breathes, gaping pupils glittering with a thin ring of cobalt. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”

A choked little whine, muted by his cockhead grinding itself into your throat, vibrates, evoking a cracked little moan of his own, hips twitching involuntarily, an instinctual reaction, searching for more.

The asphalt is rough against your knees, skinning them with superficial little scrapes as Touya fucks your mouth a few times; first slowly, breath huffed out through spit-slicked lips as he glides in steadily, inch by inch, voracious eyes watching as your wet mouth puckers around his shaft, coating it in thick, gleaming saliva.

He whimpers a little as the tip of your nose scrunches so cutely as he presses it to his pubic bone, holds it for a breath and savours the way your throat flutters with hiccups and gags before pulling nearly all the way from your mouth, repeating the process as he gains momentum; then faster, harder, cockhead rubbing against the back of your tongue, each quick stroke leaving bitter streaks of pre-cum.

And you hate how his palms are pressed against your ears, muffling every sweet sound you manage to elicit from him as he holds your head still, his thumbs pressing into your cheekbones, nails biting shallow crescents into the skin as they dig deeper, grasp tightening as your face becomes slippery with tears, cascading over his knuckles.

Even so, his grip isn’t enough to keep the back of your skull from banging off the door of the Audi, each thrust procuring a dull thud of flesh against metal.

And, Christ, what a beautiful symphony it all creates; the rhythmic sound of your head thwacking against his car, the dainty jingle of his belt buckle, hanging heavy and undone and bouncing between your chin and his thigh, those precious gags and gurgles and sniffles and hiccups that he loves so much, choked off and snuffed out as his cock rams them back into your chest, the half-stifled sounds that keep shattering to pieces on his tongue, shards swallowed down with difficulty, scraping against the walls of his throat and leaving his voice ragged and raw.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he’s panting as his fingers thread through your hair, fisting at the roots and dragging you off of him. “S’a shame, because you look so pretty,” a rough thumb skims over your swollen, glossy lip, his gaze following its trajectory. “But I wanna cum in your cunt, not your throat.”

And then he’s pulling you back up from the ground, strong arms wedged beneath your own and hoisting you into the air, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist, locked securely at the ankles as they hook together at the base of his spine, thighs squeezing around his hips in anticipation.

He pins you to the metal of the Audi, one palm securely cupping your ass as the other wraps around the base of his cock, hips inching back just enough to find your hole.

The head, now slicked with your spit, glides over your clit twice—a cheeky little tease, just to hear you whine his name again, all stringy and petulant through a swollen pout—then down your slit until it catches on your hole.

It stings as he forces himself into you, always does no matter how wet you are, no matter how much you’ve slobbered all over his shaft, because Touya routinely refuses to prep you at all—not that you would’ve let him, not tonight—because he loves it, too, he loves it just as much as you do.

He loves the sharp little hiss pushed through the gaps of your teeth by your tongue, he loves the gentle fluttering of your cunt as your most delicate skin stretches, splits itself open for him, to suck him in and swallow him down, he loves that sweet sigh that melts from your mouth as he bottoms out, slathered over his own huff of breath, conjoined relief.

“Touya-nii, Touya-nii,” you’re whimpering out, fingers curling against his shoulders.

“M’here, baby, m’here,” he pants out, forehead pushing against your own, eyes slipped shut.

And for a moment everything is still, breath held stagnant in swelling lungs as you both savour this feeling—of fullness, of closeness, of wholeness—appreciation unhindered by noisy exhales or slapping skin.

Then his hips are moving, gyrating in little circles that gain speed with each completed motion, cockhead grinding into your cervix.

He can’t exactly fuck you properly like this, can’t exactly fuck you like he wants to, like he normally would, not all out in the open like this.

But he manages to make do, the pace quick right from the start, shallow fast snaps of his hips that have the buckle of his belt is clanging against his car, leaving superficial little scratches just below the door handle.

It’s all still so fucking hot, though, his forehead pressed tightly to yours as he exhales nicotine-tinged breath across your face, each one pushed from his chest with the rapid little ruts of his hips.

It’s all so fucking naughty, fucking out in the open where anyone who’s paying more than a shred of attention can see, his movements just barely hidden by the flesh of your thighs, cushioning his hips.

The thought that anyone could be watching, touching themselves, filming you has your muscles tightening and your stomachs fluttering, the dirty, illicit nature inspiring another rush of adrenaline to taint your blood.

Your mouth drops open, starved for more of him—never satisfied, are you, greedy lil thing—welcoming his huffs onto your tongue, spicy and sweet as hickory. Your tongue unfurls from your mouth, dumb and lazy and so fucking messy, licking at his lips in quick, uneven strokes, sopping up any remnants of his essence.

The tip slithers between his parted lips, kittenishly lapping at the edges of his teeth, tracing the sharp ridges one by one, and he laughs, warm and airy.

His own tongue shoves against yours, pushing it from his mouth and back into it’s rightful home before he flattens the slick muscle against your face and drags it, slow and steady, from the point of you chin to the tip of your nose, leaving behind a thick, fat trail of cooling saliva painted across your face.

The action has you squealing, scrunching up your nose as you involuntarily suck your bottom lip between your teeth and suck it clean.

His scent is strong, now saturating your skin as it dries, tight and hard, on your face, sealed by the breathless little giggle he exhales across your cheeks.

And, Christ, he’s so fucking gorgeous, strands of alabaster plastered to his forehead and stuck to his temples in scraggly strings, clumped into damp little tufts that curl up at the base of his neck, drops of sweat balancing precariously on the points.

His rough, quick movements have them breaking free, glistening drops of sweat rolling down his puckered skin, tracing the curve of his neck, streaking ink and ivory with glimmering little trails. They pool in the dips of his collarbones and soak into the collar of his shirt, turning cashmere translucent.

The sleek muscles in his forearms flex beneath inked skin, gliding as he readjusts his grip, holds you closer, hugs you tighter, fucks you harder.

His whole body is covered in a sheen layer of sweat, urgently chasing that high that only his little sister can gift him, sharp pistons of his hips keeping you pinned to the car while he uses you as his personal little toy, his favourite little toy, forcing you to just take it.

And yet, despite it all, his eyes are bright, his lips molded into a brilliant smile, a sick sort of love stained with exhilaration—the thrill of getting caught: fucking all out in the open, fucking your family—brimming in his gaze.

He’s such a fucking pro, knows you and your body better than anyone else ever has, ever could, ever will, angling his hips so they fuck you just right, each stroke of his cock an upward curve, dragging against that puffy spot buried deep within your cunt, head swiping against your cervix with each draw back.

Across the lot, that girl is fiddling with the keys to her shitty little car, rooting around for something in her bag, and Touya laughs—a loud, booming sound, heavy with deranged delight that echoes throughout the space, garnering the attention of a smattering of bystanders.

“Look,” he nudges his head to the right, your gaze following his own, slippery cheeks pressed flush together. “She’s watching. She can see you, sweetheart—can see us, can see you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Good. If she hadn’t already figured it out before, it should be abundantly fucking obvious now, who he belongs to.

“She—She looks disgusted,” you snicker.

Even from several meters away, she does, you can tell, face twisted up somewhere between horror and shock, eyes wide and unblinking as they scan your conjoined forms, brow scrunched and chest beginning to heave.

She looks like she’s going to be sick.

You hope she is.

“Oh, she doesn’t even know—fuck—the half of it, does she?” Touya keens, hips faltering for just a moment before regaining their momentum. “Why don’t we give her something to really be repulsed by?”

Yes, yes, yes, you’re nodding your head, little mewls of affirmation spilling from your throat.

“Give your big brother a kiss, then.”

And oh, how eager you are, ever his good girl, ever his best girl, arms tightening around his neck as you pull yourself closer, smashing your lips to his. Dainty fingers thread through the hair at the back of his scalp, soaked with salt, and tug harshly, enough to have a reactionary hiss slipping through his teeth.

Using the opportunity, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth between your teeth, clamp down hard and yank backwards, so hard his lip stretches like shimmering, pink bubblegum, gums beginning to strain until it finally slides free of your hold, teeth scraping against flesh. He spits out a curse, muddled and chased by a laugh, tongue laving over the indents you left, now weeping copper.

“Niichan’s gonna get you back for that one,” he says, sadistic glee shimmering in his eyes almost as pretty as the crimson glazing his mouth.

You’re sure he will, too, later tonight, with that cherished knife you gifted him last year.

The giggle that pours past your lips is fucking raucous, leaves your tongue sticky and tingling, so wicked it rivals your brother.

“I wanna show her, niichan,” you’re panting out, voice fading into a whine. “I want to show her that you’re mine.”

“Do it, baby,” he breathes. “Show the whole world how fucking gorgeous you look cumming for your big brother.”

Three more rapid pumps of his hips and you’re convulsing around him, cunt clenching almost viciously around his cock as your heat gushes down his shaft, sticky and messy and so much, so much it pools in the folds of his heavy balls, so much it streams down his taut thighs and soaks the waistband of his trousers, so much it dribbles down the metal of the Audi, smeared across the door in sloppy strokes.

“Mi-Mine,” you growl, thighs squeezing around him as if you’re attempting to milk more juices from yourself, trying to stain him with you and stake your claim.

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, hips beginning to stutter. “Yours, baby, niichan’s yours. Tell him again.”

“You’re mine!” you sob out, nails gripping the sleek muscle of his shoulders with such strength the joints of your fingers crack and ache, clawing at him as if you’re trying to gorge every part of you on him, eat up every piece of him you can, stuff every bit of you as full of him as physically possible.

“Fu-Fuck,” he keens, the curse shattering in his throat. “That’sa—That’s my good girl.”

He’s close now, you can tell; can hear it in the way his words keep splintering on his tongue, can feel it in the way his thrusts have gone from precise and particular to loose and sloppy, an urgent, uneven rutting of his hips.

“Fill me, fill me, fill me with your cock, niichan,” you’re gasping out, scrabbling at his neck, scraping skin and sweat beneath your nails. “Fill me with your cum, fill me so much, fill me until I can’t take anymore and it starts le-leaking out, all—all over the place.”

And, well, he’s never been one to deny his precious baby sister what she wants.

Because then he’s complying, hips stammering to a halt and pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs, stuffing you full of thick, burning cream.

“More! More, more,” you’re gasping out as you try to fuck yourself on his twitching cock, desperate to pump him for everything he’s got to give, eliciting a breathless, broken little laugh falling from his lips.

“S’all yours,” he manages to slur out, slumping a little against his car, knees beginning to quiver as his cock strives to please you, giving another weak spurt of cum. “S’all yours, princess, always.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #todoroki touya smut #tw:pseudocest #tw:toxic relationship #tw:minimal prep #tw:public sex

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letters-from-dekarios · 9 days

Text

fighting fate

summary: you had some choice words for your friend who set you up on a not-so-blind date. but, because it went well, you decide to meet with him again. it’s not long before the spark reignites like when you first met, and you can’t help but fall for him.

or: you go on a second date with gale

word count: 5.5k

tags: *this is a sequel to ‘a blind date with a wizard’, you do not have to read it before this one :)* gale x implied f!reader/afab!reader, astarion and shart are terrible wingmen, elf!reader, fluff, some small angst, mildly medium burn, alcohol usage, wyll is also there and also your ex, omg karlach is also there

author’s note: this is my little disclaimer that i personally love wyll! i’m just using him as a plot point since there’s not many other main chara options that haven’t been mentioned already (that i would use in his place). its for the plot guys i swear i’m a wyll lover too

Okay, maybe you couldn’t be mad at Astarion and Shadowheart. Yes, they betrayed your trust by setting you up on a faux blind date with their wizard friend who already knew your entire life story. And yes, they did not take accountability for their lies and instead kept asking if you enjoyed yourself. But, their little plan worked, and you were scheduling a second date with the man they set you up with.

“I am still pissed at you both. Especially you, Astarion,” You glared at your friend as he flipped through outfits in your closet. Shadowheart was busy doing your makeup, turning your face back towards her.

“Look, you can’t stay angry forever. You needed someone to get your mind off of Wyll. I just did what I do best,” he replied, holding up one rather… skimpy outfit that you turned your nose up at.

“Lying? You could’ve at least told me a little about him so I didn’t feel so mortified! You told him all about Wyll and when I tried to vaguely mention that I had a bad breakup, he already knew all about it!” You huffed, and Shadowheart grabbed your chin to steady your face. She gave you a cautionary look as she got underway applying your eyeliner, her hand steady and precise. She had cast duplicity to do both sides at the same time, which made the process much easier.

“Sweetheart, if you knew half the things about him you’d refuse to meet with him. I kept you in the dark so you can see for yourself who he is,” Astarion held up another outfit, one a bit more casual but still would be pretty on you. You nodded in approval and Shadowheart nearly had an aneurysm.

“If you don’t stop moving your damn head I’m going to let you leave here looking like a sibriex,” Shadowheart warned you again, and you took heed of her notice this time.

With your makeup done and your outfit fresh, all you had to do was wait for Gale to arrive. The two of you had been back and forth for weeks now, mostly updating each other on current things you were up to. A few days prior, with your schedules finally open, he had sent word of when he’d like to take you out and you responded as soon as you could. Now, you waited for the date to commence.

“You can at least thank us for our assistance in getting you out of the house. Had I not convinced you to go on that blind date, you’d still be crying over Ravengard’s oldest disappointment,” Astarion remarked, and you snorted at the insult of a name.

You sighed after, messing with the ends of your hair. “You can’t blame me for being annoyed. You wouldn’t like it if I set you up with someone and told them you were a vampire before you could,” you raised an eyebrow at him knowingly. He couldn’t deny that you were correct on that front, but he wasn’t about to say that to you.

“Just be grateful he didn’t tell Gale about your little misadventures as a—“ Shadowheart began, and you quickly clamped your hand over her mouth, shushing her.

“Don’t mention that! It’ll bring bad luck to my date tonight,” you frowned, and both of your companions busted out in laughter.

You continued chatting until a soft knock sounded on the door, and you screamed internally. After getting up from the couch, you made your way to the door. You took a breath, eased your mind, and then opened it up for him.

“Hey,” you beamed at him, trying to contain your excitement. He bowed in acknowledgement and pulled out a small bouquet from behind his back.

“Good evening, my lady,” he smiled at you, extending the flowers in greeting.

You felt your face become hot while a small giggle left you. You took them from him and briefly smelled the assortment. “They’re lovely, thank you,” you replied, inviting him inside for a beat so you could set the flowers down.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite wizard of Waterdeep!” Astarion swung his legs over his chair, standing and heading towards him. He slumped his arm over Gale’s shoulders, patting his back. “Isn’t he just amazing, Y/N? Such a gentleman— is that bluestars I smell?” Astarion whacked him on the back once more, stepping around to you as he observed the flowers. Bluestars was a rather expensive perfume in Faerùn, costing over two hundred gold pieces for just a small bottle. You had never smelled it before, but you were sure you would later.

“Leave him be, Astarion,” you gave him a look, voice low to avoid Gale hearing you.

“Ah, I pay no mind to Astarion anyway,” Gale watched you as you placed the flowers neatly in a vase and filled it with water. “If I did, I sincerely doubt I’d be here at the moment,” he chuckled, and you beamed at the reply.

“You’re such a pain, Gale. You know that?” Astarion whined, before slipping back over to the couch.

“I’m sure he’s plenty aware,” Shadowheart called over her shoulder, focused on a book she had brought out.

“Thank you, Shadowheart, for your helpful insight on the matter,” Gale retorted, raising a hand to you once you were done with the bouquet. “Shall we?”

You took his hand, your face flushing again as he led you out the door. “We shall,” you answered, smiling sweetly at him.

“Bring her home before one!” Astarion called out as you both left.

“Oh, that may be difficult!” Gale retorted, allowing you to close the door behind you both as you departed.

“What, you plan on stealing me away for the whole evening?” You raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously, laughing as you interlocked your arms and he began to walk with you.

“Perhaps.. if you’d let me,” he nudged you gently, before leading you off to a small restaurant in the heart of the city.

“Hmm… it’ll depend on how this night goes,” you flirted, patting his arm tenderly. Soon enough, you were being seated inside the little restaurant, and looking over the menu. Everything looked… expensive. You didn't want to hurt the man’s coin pouch, assuming he was paying for it, but there weren't exactly any reasonable options, either.

“What are you getting?” You questioned, and he pointed to some mildly pricey menu item. That was your hint at expenses, and you picked a dish that sounded promising but wasn’t going to put you in debt if you ended up paying for yourself.

The date was filled with idle conversation, the two of you discussing parts of your home life here and there, commenting happily on the food you ate, and just sharing the good parts of yourselves. It was going great, extraordinary even.

Until he showed up.

Wyll Ravengard. You didn't even feel the eyes burning into the back of your head until you heard someone pleading with him to stop, attempting to keep him back. You flicked your attention over to the commotion, eyes going wide as you saw him. You wished you hadn’t made eye contact, that you’d minded your business, but you hadn’t. And now you had to deal with it.

You wanted to shrink down into yourself. Disappear into nothing- hide under the table like a small child. With the way things ended, how could you face him? He was a gentleman for your whole relationship— until he wasn’t. You couldn’t stand to see the face that spoke to you in such a way that night. No matter what influence he was under, what he did that night you broke up… you couldn’t forgive him.

You recalled the many nights after that fight, how depressed you had become. He tried several times to get your attention and apologize to you, but you were so wrapped up in yourself that it was hard to pay attention to anything. Some nights he was kindly about it, others he was swearing like a damned sailor who couldn't take no for an answer. You weren't sure who he had become, and no matter how hard he tried he was unable to reverse the past.

“Y/N!” He shouted your name, and you put your head in your hands. Maybe if you didn't see him, he would disappear.

“Wyll, please, not here-“ his friend Karlach, you recognized her as, tried to hold him back. But with his thrashing and flailing, he managed to worm his way free of her grasp.

“Impero te!” Gale moved to his feet quickly, and Wyll froze in place. You recognized the words as a command spell. It appeared Gale chose that over a holding spell, perhaps so he could speak with Wyll first. You knew it would wear off soon, so you placed your coin on the table and got up.

“Don’t you dare leave, Y/N!” Wyll exclaimed, and Gale turned to check up on you.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, smiling faintly as you grabbed your things. “I’m just going to go outside for a minute.”

He nodded and waited for you to leave before his attention was on Wyll again.

You weren’t sure what happened after that, but only a little while later and both men were being tossed out by two guards you’d seen in the restaurant earlier. Gale’s face was down, his hand held up to his nose, and in the candle-lit street, you could faintly make out blood on his knuckles.

“You bastard!” Wyll ran to, presumably, take another swing, but Karlach grabbed him in time before he could.

“Gale-“ you rushed to his side, now that Karlach had a tight hold on Wyll, and checked him for any other injuries.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he soothed, despite the blood dripping down his face. You reached into the small bag you had brought and took out a cloth, gently wiping at his face.

“Does this jackass speak for you now, Y/N?” You heard Wyll snarl, followed by Karlach’s aggressive warnings for him to calm down.

“Mates, I’m really sorry for his behavior. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Can I pay you back for the dinner?” Karlach surrendered, nodding down to a small coin pouch at her hip.

“It’s not your fault, you don’t need to pay for his stupidity,” you answered, moving Gale to sit down on a nearby bench. “Tilt your head back..” you instructed, a delicate motherly tone to your voice, and he did so, holding the cloth tight against his nose.

As you spun to face Wyll, you saw he was bloodied just the same. You had to hand it to Gale, he was more than just a gentleman. You sighed, composed yourself, and put on your bravest ‘what the fuck are you doing’ face.

“What do you want, Wyll?” You coldly asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You know what I want,” he huffed, still struggling in Karlach’s grasp.

“Actually, as a matter of fact, I don’t! It might surprise you, but I haven’t known what you wanted from me since the night we broke up. What could you possibly need from me after everything that transpired?” Your eyebrows furrowed together, irate with him. Thinking about that night hurt your mind and your heart, you’d much rather continue with your date like nothing happened. But, of course, the universe was always against you.

“Y/N-“ Wyll calmed slightly, his likely drunken stupor fading as he regained his senses seeing you like this. For a moment, he looked like how you remembered him. For a moment, he was yours again.

That quickly dissipated as he continued to speak, reaching towards you, begging, “I want you- I miss you. I should’ve never let this go, I should’ve never let that bastard get his hands on you. You’re mine, right? Like we used to say?”

You took a step back at his words, feeling sick to your stomach. After all this time, he still had that false hope he could get you back? That you still belonged to him? And what was worse, he called Gale a bastard. Again.

“I’ll have you know that bastard back there, is twice the man you ever were. I suggest you rethink your ownership because, to my knowledge, I belong to myself. I was finally- finally!- feeling free from your grasp and here you go, trying to steal my peace from me.” you clasped your hands together, groaning out in frustration before running a hand down your face. “I was done with you a long time ago, Wyll. Please, for the love of all of Faerún, let. Me. Go. Drop this faux apology and the pathetic act and move on with your life. That was embarrassing!” You sighed, running a hand down your face. The arguing in public was only adding to your humiliation, though many passersby just assumed you all were drunk.

“Y/N-“

“No, Wyll!” You cut him off, waving a hand dramatically to silence him. “I was so happy to be finally moving on from you and rebuilding myself after you left me in pieces and you had to come here and ruin it! You had to smash me to bits all over again! I just want to be happy, and you can’t even let me have that?” You could feel tears welling in your eyes, but you pushed them down like all your other worries. “Please, go home. Go away. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you anymore, I want to go home. Without you.” It seemed that those final words got to him, and he realized his defeat.

As much as you had loved him in the past, he was no longer who you loved now. It was beyond you to change him to become the man he used to be, and you cried for the day he would find the love he would become that for. You wished he could do that for you but you knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t even worth it anymore. Besides, you had to get Gale home and cleaned up anyway. What good would worrying about Wyll do for you?

“You’re sure you don’t want any coin, mate? I feel awful about all of this,” Karlach offered again, and you waved her off.

“Get him home safe, that’s all I ask,” you replied, and they were off. You watched as Wyll’s sad, defeated eyes stayed locked with yours until they were far enough away, and your heart broke all over again.

Gale knew when not to meddle in things that didn’t concern him, so he left that talking up to you. It was not his place to speak to Wyll for you, but his charming act of heroism in punching the shit out of Wyll was plenty for you.

You took another breath, unclenched the fists you had unknowingly created, and returned to Gale’s side.

“How are you doing?” You asked him, kneeling in front of him as he laughed softly.

“As good as a man with a broken nose can be. You don’t happen to have any healing potions on you, do you?” He replied, smiling at you.

“Not here, but I have some at home,” You offered, and he shook his head no to that.

“I’d rather not return to Astarion’s commentary on my little.. quandary here,”

You pondered for a moment, and then a metaphorical lightbulb appeared over your head. “Vis medicatrix,” you chanted, placing your hand on his arm to heal the wound. Blue light emitted from your palms and eyes for a moment and then faded. Why you hadn’t thought of that prior, you had no idea.

“There. How do you feel now?” You repeated, and Gale lowered the cloth from his nose. He breathed in and out a few times, and then nodded in satisfaction.

“You’re quite good at that,” he chuckled, trying to wipe off as much blood from his face as he could. His knuckles were covered in Wyll’s blood, you noted, and you were oddly surprised Gale didn’t have more marks on him from whatever took place inside.

“What even-“

“Perhaps later.”

You pursed your lips in understanding, standing straight as you waited for him. Where would you head off to now? He looked a mess, and you could hardly stand to be around everyone who had just witnessed what occurred. What would people say? They undoubtedly recognized Ravengard’s son, so what would the rumors tell about you? Those were worries for a later time.

“There’s a travel sigil nearby if you’d like to head to my home in Waterdeep with me,” Gale offered, and you interlocked your arms again when he stood up.

“I’d like that,” you agreed, letting him guide you home.

After a bit of walking and some magical travel, you were inside Gale’s rather lavish tower in Waterdedl. The walls were practically lined from floor to ceiling with books, showing his studious nature. The smell of thousand-year-old tomes and scrolls filled your lungs, mixed with the neverending hint of brandy and vanilla. He took good care of his belongings, despite his continued apologies over what he considered a mess. Though, the only clutter you saw was that of a well-studied scholar. It was impressive just how many books he had, and you wondered if he really had read all of them.

“I believe I have a bottle of Ithbank somewhere around here, let me get myself cleaned up first,” Gale offered, and you had half the nerve to speak up.

“Let me help you,” you proposed, and he smiled at you. That cheeky, knowing smile, akin to one Astarion would give you when you’d talk of something scandalous he was already doing. He nodded his head in the direction of his washroom and you followed along behind him, allowing him to sit on a small stool as you wet a rag.

“Well, go on,” you urged, tilting his face up by the chin as you stood between his legs. Gently, you began washing the blood off of his face. “What happened?”

“After you stepped outside, Wyll began saying some rather choice words,” Gale recounted, the night's events playing over in his mind, eyes ever trained on you. “He wouldn’t cooperate with leaving. He took the first swing, I assure you. It’s not like me to throw first, or even second. I usually counteract with magic but, albeit adrenaline was forefront in my mind, a more physical response felt qualified.”

You chuckled at him, shaking your head as you took his hands and cleaned them off, too. “I’m not a damsel in distress, you know. I just didn’t want to deal with him.” You informed him, wanting to make perfectly clear your reason for aversion.

“Oh, I’m fully aware. But I like to play the white knight now and then, if you’d indulge me,” he grinned, turning his hand in yours and taking it gently. He kissed the top of your palm in thanks for your help.

You giggled at him, splashing his face gently with water, to which he gasped, reached over towards the sink, and splashed you back. You both burst into laughter as you started a miniature water fight, flicking water droplets at one another. You, though, wouldn’t give up this nonsensical fight so easily, and splashed a small cup in his face. His expression turned sour and you darted out of the washroom, Gale quick on your tail, and began dashing around bookshelves to avoid him. The initial droplets soon became minor castings of ‘create water’, both of you careful not to damage the papers surrounding you.

“This honestly seems unfair!” He called over to you as you shimmied behind a small space between two bookshelves. Abruptly, he went quiet and you began to peek around some books to see where he was.

He didn’t even say a word as he wrung out his cloth over your head, your hair becoming completely wet.

“Gale!” You screeched, turning around to his shit-eating grin. You whipped out your cloth while grabbing his collar, suddenly pulled his shirt slightly off his body, and wrung out all the remaining water from yours down his chest. Then, you flattened his shirt against his chest, allowing it to become soaked in its own right.

He jumped slightly at the coolness and glared down at you, albeit playfully. He quickly pulled you against him by the waist, effectively getting your clothes damp, too.

“You know, this is one of my favorite shirts. It’s not supposed to get wet like this so the fibers don’t fray,” Gale hummed, staring down at you with a suggestive look in his eye.

“Oh? How ever will I repay you for ruining it?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him with faux innocence.

He thought about it for a moment, pondered just a beat too long, and tugged you close against his hips. He leaned down towards you, letting his nose brush against your own.

“A simple apology should suffice,” he smiled softly, looking down into your eyes.

“Well,” you lowered your voice, your eyes flicked from his to his lips, and back up again. “I’m so sorry, Mister Dekarios..” your hands made their way to his chest, and you planted them flat against him. “I should dry this off for you too, shouldn’t I?” You pouted, pulling out the wide, cutesy eyes for him.

He took in a breath, placing one hand on top of yours while the other rested on your lower back. “While I love that offer..” he started, brushing his lips against yours, “Let’s take things slow, yes?” He asked, and your breath hitched. Good gods. You couldn’t believe how goddamn gorgeous he was up close. You wanted nothing more than to spend the whole night with him, whatever that would entail.

“Y/N-“

“Yes.” He didn’t even need to ask, but he started to anyway. Almost instantly, his lips were against your own, the hand on your back gently pulling you closer to him as if there was any distance keeping you apart. Your eyes fluttered closed, indulging yourself entirely the moment.

You replied instantly to him, grabbing at his shirt as you leaned up towards him. One of your hands released the fabric and slid up his shoulder, then into his hair, tugging gently.

He hummed happily in response to the pull, grabbing tighter at your waist. After another beat, he drew back and rubbed his nose against yours.

“Gale…” Your eyes slowly opened again, ever so slightly still shut, looking up at him with an unknown kind of intensity and love.

“I know…” he whispered, pressing a small kiss to your lips again, before he trailed down your neck with them, his hands solid against your back and keeping you steady.

You let out a soft, satisfied little groan, running your hands through his hair. He pulled back again after another brief indulgement of his thoughts and looked down at you. He was so perfect, you almost felt bad for making him deal with you and all your imperfections.

“Can I stay the night with you?” You asked, and then panicked as you realized he might get the wrong idea. “Not- like- we don’t have to do anything! I just… want to be here… with you…” your voice went quieter by the minute, and he chuckled at your shyness in asking.

Tilting your head up by the chin, he calmed your nerves. “Of course, you can,” he leaned down to you, pressing another small kiss to your lips.

He slowly pulled away from you, his hands ghosting on your waist before he stepped back, coaching you to follow him with his all-knowing smirk, bringing you to his kitchen. As you followed, he pulled out the aforementioned bottle of Ithbank and two glasses. You hopped up onto one of the counters, watching him pour into each.

“So, I have to know,” he began, handing you the wine, “if you’d be willing to share,” he took a sip from his glass, stepping between your legs this time, “what exactly happened with Wyll? Because that kind of a reaction from someone doesn’t suggest that the breakup was just messy, it suggests that it was, well, horrid to say the least.”

You took the wine glass from him, wrapped your legs around his waist, and sighed loudly. “I’d like to know about you and your ex first,” you replied, taking a sip slowly, “I don’t know much about you and right now the scales are quite imbalanced,” you finished, setting your glass down beside you. You leaned forward, draping your arms over his shoulders, and began to mess with his hair.

“Ah, Mystra…” he chuckled, though it wasn’t as enthusiastic as it usually was. He pursed his lips together, frowned slightly, and then began to speak.

“As you may know, Mystra is the Goddess of Magic, the Mother of the Weave, if you will. And I, myself, am a rather proclaimed wizard,” he started, bringing your arms down from his shoulders as he stepped back. He began to manipulate the weave around you both, a soft purple light shimmering and sparkling between and around you. “From a young age, I was using the Weave. I had much of it mastered by the time I was just ten years old. One of Mystra’s former chosen, Elminster, took it upon himself to train me in her absence, as she was not alive at that point.”

You saw the face of a man, conjured by Gale, who you could only assume was the Elminster he spoke of.

“When Mystra came back, she had lost a part of herself in her former death. Thus, she was weak. But, she could still sense my fascination and usage of the Weave. Soon enough, she began appearing to me. Only briefly, mind you, she was still far too injured to show herself entirely, but she still did.” This time, you saw the face of a rather beautiful woman, whom he alluded to as Mystra. How had he given up a Goddess? Well, you’d find out.

“At that time, she picked me to become one of her Chosen. Recognizing my skill for harnessing the Weave, and understanding my desire and devotion to her, it was an obvious choice. She started mentoring me, showing me parts of the Weave I had not yet discovered,” he continued, using visualizations of the encounters to help guide the storyline. “Eventually, we became friends. And then, even closer than that. Lovers. I desired to become great for her- intertwine our souls together, prove just how much I loved her. Remind you, she was dead for a long time,” he paused, making sure you were following him.

“When she came back, she had to regain the parts of the Weave that she had lost. I, knowing this, happened across a tome that told of a portion of the Weave that Mystra had not yet been reacquainted with. Lost to time, the elements, and Mystra’s long respite, this part of the Weave had gone uncollected by her and was still separate. It was imbued with Netherese magic from the folly of one of her chosen from many centuries prior, that in of itself is a story for another time. I sought to retrieve it and return it to her as an act of love- or, perhaps, egotism. I shall never know the true intent of my heart in those days, but, rest assured, I am no longer the same,” he smiled warily at you, hoping he was not losing you in everything. Both in the storybook tale he was telling, and romantically.

“The act of mine failed, rather horrendously so. What mortal man takes a piece of the weave for himself? A selfish one, indeed. Cursed with this portion, it was bestowed upon me. There are many details that I’m leaving for the sake of not boring you, but in a gist that is what happened. And now, this Netherese magic rests within me, seeking out parts of the weave to regain what it too had previously lost. Without magical artifacts, death very well could be the consequence. So, safe to say, I am no longer on my Goddess’ good side,” he paused, debating on what else to say. “It’s an arcane hunger, that’s what my Tressym, Tara, and I have figured out. I must consume those artifacts regularly to ease the hunger and calm the orb, otherwise I’ll… well, let’s just say it won’t exactly be very pretty.” He laughed slightly again, that sad, disheartened chuckle, and you felt terrible for him.

Mystra had essentially cursed the man she claimed to love, and you found that unfair. Why wouldn’t she just reabsorb the magic? Why put him under duress when all he wanted to do was prove his devotion? You would never say it aloud, but you despised the Gods and their unusual cruelty at times.

“I… don’t know what to say. That’s awful, Gale.” You realized that the details he had provided to you on your initial date were rather vague. Now that he explained it in more depth, your situation with Wyll felt minuscule in comparison. What’s a lover's quarrel in the shadow of a devoted, lovesick chosen being cursed with a gift he intended for his Goddess?

“Do not pity me, Y/N. It’s the consequence of a foolish man seeking more than he could attain. Had I not been blinded by my insatiable need to grow stronger and unlock arcane secrets that were not mine to know, I would not be here. Mystra had told me to be content, and I just couldn’t listen. But had I, I would not be with you. If going back in time meant that I would lose out on what I have now, I would suffer it all over a thousand times more,” he smiled at you, the magic fading as he returned and stood in front of you again.

“You’d suffer through losing your Goddess’ favor for me?” You asked, and he nodded. The look in his eye… was one of complete seriousness. While soft, you could see the determination behind his gaze. He did not intend to fault you like he faulted his Goddess. He wanted to savor this, savor you. You weren’t sure whether to be scared, or honored. What else was he willing to risk for you?

“I’d disown even the angriest of Gods if it resulted in our union being inseparable,” he placed his hand under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. “I have only known you for a short period of my life, and yet I’d live a thousand more years with you if I could.”

You felt your eyes water, the sentiment touching your heart. You looked towards the ground, before throwing your arms around him and pulling him in for a hug. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, and he pulled you close against him.

“Thank you, for everything,” you told him, burying your face into his chest. He held you just like that for a moment, allowing his head to rest on top of yours. When you finally pulled away, looking up at him with the sweetest doe eyes, he couldn’t help but lean down and kiss you again.

“You’re adorable,” he laughed softly, kissing you again and again. Your giggles broke the kisses and you whacked him gently on the chest to get him to stop.

“Are you alright? I know that was quite a lot to take in,” he asked, and you admired his sensitivity to your headspace.

“I’m alright. I’m still stuck on the fact you eat magical items, though,” you joked, and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Alright, alright. Enough about me. It’s your turn,” he wrapped the conversation back around to you and Wyll, and it pained you for a second to think about it.

And then you looked at him, enjoying his glass of wine with you, and you couldn’t help but feel connected enough to talk about it.

Until you heard the birds chirping happily outside, the two of you labored over the blow-up with Wyll. It was a weight off your shoulders, bantering with him about all the shitty things that happened that night. Like two drunken schoolgirls talking shit about a mutual ex-friend, you both couldn’t help it.

You weren’t sure how long you slept, just that you were comfortable, warm, and safe. Safe within the tight hold of Gale’s arms, under the silk sheets that lined his bed.

You had this inkling feeling that all was right in the world. The universe, for once, was back on your side. Back on his side. It was like mending a pot with the age-old art of kintsugi- melding two broken pieces together with gold-dusted glue. Was it perfect? By no means. But it was together. It was whole.

You were whole again.

At least, until you got abducted by Mindflayers.

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