#ir covet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thekinslayed · 8 days

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet

summary | Aemond is displeased to find his wife alone with his drunken brother.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader, unrequited aegon ii targaryen x reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral sex (f), p in v sex, voyeurism, masturbation (m), angst, possessive aemond, aegon is kinda pathetic, Everyone Needs To Chill

wordcount | 5.8k

note | i owe aeg a written apology for this one, im sorry pooks </3 the idea for this came in a peach bellini-induced dream

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(dividers by @targaryen-dynasty)

It was nearing the hour of the bat, you had been sitting on your vanity chair, brushing your long locks when you heard the door to yours and Aemond’s marital chambers open. You perked up at the sound, turning with a smile on your face to greet your lord husband. He had been called away to the Tower of the Hand as soon as supper had ended, dealing with urgent matters of the realm while the king was nowhere to be seen. You jumped when the man standing in your room was not Aemond, but your good brother-in-law, Aegon. His cheeks were flushed, his stance wobbly, no doubt from the amount of wine he had consumed tonight.

“Aegon!” You exclaimed. You quickly reached for your robe, covering your nightgown-clad figure to save yourself some modesty. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?”

The inebriated king jumped at the sight of you and the sound of his name. “Gods be good,” he said while steadying himself. He didn’t feel great, and the sight of you in your nightgown did nothing to ease his disorientation. He leaned a hand against the doorframe, rubbing a hand across his warm face, greeting you, “Sister.”

“Is something wrong, my king?” You asked, concerned with the faraway look in his eyes. You kept your distance still, wary of his grace’s well-known habits when deep in his cups. “If you are looking for Aemond, I am afraid he is still caught up in that meeting with your grandsire.”

“I just needed to get out, staying in these walls has given my mind no reprieve,” Aegon said with what you felt was an honest answer. He let out a heavy sigh, the corner of his lips dipping into a small frown.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to ask Aemond about his opinion on something important.” Aegon could scarcely remember the steps he had taken that lead him to your chambers, the small details of what he needed to say held in the slippery grip of his drunken stupor. The sting from his mother's hand on his cheek and the stabbing tone of her voice led him away from his seat in the council table, where he was needed, and into the tunnels that lead to the familiar path of his refuge. With a cup of ale in his hand and the boisterous ruckus of the alehouse, the king had forged himself a plan.

A ship to depart from the Bay by dawn. Essos. A crown for Aemond.

You were aware of Aegon being at the receiving end of his mother’s ire once more, no doubt escaping to his cups after their fight that had echoed through the halls of the Keep. You approached his leaning figure, coming to stand by the settee, patting down the cushions to invite him in.

“Why don’t you sit? Aemond might be back in a few, and you look like the slightest poke would send your face to the mud, brother,” you offered. Though your brother-in-law was far from being as proper and honorable as your lord husband, you worried for him. Aegon wasn’t perfect, yet it would be hard to deny that he has struggled to find his place in the family. You have seen the gloom that always clouded his purple orbs, one he had tried to hide when he had sat the Iron Throne and the Conqueror’s crown was placed upon his head.

Aegon did as he was told, sinking into the seat with a heavy thud and a groan. Silence encompassed the room for a moment, the crackling of the hearth filling in the gaps between you and the king. He could feel himself sobering up fast, the fact that he was sitting with his brother’s wife, his beautiful wife, while Aemond was away had him flustered, his senses fighting through the cloudy haze of the liquor in his system.

“Your husband,” he managed, “is he really as praiseworthy as mother makes him out to be?” Aegon queried, his tone casual and light. You approached the seat across from him, pulling your robe tighter around your figure as you sat down.

“What do you think? He’s your brother. You have known what he is like much longer than I,” you responded, smiling at him softly. Your head tilted ever so slightly when you studied the elder Targaryen before you, how his plump cheeks were flushed and the skin under his eyes held perpetual lines of exhaustion. Aegon let out a low hum, twisting his lips while he stared into the fire.

“Aemond has always been a good man. A bit of a brute, but a good man,” Aegon said, nodding, but then paused to consider his words. “I suppose I want to know…is he kind to you?”

“The most kind,” you smiled bashfully. The thoughts of your lord husband always brought about a warmth that painted your cheeks, especially the ones when his icy cold demeanor always melted around you, an occurrence he said was only possible with your power. A dreamy sigh left your lips as you longed to have him by your side at that moment, still eagerly awaiting his return from his duties. You turned to meet Aegon’s gaze, “I know it is hard to believe, but he is so good to me, your brother. I never expected our marriage to turn out this way. So… wonderful.”

A smile, slight at first, appeared on Aegon’s lips at the sight of your blissful face, whispering a small ‘good’, before returning his gaze to the hearth. Another beat of silence passed you before you spoke up once more.

“And you and Helaena? Is everything alright?” You asked, inquiring about the state of Aegon and his sister-wife, to which Aegon only gave a small shrug.

“You know Helaena, Inever know how she feels about anything,” he said with a rueful smile on his lips. You frowned at his words, feeling bad with how quickly his smile dropped once he finished speaking.

“Helaena, she…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words to approach the subject.

“She is so special. She’s not like the rest of us. She is bestowed with gifts that I don’t think any of us truly understand, nor can she fully carry the weight of. She needs someone to carry that weight with her, Aegon. I know you try for her, but it all just requires time. Give her time to open up to you, brother. Don’t force it out of her,” you advised. The king’s eyes sparkled when they stared at you while you spoke, attentive and awake. The corner of his plump lips quirked up at your words, breathing out a huff.

“She does seem fragile, doesn’t she?” Aegon said. You watched as Aegon fiddled with his thumbs, a twinge in your heart at the sight of him. It was no secret the king and queen had an unconventional relationship, with them being brother and sister, coupled with their utterly contrasting personalities. Even with children, Aegon and Helaena had never found their rhythm with each other, and the gaps in their marriage were only intensified whenever it was held in contrast to yours and Aemond’s marriage.

“How do you put up with his moods? Aemond, I mean,” Aegon suddenly asked with a small grin, eager to change the subject. “He’s not a pleasant man when he’s in a temper, to put it mildly.”

The surprise on your face was evident as the conversation shifted back to you, a small chuckle leaving your lips at his words.

“Oh, believe me, I have tried many ways to deal with that fiery temper of his,” you laughed along with Aegon. “I am no dragon, I find no use in fighting fire with fire, though it has taken a bit of creativity to tame that temper of his.”

A suggestive glint in your eyes twinkled as you spoke, giggling when Aegon let out a boisterous laugh in understanding. He was visibly surprised by his good sister’s candor, one he had not something he had expected out of you.

“And I bet you’ve been successful at it too, haven’t you?” He asked, cackling when you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

“Quite a bit, yes!” you agreed, a proud smile on your lips. Aegon shook his head at you, his shoulders bouncing with the laughter that bubbled from his chest.

The ease that flowed between both of you took Aegon by surprise. If only he could have more moments with you like this, perhaps he’d be a better man, a better king, even. No wonder Aemond had been so taken with you. His brooding brother had taken on a lightness to him since you had entered his life, one Aegon had first thought was quite bizarre to see in the one-eyed prince at first, but now he understood. You held the power to make any man change his ways with a single smile.

“Gods be good. That man is lucky to have you.”

Your mischievous smile turned into one of fondness at the king’s words, your longing for your lord husband growing all the more the longer he was missing from your side.

“No luckier than I to have him as my husband,” you responded, earning a low hum from the king. Large round eyes, ones he bore from his mother, turned to look at you, glimmering against the warm glow from the fireplace. You fiddled with your fingers with uncertainty when you caught the change in his gaze, the warmth of his amethyst orbs turning to that of hidden longing. You knew this wasn’t because of love for you, it couldn’t be. You assumed the king merely craved the stability and trust that yours and Aemond’s marriage had, but you couldn’t deny the way he looked at you at times, a look almost too similar to that your husband held for you.

It was best to probably dismiss your brother-in-law for the sake of being proper, but you just didn’t have it in you to leave him on his own for the night, not when the murky sorrow returned to his eyes, replacing the light your presence had stoked. You cleared your throat, the air in the room suddenly turning prickly.

“I’m sorry that Aemond is taking so long. Why don’t you lay for a bit while you wait, brother? The daybed is quite comfortable,” you offered. Aegon instantly refused, not wanting to impose in your own chambers.

“No, no, I should go. I will be alright, princess,” he reassured, though the way your face held uncertainty made him falter. There was no doubt anyone who would come upon him in the halls would immediately know of his whereabouts, with his messy silver tresses, half-open doublet, and the smell of cheap mead that he exuded. Hells, when did he lose one of his rings?

You managed to convince him to settle by the daybed, promising to wake him upon Aemond’s return. It took little effort for him to fall asleep, the liquor in his system quickly submitting him to the depths of slumber. You fetched some furs to drape over his sleeping figure, soft snores resonating from the daybed. A sigh left your lips at the state of the elder Targaryen, worried about how he had been coping with the weight of the crown upon his shoulders.

You were on your side of the bed, engrossed in your reading when your husband finally returned from his duties. You looked at Aemond in worry when he eyed his brother’s sleeping figure, his features immediately merging into one of anger and confusion after finding his wife and his brother all alone at night.

“What the hell is he doing in our chamber?” He asked, his tone harsh.

“Aemond..” You said softly, putting away your book before rising to approach him. Your arms came up to caress his biceps, soothing him. “He came looking for you, husband. Your brother is troubled, he waited for your return to talk to you about it,” you explained, hoping your husband would see reason and put away his anger, though his furrowed brows let you know that you shouldn’t get too hopeful.

“I don’t care what he was looking for. King or not, he should know better than to intrude on my wife,” Aemond said, his anger still not waning while his voice rose. He was about to say more when you squeezed his biceps, a frown on your features. His own immediately softened, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You shouldn’t be around him when he’s like this.”

“I know, I know. But I was worried for him. I couldn’t just turn him away, my love,” you explained. Your hands drifted down to take hold of his fisted palms, making him unclench to let you take his hands in yours.

“I should have made you aware of his being here. He needed someone to talk to, husband. I told him to lie down while he waited for you, but I fear the wine has gotten the best of him.” You pressed kisses to your husband’s wrists, placing his calloused palms to cup your face. Your eyes met his good one as it studied you, your feet taking a small step closer to his warmth.

“Was there anything he told you?” Aemond asked. You both looked at his sleeping figure. Aegon's snores had stopped, but he still lay peacefully asleep on your daybed.

“He asked about our wellbeing but that was about it.” You half-lied. You thought it best to keep your conversation with the elder Targaryen between yourselves, something only you understood.

Aemond’s apprehension of having his brother around his wife was something he did not hide, well aware of his hidden desire and admiration for his lady. The thought of you and Aegon spending time alone in your marital chambers while he was away took all of him not to strangle his sleeping brother if it weren’t for your soft presence. He could laugh at the incredulity of the circumstances, his brother having clearly wasted no time to seize the opportunity in his absence.

The one-eyed prince stepped away from your grasp, turning away to rid himself of his day clothes. You bit your lip anxiously as he continued to spare glares at his slumbering brother. You approached him once more, standing in front of him. Your hands caressed his chest while he pulled you in by your waist, craving your touch after hours of being away. You planted a small kiss on his cheek for comfort, and another one on his lips.

“I think it best for you to talk to him, my love. You both understand each other the best, after all,” you said softly. Your husband let out another angry sigh despite your kisses. How sweet you were, nothing but goodness in the fibers of your being. In his heart of hearts, he wished it weren’t so, that this kindness was only reserved for him, your lord husband, that way he would be saved from the many who feel smitten by your charms, his own brother for one.

“I have no wish to even look at him,” Aemond snapped, looking away from you. He shook his head, knowing what he wanted to say, but being unable to bring himself to do it. “I just don’t like it. He looks at you, covets you.”

“Aemond..” you started, but you sighed as your husband gave you a warning look.

“I swear to you, husband. He merely came with the intent to talk to you tonight. He was proper with me,” you promised, cupping his face in trying to reassure him, but his sharp jaw had stayed clenched. Your face dropped, frowning when he still refused to look at you.

“Darling,” you beckoned. You dipped your head to meet his gaze, a silent plea of understanding in your countenance when you stared at each other. You watched Aemond study your face with a cold glint.

Seeing your husband still aggravated by your current situation, you knew you had to do something to calm him, lest he did something irrational to the sleeping king in your midst.

Tentatively, you pressed your lips against his in a kiss. You felt him soften ever so slightly, deepening the kiss when his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against your husband’s, his hot breath fanning over your face.

“What was that for?” Aemond asked, his tone still hardened.

“Missed you,” You mumbled against his lips, kissing him once more. It was quick to escalate, with Aemond taking the lead. His tongue prodded its way into your mouth, exploring your warm cavern while a whine emitted deep from your throat at your husband’s ministrations. You felt his hands wander down to your waist to settle on her arse with a firm squeeze. Breathless you pulled away, though your husband’s firm grip bid you to stay pressed against his chest.

“I do not want this happening again,” Aemond said quietly, a hint of anger still in his voice. His jealousy flared, a heat rising in his head that inhibited him to think clearly. It was irrational, and he hated that it was so, but he did not know how to let it go.

“You are my wife,” Aemond practically growled. You nodded at him obediently, whispering, “I am all yours, Aemond. Always,” before surging forward to kiss him again.

“I love you,” the prince said as the kiss broke. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

You had barely reciprocated the words before Aemond was kissing you again, this time more urgent and passionate as you grew more heated. His lips traveled to your neck, sucking and kissing while his hands gripped you behind. You had almost let your eyes roll back into your skull in pleasure when you barely remembered that Aegon still lay asleep in your chambers.

“Darling… Your brother….” You trailed off, barely getting the words out while your husband pressed his growing stiffness into your center. “He is still sleeping there, my love.”

“Let him watch if he wants. It’s what he does anyway,” Aemond said, his voice coming out with barely any volume to it with his face still pressed into your neck. He had enough for the moment, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on forever.

“Aemond,” you warned, an unsure glint in your eye. You weren’t sure if this was some sort of sick power play your husband was doing to assert his possession over his wife to his brother, but you were still apprehensive about the whole ordeal. And yet, the heat that pooled in your center coupled with the look the silver-haired man held before you was making your rationality jump out the window.

The longer you made your husband wait, the more you saw his temper rise again. You quickly kissed him once more, letting your lord husband do whatever he wanted for the night. You pushed the idea of being intimate while Aegon lay asleep and risked being watched when he woke into the back of your mind, focusing on her and Aemond alone. It would be a lie to say the idea of getting caught and watched didn’t excite you at all. The idea of your prince asserting his possession over you in front of another man made you feel heated, wanted, and highly desirable. After all, Aegon was fully asleep anyway.

Time to get creative.

Aegon was in fact, not asleep. He had woken up the moment Aemond returned, but continued to lay with his eyes closed upon hearing his brother’s anger at his intrusion. He knew if he were to awaken there was a good chance of a big fight breaking out between them, perhaps of Aemond even killing him right then and there.

And so, he continued to pretend to be asleep while he listened to Aemond’s rage and his wife’s attempts to soothe him. Even with just listening, the elder could tell how easily the lady’s soft demeanor warmed his brother’s cold one. His heart thumped wildly against his chest, forcing his eyes to remain shut.

Amidst hushed whispers, his ears perked up in curiosity when he heard a wet smacking, then another, and then another. Hushed whispers again, and then the sound of kissing continued once more. From where the daybed was situated in their chambers, Aegon only needed to crane his neck slightly to the side and crack his eyes open just a hair to see you and Aemond in a passionate embrace. Despite the darkness brought about by the dying embers of the hearth, he could still see how his brother’s hand wandered, squeezing and caressing his wife. He saw how you kissed him with such passion, one he was unsure any lady had ever done with him. Jealousy burned within him, while heat pooled in his chest at the sight of the two lovers. He was a fool to continue to listen, to witness what was before him, but Aegon couldn’t find the strength to look away. What the king wouldn’t give for her to be doing that to him, to hold her in his arms. He was sickened with desire.

The younger prince led you to the bed, where he bunched up your nightgown to your hips before descending his lips upon your core. Aemond had an inkling that his brother would awaken, a sick desire to show the king what was his overwhelmed him. Lost in the depths of the mindnumbing pleasure that devoured your wit, you were none the wiser with your husband’s little game. He was wary enough to cover your bareness with his body, though the sweet sounds emanating from your lips were hard to stifle. Still, your husband had no complaints.

Your husband was like a man starved, devouring your sweet ambrosia like it was the water that gave him life. You bit back the mewls that threatened to escape your mouth, though your efforts were futile as they only grew in volume with your impending release.

“Aemond, the curtain,” you mumbled before a moan cut off your words. You reached out to the curtain hanging from your bedpost, urging your husband to cover you for the sake of decency. If he even heard your word, he paid them no mind while he continued to fuck you with his tongue. His nose nuzzled against your pearl, the sparks of pleasure shooting from your nub sending you into a dizzying haze. Your release washed over you like the tide, and you had barely been granted a moment of reprieve to see if Aegon had been disturbed before your husband had freed his cock, sparing no second and breaching your walls.

You threw your head back into the feather mattress, a breathless whine escaping your lips as he rutted into you at an unforgiving pace. Your hands clung onto your husband’s shoulders while you willed yourself to stay mindful of the noise, yet you couldn’t help the soft whines of your husband’s name that left your lips, much to the one-eyed prince’s delight.

Aegon’s cock strained painfully in his breeches at the sweet sounds you were making for his brother. His hand twitched to rub at his bulge, and he subtly covered his lap with a cushion to pleasure himself. From his view, he was only granted the sight of his brother’s back while your legs wrapped around his trim waist, but the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin made Aegon’s skin tingle and his cock jump against his palm. He rubbed himself in tandem with the rhythm of the bedframe’s creaking, praying that the darkness of the room made it so that neither of you would catch him in the act.

Aemond surged forward to meet your lips in a kiss that was a mess of teeth, tongue, and spit. His pace remained relentless, determined to make you fall apart on his cock while his brother helplessly watched. One quick look behind him and he had seen Aegon, crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms, pathetically jerking himself off to the sight of him fucking his wife. Aemond may have once coveted the crown placed upon his brother’s head and the glory that came along with it, but for once he had something his brother wanted. Nothing else would ever come above the warmth of your embrace and the sweet nectar from between your thighs. As a second son he would be bestowed no lands, no legacy, and no other glory, but what more would a man need than a wife who sang the loveliest melody while he split her open with his cock?

Your nails dug into the hard planes of Aemond’s back as he drove you further into your second peak. It was all overwhelming, the caution of keeping quiet, the mind-numbing pleasure of your prince’s cock driving into your cunt, and his grunts of pleasure in your ear, coupled with the electrifying sparks of his thumb playing with your pearl.

“Do you like this, dear wife? Making me fuck you while your king lay asleep in our chambers? Is this what you wanted, hm? Is this what you wanted me to do?” Aemond growled in your ear, punctuating each query with a harsh thrust. You could only whine and whimper in response, while the warmth in your belly only grew higher, and higher, until it spread all over like cold water, making you spill around Aemond’s cock while you moaned in ecstasy.

Behind you, Aegon bit his lip harshly as he spilled into his breeches, the sounds of your release driving him towards his. He pressed his face into the cushion to hide his panting, his skin growing heated with the humid air of sex that filled the room.

Aemond soon spurted his own seed into your core, the pulsing of your walls milking him dry while his thrusts slowed. He collapsed on top of you for a moment, breathing in the scent of your damp skin while he caught his breath.

“I love you.” He said against your skin, this time without the anger behind his words.

You caressed your husband’s hair while he continued to lay on top of you, equally feeling as boneless with his weight engulfing you comfortingly like a blanket.

“I love you,” you whispered in response. “There is nothing else I desire for in this world other than you, my love.”

Aegon felt an odd twinge in his chest at your words. For a moment, just a few seconds, he fantasized you had uttered those words to him, and you were his.

After regaining your senses, you lifted your head slightly to take a peek at Aegon. From the view where you lay, it looked to you that the king remained peacefully asleep despite you and your husband’s activities. Though the darkness in the room betrayed you, making it hard for you to actually see the tear that had streaked down his cheek.

“I guess that didn’t wake him up,” you mused. Aemond merely hummed in response, his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“No, he can sleep through anything. Must be nice.” Aemond said quietly. He bit back the smirk at your blissful unawareness, moving to lay on his back before pulling you to his chest.

“Will you promise me that you will talk to him? On the morrow?” you asked, looking up at him with hope. Your husband nodded, sealing his promise with a kiss on your forehead. He pulled the covers over the both of you, rubbing your back while you drifted off into slumber. Your husband held you tight through the night, pleasantly satisfied.

You remained asleep when Aemond had gotten up just as the sun broke through the horizon, pulling away from you to prepare for his morning training. After getting dressed in his training clothes, Aemond approached his brother’s sleeping figure on the daybed, nudging him awake. He threw a spare training jacket to Aegon, which covered his confused face, dazed with exhaustion.

“Get up,” Aemond said coldly, eyeing his brother with indifference. “You’re going to train with me.”

The kind did not appreciate his brother's prodding. He would have preferred to sleep for another hour if Aemond would allow it, but he also knew his brother rarely allowed things that he, himself did not have a preference for, and so Aegon rose from the daybed with great annoyance, and a deep sense of contempt. He let out a groan when he stretched his aching limbs, the exhaustion from the previous night still coursing through his muscles. Aegon had been talking a little too loud for Aemond’s liking, who turned to his brother to quiet him.

“Shut it. Do not disturb my wife,” he hissed, eyeing your sleeping figure when you slightly stirred. Aegon rolled his eyes at his brother’s order, though obediently changing his dirty doublet for his brother’s gambeson.

“You’re one to talk about disturbing others in their sleep,” the king grumbled under his breath. Aemond merely let out a breathy chuckle at his brother’s words.

This idiot. Subtlety was never his strong suit.

While Aegon finished up the last buckle of his garment, Aemond kneeled one knee on the bed to lean over your sleeping figure, planting a small kiss on your forehead. You let out a small dreamy hum in response, still deep into the throes of your slumber. Aemond pulled up the furs to cover you better, before turning to Aegon and leading him outside.

The morning air was crisp when the brothers descended the steps to the training yard. Few littered about, mostly servants running around in preparation for the day. The surprise in their gaze was undeniable at witnessing their king awake so early, the sight of him in the training yard with his brother clearly not a usual occurrence.

The brothers sparred together, or rather, Aegon was pathetically dodging his brother’s attacks while Aemond swung at him with a skilled ease. It was clear there was a tension between the two, one they were both well aware of the reason why. With only a few hits in, Aegon had already begun to pant, the years of his negligence in his sword training catching up to him quickly.

“I hope the satisfaction you get from this helps to quench the fire in your cock, brother,” the king taunted, heaving.

“There’s only one person who can quench the fire in my cock, and it certainly isn’t you,” Aemond retorted, indifference coating his tone but a smirk decorated his lips. “My wife tells me you had something to say to me. What was so important you chose to intrude on my wife in the middle of the night?”

Aegon held up a hand in defeat, dropping his sword carelessly into the dirt before bending over to lean his hands on his knees. He took deep breaths while he willed himself not to vomit, the wine in his stomach not settling well with the strenuous ordeal he found himself in so early in the morning.

Essos. His crown for freedom. All of those now seemed like a faraway dream, with the way his brother looked down on him with an unhidden contempt, the effort would be completely futile.

“I thought we could talk, as brothers. Yet standing here in front of you know, I see that is far likely to happen, Aemond,” Aegon said, resignation in his tone. His brother scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Talk,” Aemond said, his voice filled with sarcasm. He let out a small chuckle, grabbing a rag to wipe his sword.

“We can talk,” Aemond expressed, his tone carrying a feigned lightness that perturbed Aegon. “Just not about your little obsession with my wife, brother.”

“My obsession?” Aegon responded, incredulous. He looked at Aemond in utter disbelief, who continued to clean his sword calmly.

“If anyone is obsessing about someone here, Aemond, it is not me. You are too quick to anger, too riddled with jealousy of me that you cannot stand for me to be in a room with her. I would almost think you were afraid of being bested by me,” Aegon said, his lips curling into a sneer. His brother halted in the middle of his wiping, the hand holding the hilt of his sword gripping the handle tight. Aegon gulped at the sight, wary of the younger’s growing temper. Aemond turned to the king, narrowing his good eye at him.

“I do not fear you, Aegon. Do not pretend,” he said, an eerie calmness in his tone. Aegon took a careful step back as his brother stepped forward, crossing his arms behind his back. “I wouldn’t give a shit about you being around her if I didn’t know your damned thoughts about her. She is mine.”

Aegon’s clenched jaw mirrored Aemond’s. His brother’s words left him with no reasonable defense. His affection for his brother’s wife was now out in the open, and he feared the repercussions.

“How do you know what I think of her? What makes you think I even want her?” Aegon responded, anger in his voice.

“It is because I know you, Aegon. You are predictable, you grow wide-eyed at the first thing that you believe would grant you the smallest ounce of affection. It is pitiful, really, especially for a king,” Aemond sneered. Any snark rebuttal Aegon had died on his lips as he shrunk in the weight of his brother’s gaze. The younger prince’s stare was piercing, jabbing through Aegon’s skin, prodding at his bare bones. “If I see you making eyes at her again, I swear to it, there won’t be enough blood left in your body to even cry to the gods that they might spare you.”

Aegon could only stare at his brother, his response sending a chill down his spine. He had never feared the younger prince before, in all his physical prowess and ruthlessness, but as they stood in the quiet yard, he had begun to falter.

“All this for a woman, brother?” Aegon asked, voice low as he could only stare at his younger brother. Aemond huffed, standing tall over his king.

“Yes,” Aemond said. “Over this woman.”

But I am your blood, Aegon wanted to say, but he could only stare.

“Don’t take it personally, brother. If any other man were standing in front of me, I would have said the same thing,” Aemond said, tilting his head mockingly. The one-eyed prince ignored the nagging in his consciousness, one that resembled his mother’s stern voice.

‘We must protect our own,’ she would always say, though as her sons now stood face to face, they couldn’t be more of a threat to each other. Perhaps he had gone too far, but he couldn’t let the fucker have more than he deserved. He already had the crown, the Conqueror’s name. He loved his brother, the gods know he did, but he would breathe fire onto the seven kingdoms if it meant it kept you by his side.

Aegon could only sigh in defeat, kicking a small pebble by his feet as he sniffled.

“She is all yours, Aemond, do not fret. You have made that very clear. I shall take my leave, this conversation has certainly been the most… fruitful,” Aegon said, smiling sarcastically. The elder turned before Aemond could respond, walking back into the Keep.

Watching Aegon walk away, Aemond pondered on the weight of his words, what this would mean for you and for Aegon, realizing too late what he had failed to do.

“Fuck,” he said beneath his breath. He closed his eye exasperatedly, stretching his neck backwards to face the sky. “My wife is going to kill me.”

#bella writes ✍️#this is queued #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegond #targtowers #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond fic recs #aegon ii fic recs #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aegmond

698 notes · View notes

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

1K notes · View notes

ahollowgrave · 3 months

Text

Odette Hollows - Character Associations

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS

Love (first, last, everlasting, lost, returned)

Grief (a cost, an eventual friend)

Giddiness (butterflies in the stomach)

Missing a stair (a sudden fall)

Contentment (warmth and safety)

COLORS

Delicate shades of purple (falling petals, a dawn sky)

Soft blues (a river under ice, the blue of forget-me-nots)

Pearl White (glimmering, shiny, pure)

Lush greens (living things growing, rich fabrics)

A splash of red (for a loyal hound)

SCENTS

Sweet, warm vanilla. (up front, a little overwhelming, a little juvenile.)

Rich, damp soil. (freshly turned)

Cedar. (freshly hewed)

Sun-ripened peaches. (ripe and sweet, nearly overripe)

Old books with their spines cracked. (asking to be read again, again, again)

OBJECTS

Moonstones of varying sizes, well polished. (to give away, for luck and love and luck in love)

Prayer beads. (worn from use, made by her own hand, wrapped around a wrist)

Love letters with lipstick marks. (‘found’ items, coveted and wished over)

Moon daises. (fresh & dried, hung from hooks in garlands, pressed between the pages of a book)

Clean and dry bones. (friends awaiting a welcoming word)

BODY LANGUAGE

Muffled laughter, hidden smiles. (too loud, too goofy, too much)

Dimpled, crooked grins. (a ray of light piercing clouds)

Hands raised, palms up. (please, please, please, please, please)

Lingering glances. (timid and adoring)

Rocking on her feet, heel to toe. (to some unheard music)

AESTHETICS

Flowers and trinkets left at a grave. (love and loss forever linked)

Moonlight, dripping through canopies. (Her Lady, reaching to caress her)

Snow, gently falling. (a blanket over living things, a muffling of a too-loud world)

Moths in flight, flittering and fluttering. (summoned by Her light)

A garden in controlled chaos. (not overgrown, carefully maintained.)

][ Tagged by: ][ @oneiroy & @mythandral ]Thank you both! ][ Tagging: ][ @gatheredfates @the-sycophant @snakemoltsiren @dragonsongmakhali @dragons-ire @cindernet-explorer and You (: ]

#About #Character Sheet #Odette Hollows #this was so hard???#but also very very fun #now i get to do it for pru too woof #Pigeon Screens

68 notes · View notes

qierxing · 2 years

Text

Be Still, My Heart!

Yan!Twst Isekai AU

Pt.1 Persevere, My Player! | Pt.2 | Pt.3 Oh, Woe is me...

CW/TW: Strangulation, implied dubcon

It feels like time doesn’t pass the way you want it to.

You want to breathe a sigh of relief when winter break rolls around, but there seems to be a strange heckling happening amongst Ace and Deuce, who both nag you to go join them in their respective homes for the holiday. The rest of the Heartslabyul gang join as well, stubborn about having to be separate from you, but Grim manages to fend them off, screeching that he would NOT tolerate having his henchman abandon him at Ramshackle.

Their faces darken, but ultimately they each disappear in the mirror without more trouble. You can’t say that about Leona—he practically threatened to drag you with him to Afterglow Savannah to meet his family. What for, you have no idea. It doesn't help that Ruggie, despite being buried behind mountains of food, also bugs you to join them. Jack doesn't say anything, but you can see how his ears shift back as his tail wags apprehensively in anticipation. They both leave with tails between their legs at your shaking head.

And then it’s all too quick when you’re embroiled in Jamil’s plans and dragged to Scarabia dorm against your will. (You tried to fight against his magic, but you guess you don't have that kind of plot armor) Weird–you don’t remember Kalim being this enthusiastic about seeing you nor Jamil being this kind to you in the game. You try to enjoy the luxurious foods the Scalding Sands has to offer, but it's hard to do that when Kalim has practically pushed himself into your side, beaming and piling up your plate not unlike a hovering mother. You push to stop him, afraid of this outright favoritism further deepening Jamil's resentment; but you're shocked speechless when he just quietly refills your glass and tells you to eat more with a smile so genuine, you think you're dreaming.

The brainwashing begins, but it seems only you are free from Kalim’s ire, and you’re unsure whether to be glad to be spared of the dreadful death march or fearful of the fact that his hand on your waist is tight and unyielding as he bellows out commands for his house mates.

The obvious favoritism makes it that much easier to be alienated by spiteful and bitter Scarabian students and more painful knowing that Jamil was the cause of it all. And when Kalim’s eyes sparkle at you as the two of you soar in the night sky, your heart clenches as you think about how Kalim was so blind to Jamil's pain and anger. Or maybe he's choosing to willfully look away, afraid of what lies in his vice housewarden's eyes. Or is it just because he really is so innocent as a spoiled rich kid? You often wondered this when you read through the dialogue back home.

If there was one thing you hoped with all your might to change, it was the part where you crash into the Mostro Lounge. It may have been a foolish thought, but you really hoped that you would have better senses to control the carpet to escape back out to Ramshackle—but to no avail. And soon as your dizzy gaze clears, you’re face to face with three sharp grins. A fight ensues, as per the story, but what you did not anticipate was Azul kneeling down and cooing at how frightened you must be instead of insulting you in the game. The difference is chilling, in your opinion.

Grim fills the trio in about your situation–even though you tried desperately to silence him–Azul's grin stretches wider and your heart drops.

"Why, we must lend a hand to help our dear classmates!"

You forgot how much Azul coveted Jamil in the game. Two kindred personalities: of course he would just be over the moon at the chance to rope Jamil into his house. But why is it that it seems that he has another motive for helping Scarabia?

There’s a kindling of rage in Jamil’s eyes when the five of you trot right back up to the snake’s den, figuratively speaking. It sparks and seethes when his eyes catch onto the way Azul’s arm is wrapped tightly around your shoulders and your defeated looking face. His fingers twitch, and you start to fear Jamil overblotting right then and there.

For once, Kalim’s disturbance is welcomed. He’s back to his usual self, grinning and beaming as he announces another feast. You wonder if you can beat a hasty retreat back to Ramshackle, but as the thought comes to your mind, Kalim grabs your hand and drags you to the lounge area, much to your chagrin. You’re sitting firmly in between him and Jamil, and the latter makes quick work to make sure you’re well within his coil to not make any rash moves to leave.

The Octavinelle trio makes quick work of sniffing out Jamil’s plan and soon enough, Jamil overblots, unable to take the fact he has been exposed. However, Jamil grabs you and sends the others flying. While you’re somewhat glad you’re not facing the fate of your fellow companions, you’d almost take being thrown than being in the grip of Jamil, whose snakes are winding their way around your limbs. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe and as tears flow down your face, Jamil smirks so widely, his bloodshot eyes dribbling black ink, and from there, it goes black.

You don’t recall what happened. If anything, you’re too scared to ask, because there’s a myriad of dark, diamond scale shaped bruises on your hips, your legs, your arms, and your neck. You can’t even speak, for one, because it feels like your throat has swollen and clogged. Jamil doesn’t meet your eyes and Grim doesn’t explain either, pupils looking guiltily to the side. Kalim is bawling, but you just want to go back home. You can’t, you can’t—

“Great Seven, [First]—!” It’s Azul who notices first how much you’re hyperventilating and despite how much you thrashed, Jade and Floyd manage to pin you down to the stone floor. You think you hit your head. You might’ve bit someone, because the taste of iron still lingers on your tongue. But it doesn’t matter, because somehow they manage to knock you unconscious.

You wake up a second time in the same familiar bed for the past few days. What you don’t expect is that Ace and Deuce are there, and the mere sight of them makes you hug them and start messily sobbing. By the time your tears have mostly dried, you’re so drained and tired that you can’t comprehend the dark look the two exchange. You know around this time Kalim is throwing another banquet to celebrate Jamil’s recovery, but you can’t even fathom finding the energy to attend. When Grim tells you about the party, you only quietly tell him to go on his own—you’ll be heading back to Ramshackle. Grim worriedly asks after you but you shake your head and tell him to have fun, that you’re just a bit tired.

Ace and Deuce escort you back, but they stubbornly insist on staying until you ‘feel better’. If it weren’t for the fact that you threatened to call their parents yourself and tell them they’re shirking their family celebrations, you might’ve had to continue to deal with the two. Finally, the silence that falls on Ramshackle has never been so calming, the creaking and groaning soothing your heart, a contrast to the dry brittle wind that blew through sand grains.

A card is left on your doorstep, and you’re not even phased as you open it to read a ‘Happy Holidays from M.D’. You feel a twinge of guilt for not being able to greet Lilia nor Hornton, whose true identity you’re well aware of. As you ponder over the card, two shadows loom over you.

“[First]!” The card nearly crumples in your grip as you process the voice and look up to see the very two people you don’t want to see. Kalim grasps at your shoulders, ruby eyes glinting with sincere worry and guilt as he goes on and on about some kind of apology and wanting to repay you and you’re this close to having another meltdown when Kalim is finally dragged back.

“Give them some space, Kalim.” Jamil’s calm voice sends shivers down your back and you resist the urge to slam the door in both of their faces, if only to maintain a polite facade. You tell the two with a shaky voice that there’s no need for repayment but it’s overall steamrolled by the both of them finally in agreement over one thing: they have to repay for all you’ve done for the two of them.

They attend to you in bed, cook for you, and help you fix leaks and cracks in Ramshackle, but there’s a sense of unease always lingering. Maybe it was the distrust left over by dealing with Azul, but now, you’re more afraid of what you have to owe Kalim and Jamil for taking the time of their day to look after you. Even if Kalim smiles and hugs you so sweetly, even if Jamil brings you the most fragrant and delicious tasting foods, you can’t help but only feel overwhelmed. It’s only when duties call them back and Grim returns, that you can finally breathe easy.

The snow fall has stopped and the weather lightens in the coming days. When the Headmaster finally returns from his own vacation, you visit privately and request some more days off. He grants it easily, surprisingly, most likely at the haunted dead look within your eyes, and you lumber off to your dorm to seclude yourself. You don’t want to see anyone from NRC if you can help it. Grim doesn’t question the extended break, only glad for more days off.

The stories of the villains are unfolding, but it’s not unfolding the way you expected it.

“Hi there, my name is Neige! Neige Leblanch!” You’re standing in stunned silence as the RSA student beams at you. Of course you know who this man is. This…most definitely wasn’t in the story. Pomefiore’s arc—it hasn’t even started! Was Neige supposed to be on NRC’s campus this early in the game?

“[First]…” You can only respond robotically. Actually, why is this guy here at Ramshackle grounds?!

“Sorry to bother you, do you happen to know where the main building is? I think I got myself lost.” He asks sheepishly, rubbing his head with his signature sweet smile.

Of course, you escort him back to the main castle and the two of you actually hit it off rather well. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually genuinely kind and thoughtful and there isn’t anything you need to worry about in terms of faux paus. He gives you his phone number to call and text, despite your protests (after all, you don’t really want his adoring fans to come for your throat next), but he insists, taking your phone and inputting it himself. He finally waves goodbye, telling you to text soon. You want to be glad that you met him but…

There’s a small wiggling suspicion. The castle is so easily viewable from all parts of the campus—there’s no way he would have not seen it. Could he have…? No. You shake your head. In the end, there’s no way he, who was essentially Snow White's counterpart, would have asked you for directions with malicious intentions.

Right?

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #my works #i decided to do a small split between pomefiore and scarabia since there's still a lot of time left for ignihyde's release

1K notes · View notes

visiosatanae · 7 months

Text

Branded

Ficlet below the cut, please mind the warnings 🔞❗

This involves exactly what the picture implies, so please do not read any further if you aren't a fan of graphic depictions of torture and violence. Needless to say, MDNI

The room was cold when you finally came to, the sweat beading up on your skin now freezing. Your head hurt, a throbbing ache still pounding behind your eyes. Your body was upright, arms raised above your head but you found you couldn't move. Panic began its course as you realized you were completely devoid of clothing, vulnerable to the draft of this makeshift dungeon. You couldn't remember how you got here, only that the Cardinal had requested your presence urgently before-

The Cardinal…

Shakily you craned your head to look around the room. There were no windows and the walls and floor were stone, suggesting you were underground. The only light came from a few wall sconces and the fireplace crackling away in the corner with what looked like a rack of fire pokers next to it. In front of you was a table filled with surgical instruments and knives. You struggled with your binds, the metal around your wrists and ankles groaning against the frame you were attached to.

"Ah, it seems the puttana has awoken." A chill ran up your spine, freezing at the sound of the Cardinal's voice from behind you. "Did you get your beauty sleep, cara?"

"Why did you take me?" Your voice is hoarse. "I didn't do anything to you, Cardinal." You hear him stand from wherever he was sitting, slowly and methodically making his way towards you.

"Our Dark Lord may be the father of all lies, Sorella, but that doesn't mean you are allowed to lie to me." He tuts, finally coming into view. He wore his red cassock, his usual biretta nowhere to be seen.

You try to wrack your brain for any clue as to what he's talking about, but you can think of nothing. "Your Eminence, I don't know-"

You felt his hand around your face, the soft leather of his gloves digging into your cheeks and stopping you from speaking. His heterochromatic eyes pierced yours, as if trying to discern something behind them. After a moment he released you, your jaw aching.

"I guess you really don't understand." He mused to himself, making his way towards the fireplace. You watched him warily. Rumors around the ministry warned of the Cardinal having a foul temper and unpredictable nature. And it seemed you were inadvertently on the receiving end of his ire. "Tell me, how do you feel about Brother Sebastian?"

A pang of fear shot through you at the name. "He's a friend. We have a class together and we talk sometimes." You tried to keep your voice from shaking. "Please don't hurt him, he hasn't done anything."

"He touched what is mine," the Cardinal snapped, voice firm and cold. He then bent to pick up something from the fire; another poker you must have missed. But as he turned around you could see it wasn't just an implement for stoking the fire. The end was flat and red hot, two backwards C's glowing in curling metal script.

"As a boy, I had a habit of coveting things that were mine, or what I wanted to be mine." You felt yourself pale, eyes widening as he stepped closer. He inspected its fiery glow, ensuring the temperature was even throughout. "I learned that the only way to keep the other children away from my things was to mark it as such. Pen was much too easy to rub or scratch off, so I began to carve instead." You couldn't help but eye the table of knives and scalpels. He looked thoughtful as he reminisced. "But in the end, I found that branding was the quickest and most effective method. Even to this day." His eyes flicked to yours and your heart stopped under his gaze.

He came closer still and your brain finally put the pieces together, your head shaking and your breath quickening. “Please, please no, please no…” Your pleas trailed off as he held the brand close to you. You could feel the heat emanating off of it even though it was still inches away. He reveled in the look of absolute terror on your face. “You’re insane,” you spat, your fear reducing your ability to speak rationally.

“Tell you what, cara,” he ignores your words, “I’ll let you pick the next one, hm?”

“The next?” You felt lightheaded.

“Si,” he nodded. “I have quite the collection. You didn’t expect just one, did you?” You wanted to throw up as he brought the red hot metal lower, hovering below your waist. “But the first choice is mine, as are you.”

A scream echoed within the walls of the nearly barren room, your throat beginning to burn but not as much as your skin. The Cardinal pressed the brand firmly to your thigh, holding it in place with a gloved hand to ensure the mark was as perfect as possible. It felt like forever before the iron was removed, the smell of burning flesh churning your stomach. Even at the awkward angle you could see you were branded as his, the letters “CC” marking your thigh forever in a blistering burn.

The Cardinal eyed his handiwork, seeming satisfied with how it turned out. You shrieked as the leather of his gloves brushed your tender skin, his fingers caressing what he had done. Hot tears ran down your face with a sob, the pain already beginning to break you. With a smile he patted your face.

“We are not done yet, dolcezza,” he said, walking back towards the rack of branding irons.

“Please.” Your whisper still echoed in the room. “Please have mercy, Your Eminence.”

“Sweet Sorella,” he cooed, picking out another design. “Mercy is for those who worship God. And as you well know, He does not step foot here…”

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanart #ghost fic #visiart #visific #happy halloween!#have some cardinal copia being a sadistic bastard #if that's your thing #seriously don't read if you don't like

92 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 1 year

Text

i love it when i hear you breathing, i hope to god you’re never leaving

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: aaaah oh my gosh!!! i can’t believe this series is finally finished! this is the third and final part of my tag you’re it series. thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me and this series throughout these two years; you all mean the world to me and i hope you enjoy this final piece! as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe!! | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

part one | part two | part three

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationships, drug use and abuse, overdosing, hospitals, blood, verbal fights, daddy kink, minimal prep, size kink/size difference, degradation/dumbification with a dose of praise, rough sex, biting/marking, dacryphilia, a hint of mindbreak

words: 14.9k

synopsis:

What is real? What is right? Does it exist in concrete terms, or is it some sort of continuum? Is it easily sorted and separated, like pans of paint on a palette, or is it all muddled and bleeding together, like strands of paint in a glass jar, irrevocably intertwined as they dissipate in the water and impossible to separate in any way, colour of the tainted water morphing depending on the angle the light hits it at?

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It’s been three weeks since yours and Keigo’s accidental meeting on the track, three weeks since you’ve been meeting privately, behind Dabi’s back, three weeks that you’ve gotten absolutely nowhere in terms of any sort of ‘plan’.

It isn’t either of your faults, you think. Your time spent together is incredibly limited, which makes it incredibly precious, and neither of you particularly want to spend it discussing the difficult stuff—your brother’s addiction, and how to deal with it.

“I can buy my own food, you know,” Keigo jokes as you sit down across from him, crosslegged, knees bumping against his own.

“I know you can,” you say as you hand him a small bento, stuffed to the brim with rice and yakitori. “But you don’t.”

“Well—”

“And you don’t make your lunches, either,” you continue dryly. “I bet you haven’t made a single lunch for yourself since I moved out.”

“I mean—”

“Buying lunches from the convenience store doesn’t count,” you add, and Keigo has the decency to look sheepish, huffing out a soft chuckle as he regards you wearily through his lashes, a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck.

“You know me too well, songbird.”

“I’d hope so, I’ve only known you my entire life.”

Another laugh tickles his throat, this time sweeter, gentler, and his gaze softens a little, fondness melting his ire, a dirty finger reaching out to caress your cheek. Your head tilts instinctively, nuzzling into his touch, and his smile spreads, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You know you must talk about all of that difficult stuff eventually, can feel it all piling up at the back of your consciousness, growing larger and larger, heavier and heavier, as it slowly encroaches on the future, but it’s been so long since you’ve just been able to sit together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been afforded the luxury of just basking in each other’s presence, of just enjoying each other’s company, of just existing together that it now feels as though you must cherish every single moment, unwilling to waste even a second on something so unpleasant, so complicated and full of pain.

What used to be so regular, so routine for the both of you has now become something to be coveted and protected, each of you reluctant to break the delicate peace thinly glazing something hard.

“Thank you for this,” Keigo says as he looks down at the box in his palms. “It looks delicious.”

“It’s not much,” you shrug as you tug open your own lunch box, eyes focused on your actions and avoiding his own. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“It’s perfect, and I love it,” Keigo says warmly, his hand on your thigh prompting your gaze to his. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur as you place a hand over his, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m glad you like it. I mean, it is your favourite, after all.”

“It is,” Keigo nods before craning his neck a little, peering into your lap. “And, uh, what’s in yours?”

You can’t help the fond little snort that barrels up your throat as you look down at your own lunch, a crude version of one of those picturesque bento boxes you’d find on Pinterest, the seaweed faces all muffed up, the heart-shaped rice balls lumpy and uneven, the small medley of vegetables messy and overflowing.

“Dabi made it,” you respond softly, still smiling down at the food, index finger tracing the plastic edge of the container. “They always look ugly, but they taste surprisingly good. He tries his best to make them look cute, but…”

“He’s too rough.”

“He doesn’t know how,” you correct. “But it doesn’t matter, I love them all the same.”

Keigo hums to himself, chopsticks clicking together before they dive into rice. “And he makes those for you every day?”

“Every single day. Even when he’s running late.”

“That’s…Uh, that’s really thoughtful of him,” Keigo chuckles a little, the sound drenched in incredulity, head tilting slightly. “Honestly, I’m surprised.”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” you say lightly, attempting to keep accusation from seeping into your voice.

Keigo scoffs at that, eyes rolling with a shake of his head. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t give the guy who emotionally manipulates his baby sister and dangles drugs in front of his face like he’s some sort of fucking dog ‘enough credit’.

“I’m serious,” you continue, an edge sharpening your voice. “He does a lot for me, Keigo.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”

“Really? Because that look in your eyes is telling me otherwise.”

“Look,” Keigo sighs, eyes closing briefly with the slow exhale of breath. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not here, not now. Let’s just…Can we talk about something else?”

Silence rings in the air, dense as it weights the atmosphere, and Keigo’s tongue sucks on his teeth as he waits, a desperate attempt to keep his criticisms safe in his throat.

It isn’t like he doesn’t recognize all that Dabi does for you; he does. He sees it, even it if makes his chest burn and his eyes sting and his heart ache, even if he wishes he didn’t. He can’t exactly deny that Dabi takes good care of you—in some respects, at least.

But that doesn’t negate all of the bad Dabi commits, too.

That doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a criminal, that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s highly and convincingly conniving, that doesn’t negate the fact that, while Dabi may take good care of you, Keigo takes great care of you.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, after a few moments of tense contemplation, chopsticks poking idly at your meal. “Yeah, sure.”

Reticence saturates your features, eyes forlorn and despondent as they watch your motions with idle disinterest, and guilt unfurls deep in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, thick and sticky like tar as it seeps through his tissues, encasing the surrounding organs in its suffocating embrace.

Swallowing thickly, Keigo pushes forward.

“Uh, so. How are your classes going? Are you sure you can be skipping class like this every week?”

“Oh, sure,” you shrug, eyes still downcast. “I’m ahead in this class. Actually, I’m ahead in all of my classes. Um, I’m doing better than I ever have been before.”

“You are?” Keigo asks, eyes wide, and it’s hard for him to stifle the notes of surprise ringing high in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Dabi really keeps on top of my schoolwork. I study every single night, all of my readings are done on time, I start all of my assignments early…” you trail off, chewing on the end of one of your chopsticks. “There isn’t really much else to do while—”

A frown laced with concern tugs at Keigo’s lips, his forehead wrinkling as he observes you carefully. “While what?”

“I—While Dabi works.”

“Works,” Keigo repeats slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“Well now I do.”

“Keigo, please—”

“Does he take you out with him?”

“No!” you shake your head vehemently, voice glassy and thin. “He leaves me with Jin most of the time,” you say, defensive. “Jin is a friend—he owns the convenience store at the base of Dabi’s building, and, uh…”

“Go on.”

“And he takes me to The League a lot.”

“The diner?”

“Yeah, they…I mean, they have meetings there, and stuff,” you say slowly, unsure of how much you should reveal to Keigo, of how much you’re allowed to reveal to Keigo. “And so I—I just do my work while they do all that.”

“They?”

“His friends.”

“And what about your friends? Do you ever hang out with them anymore?”

“His friends are my friends,” you respond dutifully, though there’s genuine warmth in your tone, a sweet little smile cracking through the hard dejection coating your face.

“Songbird…” he begins slowly, eyebrows pushed together and forehead creased with concern, and you can hear it, can hear him gearing up to deliver one of his signature Big Brother Lectures, one of his I’m-Older-and-I-Know-Better speeches, piercing stare overflowing with worry dipped in disapproval.

“Look, it’s fine,” you say dismissively, a distinct note of protection ringing clear in your voice. “It isn’t like I really had any friends before anyway, not when I was too busy—”

Too busy taking care of you.

You kill the rest of the sentence before it can reach your tongue, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows exactly what you were going to say.

And he already knows you’re exactly right.

✰ ✰ ✰

The time to broach the topic finally comes during the next week, after the two of you have cleaned out your simple bentos for the day, when you can no longer keep it locked up anymore, can no longer continue with this pretty facade no matter how nice it is, the winter wind whistling down the desolate subway tunnel, long forgotten beneath the grounds of the university.

“Let me check you into a program, or something,” you beg, beseeching eyes rapidly scanning his features, little fingers digging into his biceps, flexing in your fervour. “Let me help make you better! I want nothing more, Kei-nii, I swear.”

“I can’t go into treatment, songbird,” he responds, desperately trying to rid his voice of that frustrated tremor, to keep his voice even and calm. “You know I can’t. The moment they catch wind of my addiction, my scholarship is gone—”

“So!”

“—Along with all of the opportunities that had come with it,” he continues, eyes hard.

“Well I mean, can’t they cover it up or something?” You cry, distraught. “Your coaches, or the crooked sponsors who already know, the ones who keep this secret for you?”

Dryly, Keigo shoots you a glare. “It’ll be very difficult to cover up a sudden prolonged absence.”

Begrudgingly, he has a point.

“Well what, then?” you ask, whole body deflating, leaning against him in your defeat. “What’s our plan? You said we’d make one—to beat this, to make it all better, to make it all right again, but—”

“I’ll do it on my own,” he says resolutely, and his voice is so strong, so sure that you can’t help but believe him. “Okay? I’ll take a week—next week—and I’ll throw it all away. Flush it, pour it down the sink, do whatever I can to get rid of it for good, and then I’ll weather the withdrawal.”

“Really?” you gasp out, both hands clutching his arm in their excitement, wide eyes shining with potent hope as they search his face. “You—You’ll be okay doing it alone?”

“Yeah, songbird, really,” a thumb swipes across your cheek, eyes liquid amber as they gaze at you. “I can do it. For you.”

“For you, too,” you remind gently, Dabi’s words ringing out clearly against the walls of your skull. He has to want to get better for himself, baby, or it’ll never work. No one else can do it for him.

“Yeah, for me, too.”

And, for a moment, it appears as though he has done it. Two weeks later, he looks better, sounds better, feels better, curls shimmering bright and gold, cheeks rosy and full of health, muscles beginning to swell as they regain strength, twining themselves protectively around his sharp bones.

You’re so elated by his apparent success, so in awe of it all, that you insist the two of you tell Dabi right away, desperate to share the good news with your boyfriend.

But it isn’t a good idea, Keigo tells you. Not now, not yet.

“Dabi has to see it for himself—Dabi needs proof. Telling him prematurely not only outs our little meetings here, but I can almost guarantee it’ll be met with a hefty dose of doubt.”

Eyes lidded with carelessness, Keigo mimics Dabi, doing a surprisingly good job, his voice flat and apathetic, his stare bored and jaded.

“Yeah, sure, he’s clean for now. But will he be clean in a week from now? A month from now? A year from now?” Keigo shakes his head. “Dabi needs to see that I’m truly doing this, that I’m dedicated to doing this.”

You suppose that makes sense. And you don’t ever want to do anything to put your niisan in danger.

But you, God, you’re so proud of him, so proud of the progress you think he’s made, so proud of the commitment he’s displaying.

Maybe Dabi will finally allow the two of you to start meeting again, as soon as he sees the dedication Keigo has to getting better, you’re chattering on animatedly one afternoon, head resting dreamily on your big brother’s shoulder.

Maybe, Keigo shrugs.

Maybe not.

Because while Keigo is getting better, and slow progress is better than no progress, he isn’t exactly as clean as you think he is, and Dabi knows it all the same.

He masks it well, he thinks. The plan you had concocted together had been to choose a week where Keigo would finally quit, cold turkey, no assistance at all (because he adamantly refused it), and stay home ‘sick’ as the withdrawal took it’s vicious toll on his body.

And he did, for the most part. He did go through withdrawal, he did stay clean for a moment or two, but he didn’t stop shooting, hasn’t stopped shooting; not technically, not entirely.

He’s just shooting way less now, the dosage only a smidge of what his body was accustomed to. It barely gets him high, barely makes him feel anything at all—nothing more than a tingling, wispy warmth reminiscent of that unparalleled bliss he loved so much—but it’s better than nothing at all.

Dabi had been intrigued, impressed, it had seemed, by Keigo’s sudden urge to cut down drastically.

“What’s up with you?” he finally asks, the third time they meet after Keigo’s so-called ‘purge’, the reduced dosage held securely in his rough hand.

“What d’ya mean?” Keigo murmurs distractedly as he cards through the money in his wallet, counting it under his breath.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Dabi snorts, shuffling the small packets in his palm, accentuating his words.

“Oh,” Keigo glances up, fingers stilling. “Uh, just trying to quit, that’s all.”

“Quit?” Dabi blinks in shock or surprise, Keigo can’t be sure which. Sapphire rakes over his body, slow and methodical, a smile slithering across his face as his gaze drifts back to Keigo’s. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Keigo swallows, desperate to keep his voice calm. “I—I’m trying to do it slowly. Lower the dosage until my body doesn’t need it anymore.”

“You know, that’s not really how it works,” Dabi begins, suspicion bleeding into his voice, eyes narrowing as he regards Keigo with a sweeping gaze, fingers curling into a protective fist over the drugs. “Besides, that’s a slippery fucking slope, Keigo. Sure, you’re doing it now, but what happens when something triggers you, huh? What happens when you suddenly need a higher dose, just today, just this once, because you’re stressed, or sad, or whatever the fuck it is. Hmm? You need to have self-restraint made of platinum to quit in this fashion.”

Shrugging, Keigo looks away. “Yeah, well, I’m trying this first. If this doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.”

And he hates the way his words quiver slightly, hates the way his voice rings tinny and high with lies, with terror.

Tilting his head, Dabi hums, eyes performing another full-body scan of Keigo. “And why the sudden change of heart?”

“What?”

“Why now? Why are you unexpectedly deciding to quit now, instead of after all those instances of your sister begging you to quit; after I told you to quit how many times? What changed?”

Keigo’s palms prickle with sweat, and his hands ball into tight fists, a desperate attempt to halt the tingling, fingers flexing as they unfurl again.

“I—I miss her,” he manages to stutter out, blowing the confession from his mouth in a gust of breath. “And I, uh, I want to do this for her. Your combined pleads took a little while to set in, I guess,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the thin skin, feigning contemplation. “But I hear what you’ve both been saying now, loud and clear, and I’ve decided you’re right.”

“Really?” And although the question sounds genuine, something sharp and dangerous glints in Dabi’s gaze; piercing, penetrative. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He can tell Dabi doesn’t buy it for a fucking second, eyes attempting to dissect Keigo’s mind, to pry apart the tangle of tissue and neurons and synapses and peer inside for the truth.

But he can’t.

“Alright,” he says slowly, the word soaked in incredulity, as he exchanges powder for paper. “Good luck, then.

“Thanks,” Keigo says flatly, already beginning to back away, inching towards his car. “And uh, hey, don’t tell my sister.”

Dabi’s eyebrows push together, forehead wrinkled with confusion. “The fuck? Why not?”

“Because I want it to be a surprise, you know, when I’m fully clean. I don’t want her to know anything until I’ve made it.”

Dabi stares at him for a moment, another one of those invasive, assessing looks where he attempts to decipher Keigo through his expressions alone,

It’s only after Dabi’s car is long gone that Keigo can breathe normally again, heart abandoning its venture to shatter his ribs and flatten his lungs. His head drops in relief as the tension in his neck ebbs, his forehead pressed tight to the steering wheel.

He’s safe; for now, at least. He knows Dabi isn’t at risk of discovering yours and Keigo’s secret meetings, because you wouldn’t dare tell him and risk upsetting him—or, worse, getting yourself and your brother into some serious trouble—and he knows Dabi won’t tell you about Keigo continuing to purchase drugs from him, because you don’t ask—won’t ask, have no reason to ask, have no reason not to trust in your big brother’s truths—and Keigo trusts, for some inexplicable reason, that Dabi will not tell you about their questionable conversation today, not until he figures out what’s really going on, anyway.

And, sure, Keigo feels guilty lying to you, misleading you in such a manner, but it isn’t like he plans to keep this up forever. Besides, he’s nearly clean anyway, isn’t he? He may not be there in it’s entirety yet, but he is doing better and progress is progress, even if it isn’t as much progress as you’re giving him credit for. He will quit eventually, he swears it. He will kick the habit, permanently, he knows it.

He just needs a little more time.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s always the most inconspicuous things that do it, that set something off, that give something away, that indicate that something isn’t quite right.

The question comes late one night, after you’ve both finished cleaning up the small kitchenette, as Dabi’s putting away Tupperware containers.

It’s asked innocuously enough, imbued with a touch of genuine curiosity, voice muffled by the cabinet his head is currently buried in.

“Where the hell are all our bento boxes disappearing off to?”

“Uh,” you blink, mind taking a moment to register the question, the shock—and stupidity—of you’re failing to realize that this might be a red flag numbing your brain. “What?”

“Our bento boxes?” Dabi repeats as he stands, turning to face you, eyes performing a singular sweep across your face. “We’ve gotta be missing like, half of them now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Dabi scoffs. “I bought them specially for you. They weren’t fuckin’ cheap, and I know how many I bought.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, chest beginning to tingle with adrenaline. “I—I don’t know, Daddy, I didn’t even realize we had any missing. Maybe I left some in your car?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed dirty containers in my car if there were any,” he retorts dryly.

“Um,” you hum, desperate to keep your expression from giving you away—to keep your mouth from trembling and eyes from widening—features scrunching in mock thought. “Well, then maybe I left some at school! I’ll check with each of my profs throughout the week and see if they remember finding any.”

Skepticism shines bright and blue in his narrowed eyes, stare steadily holding your own. It feels as though he’s trying to dissect you with his eyes as his sole tool, to tear the skin from your face and split your skull and peer inside, searching for the answer he’s looking for, searching for the truth.

“This isn’t like you, princess,” he says slowly, each word a deliberate thought, handpicked. “You aren’t usually forgetful. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you respond instantly, the word barely more than a huff of breath. “Nothing, I just—Maybe I’m just stressed, you know? Midterms are coming up and all that, so…”

“There’s been a lot of maybes peppered throughout your sentences today. Is there anything you know for certain?”

You know he can tell, can see it shimmering in your eyes, gaping and alert; can see it wavering in your smile, artificial and stretched too tight across your cheeks.

A lie.

“Hmm?” he presses.

Shoulders raising in a defeated shrug, you shake your head, sucking on your tongue. He scrutinizes you for another moment more, sapphire performing one final sweep across your features, slow and thorough, before he nods to himself—just once, a sharp and short motion—and turns away.

If there’s anything he knows for certain, it’s that you’re hiding something. The only question is what.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Are you sure this is really necessary?” Tomura’s asking as he exhales steady streams of smoke from his nostrils, regarding Dabi blankly through the haze, crimson eyes watching through lidded lashes while Dabi paces the length of his car—back and forth, back and forth, a restless panther waiting and ready to strike—in the dimly lit diner parking lot.

“Yes,” Dabi snaps. “They’re both acting too weird; it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“It’s missing bento containers and a guy who’s cutting down on his drug use, actually. It’s entirely plausible the two have absolutely no connection to each other whatsoever.”

“You don’t get it,” Dabi nearly snarls, stride halted to whip around and face his friend. “Alright? You didn’t see the two of them, their eyes…There was something odd, wrong, in their eyes. And their voices, too. They sounded, I dunno, fake.” False. Off. Tinny and artificial and quivering ever-so-slightly with the restraint of hiding something.

“Are you…Did you take something?”

“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Dabi seethes.

“Yeah, yeah, right, but I just thought…” Tomura trails off, shrugging, the cashmere of his sweater catching on the brick wall behind him. “Dunno. Thought the stress might be getting to you, or something. Thought a few lines might take the edge off, maybe, but you know how coke can make you paranoid—”

“I’m not high, Tomura. I haven’t been high since—”

“Yeah, I know,” Tomura rolls his eyes. “But you’re acting a little weird, that’s all. Agitated. Jumpy. Could’ve been a possibility, whatever.” Flicking at the cigarette resting on his knuckle, Tomura disregards the idea, tendrils of smoke curling delicately in the air between them. “I still don’t see the correlation between these events, though.”

“You don’t need to see the correlation, for fuck’s sake,” Dabi finally explodes, throwing his arms in the air. “You only need to help me.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Tomura warns, something sharp slashing through ruby irises. “You may be my best friend and all, but I’m still technically your fucking boss.”

“Your dad is my fucking boss, actually,” Dabi corrects, smugness temporarily melting his frustration, an eyebrow raised in playful challenge. “But details don’t matter, this has nothing to do with work. This is simply one friend asking another friend for a favour.”

Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Tomura stares at the man in front of him, contemplating. After a moment, he pushes himself up from his slouching position, a resigned sigh heavy on his chest.

“Alright, fine. But when this turns out to be nothing, I get to tease you for being a fucking lunatic.”

It won’t be nothing. Dabi can feel it in his soul.

And, as always, he was right.

“That fucking bitch!” Dabi screams when Tomura delivers the news outside of one of his father’s warehouses, features screwing into a wince as his best friend’s fist collides with the closest car window, glass shattering upon impact. “I knew it! I knew she was hiding something from me!”

Dabi’s had enlisted in Tomura to tail you for roughly five days now, documenting every single thing you do from the moment you arrive on campus to the moment Dabi—or one of Dabi’s friends—picks you up.

And on the following Tuesday, this Tuesday, he hit the fucking jackpot.

“How dare she! After all I’ve done for her, you know? After everything I’ve done for her and that good-for-nothing pathetic brother of hers…” Dabi shakes his head, tufts of ink bouncing violently with the motion before sharp teeth pull a cigarette free from a weathered cardboard carton, the corners worn and fraying. “And this is how they repay me? By sneaking around behind my back and fucking lying to my face about it? By disobeying the most important rule I’ve set?”

Scarlet oozes from his knuckles, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His skin sparkles as unsteady hands pat his body in search of an opening, microscopic shards of glass still embedded in his skin. Trembling fingers pull a silver Zippo free from his pocket and whip it open, thumb missing the flint wheel twice, a growled curse rumbling in his throat.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Tomura says as he sits perched on the hood of his parked Maybach, a burger in his lap and grease shining on his fingers. A nod of his head motions for Dabi to come closer, soft palms cupping Dabi’s blood streaked hand and igniting the Zippo with ease, steadying the flame as Dabi leans in to torch his cigarette. “You were right. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Of course I was fucking right!” Dabi roars through a dense shroud of smoke.

“So, now what?” Tomura asks as he nibbles on his burger bun. “What do we do?”

“Oh, it’s a we now, is it?”

“Would you rather it not be a we?”

“No,” Dabi responds through a begrudging frown. “Your help is valuable.”

“Thank you.”

“Honestly, I should fucking kill him for everything he’s done, for such disrespect,” Dabi seethes, nostrils flaring, that tense fury unable to hide the distinct crack at the end of his words. “I should bash his fucking skull against a brick wall.”

“Sure,” Tomura says easily, examining a piece of wavy lettuce before pulling it free and throwing it to the dirt floor. “He deserves to be dead. But what would she think? How would she react?”

“She’d be better off if he just wasn’t in her life anymore.”

“Maybe,” Tomura agrees. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’ll never forgive you if you kill her big brother.”

“I could make it look like an accident,” Dabi says.

“You could try,” Tomura corrects. “But you know just as well as I do that staging accidental deaths is no easy feat.”

“He’s a fucking junkie,” Dabi says, as if this is obviously the answer to all of his problems. “Slip some fentanyl in his smack and bam! Dead within minutes.”

“She’d know it was you.”

“How?”

Tomura sighs, index finger rubbing at one of his eyes.

“Dabi, for as well as you know her, she knows you, too. Do you really think you could look her straight in the eye at her brother’s funeral and tell her you didn’t have a hand in it? While she’s sobbing over the man you despise so much, the man who has caused her so much suffering—who still causes her so much suffering—do you honestly believe your eyes or your voice won’t betray you?”

A growl rattles his ribs, facial features crunched together in a tight glower. Holding his blazing stare with ease, Tomura raises an eyebrow in question, smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Fine, fuck,” Dabi finally erupts with an exasperated gasp, viciously turning away from his best friend and raking both hands through his hair, nails audibly scraping against his scalp as his fingers curl, tugging at the roots.

“Well then, what, huh?” he’s asking as he spins back around, voice straining under desperation, sapphire frantic as it searches Tomura’s face for an answer. “What? Because I’m all out of fucking ideas.”

“Threatening him might work.”

Dabi shakes his head. “I’ve tried that. I even took away his most precious possession. Nothing seems to get through this motherfucker’s head.”

“Well, not quite.”

“What?”

“Not quite. You haven’t truly taken away his most precious possession, have you?”

“Heroin?”

“Yeah, cut him off or something. He told you he was trying to quit, didn’t he? That he was on the way, or whatever. Why don’t you help give him an extra push?”

“And if he goes to find it somewhere else?” Dabi questions.

“My father will know,” Tomura’s lips curl up into a sinister smile, crimson eyes practically glowing. “And so will we.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Dabi doesn’t go home. Dabi can’t go home; not like this, not with the way his heart rages against his ribs and singes his chest, not without losing his entire fucking mind on you and spoiling his whole plan.

Instead, he pays Keigo a much-needed visit.

The terror-tinged surprise that saturates Keigo’s features when Dabi turns up on the other side of his front door is almost laughable—in fact, Dabi’s sure he would laugh if his insides weren’t boiling in his own rage—Keigo’s body gone loose and pliant in its shock, making it exceptionally easy for Dabi to wrap a hand around his bicep and yank him through the doorway of that godforsaken house.

“Get in the car,” he’s saying as he shoves Keigo towards the Eldorado, buckles of his boots jingling daintily as his heels collide with concrete.

“What?” Keigo asks as he stumbles to a stop, the question nothing more than an incredulous huff of breath.

“Get in the car,” Dabi repeats, slow, calm, cold, stare holding Keigo’s over the roof of the car. “Or I will put you in the fucking car.”

The drive isn’t long—maybe a mere twenty minutes or so—but it’s to an area of the city that Keigo has never visited before; an area with cracked asphalt and orange caps littering the dead grass, an areas with sun-washed plastic slides and rusted swing chains; untended, uncared for, and forgotten.

Rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado as Dabi pulls into what might have been, once upon a time, a park, the lot full of faded concrete with peeling white paint and thorny weeds sprouting up through the fragmented cement, the field an unruly tangle of jade with a chain link fence that leads to nowhere.

“Get out,” Dabi instructs. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Using his teeth to pull a cigarette free from a veiny cardboard box, Dabi begins to stroll along the warped fence, Keigo starting a little in his haste to catch up to him. The sharp twinge of metal slicing against metal as Dabi whips his Zippo open makes Keigo cringe, the harsh sound piercing the thick atmosphere.

“So,” Dabi finally says, puffing the word out with a heavy cloud of smoke. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Frowning, Keigo blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. “What are you—”

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Keigo. Not today. I don’t have the patience.”

The sentence, while flat, has an edge of warning to it, complemented by Dabi’s look of caution, thrown at Keigo through the side of his eye.

Chest deflating, Keigo slumps forward, head hung shamefully between his shoulders. “How’d you find out?”

“Does it matter?” Dabi stops suddenly, turning to face him. His tone is bored, almost indifferent in a way, but Keigo can see it: that restrained anger, wavering sapphire flames burning bright in his eyes.

Lips pressed together, Keigo holds his blazing stare, waiting for him to continue.

“Surely you must’ve known I’d find out eventually,” Dabi laughs a little, and it’s cruel, mean, mocking. “Surely you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep such a secret from me for very long.”

Maybe Keigo did. Maybe, on some deeply subconscious level, Keigo knew this would happen, knew this would be the end result no matter which way they tried to spin it, because it’s the only result it could’ve ever ended with.

Maybe not. Maybe Keigo was foolish—he has always had a streak of dreamer in him, after all—maybe Keigo was hopeful, desperate, that this would all somehow work out in the end, that the power of your love and your hope and your sheer, steadfast belief in him would enable him to magically quit, to kick the habit forever without any assistance or hard work at all—and everything would go back to normal.

He answers with a shrug, expression saturated in a sort of ambivalent confusion, and Dabi’s nostrils twitch.

“Fucking look at me.”

With a flexing jaw, Keigo’s head lifts slowly, his stare nearly dead, exhausted, but there are cinders of anger, frustration, maybe even hatred smoldering in those golden eyes, flaring as they meet the flames licking along Dabi’s pupils.

They’re extinguished almost as quickly as they’re ignited, though, weak flickers snuffed out by the smug smirk on Dabi’s face, and his features sag under the weight of dismal weariness.

“Just...Whatever you do, don’t hurt her, alright? It wasn’t her fault.”

His voice is quiet, resigned, though it isn’t enough to mask the delicate tremor sewn into his words—something full of defeated fury, of disquieted frustration as Dabi comes stomping through his life with his big black boots and crushes it all to dust, burns it all to ash, breaks it all again, because that’s what he’s best at.

“Hurt her?” Dabi’s voice raises in sincere surprise. “You know I’d never.”

“I don’t mean physically,” Keigo clarifies, topaz solidifying in his eyes; hard, gleaming.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dabi dismisses with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Because she isn’t going to know about this at all.”

“What?” Keigo spits, eyes narrowing with sharp suspicion. “What are you—”

“Because you and I,” Dabi continues, speaking over Keigo, voice clear and strong. “Are going to make a deal.”

Blood turns to ice in his veins, frost lacquering his bones, and Keigo’s body freezes, the hinges of his jaw creaking as he forces the word from his tongue.

“A-A deal?” Keigo pants out, breath trembling slightly.

“That’s right.”

Something vicious glints in Dabi’s eye—something sharp and dangerous, half-submerged in sapphire—and his mouth stretches into an abnormally large smile, spread so deep and tight across his face it looks as though it’s been carved into his cheeks.

A gust of wind tangles in the bare branches of a nearby tree, bark knocking together, and Keigo shudders, the breeze like a million little pinpricks piercing his clammy skin.

“You want to get clean, right? I mean, you’re trying to get clean, aren’t you? On the way to being completely sober and all that; that’s what you told me, is it not?”

“Yes,” Keigo says slowly, cautiously, as if the letters are navigating a field of landmines, one wrong intonation and he could trigger a fucking explosion.

“I’m going to help you.”

Dabi’s voice has suddenly turned amicable, as if it’s been shocked back to life from the indifferent, bland anger it contained only moments ago, now vibrant with this control, gleeful with this power.

“Help me?”

“I’ll allow you to keep seeing your sister on one condition,” Dabi pauses, and Keigo’s too petrified to ask, rooted in place, breath held stagnant in his lungs. “From this day forward, you will never take another drug for as long as you live.”

And, just like that, Keigo’s whole world, teetering precariously on the point of a needle, comes toppling down.

“One single slip-up, one teeny, tiny mistake—one shot, one snort, one swallow and I can promise you, you will never see your baby sister again.”

Frantic topaz flies across Dabi’s face, rapid as it searches his expression for any indication that this isn’t real, isn’t true, isn’t happening. His thoughts flow in hasty conjunction with his gaze, frenzied brain working desperately to figure out an immediate loophole.

His breath is coming faster now, short, sharp, uneven huffs shoved from his mouth as panic claws up his throat. No. No. This can’t be happening right now—there’s no way this is happening right now, because he’s not ready yet. He’s not ready to give it up yet, not ready to face reality without it yet, the thought of his addiction being prematurely ripped from his palms inspiring another bout of thick dread to course through his veins, drenching any remaining flickers of anger.

Keigo tries to tell Dabi this, to explain that this is all happening too quickly, too suddenly, that he needs more time, just a little more time, he swears—but his voice whimpers in his throat, sentiments rendered nothing more than pathetic squeaks of breath.

“If I find out you’ve purchased even one tenth of a fucking milligram of any narcotic I swear to the good Lord himself, I will take your sister so fucking far from this country that she won’t even know where the fuck she is. Do I make myself clear?” Dabi pauses, allowing Keigo a moment to respond with a mechanical nod.

“And I will find out, Keigo,” blue eyes shimmer with mirth, that sharp glint practically glowing now, so strikingly brilliant Keigo has to look away, a malicious laugh rattling around in Dabi’s mouth. “I own this fucking city now.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The front door swings open with a vigorous flourish, the fork between your fingers slipping from your grasp and clattering against the warped hardwood floor.

“Gosh, Daddy,” you breathe, a palm pressed to your racing heart, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me!”

He says nothing as he stalks towards you, a large grin stretched tightly across his face, sapphire eyes shimmering in the low light, irises seeming to swirl with something akin to delight, darkened with delirium.

“What’re you—”

Calloused hands seize your face the moment they’re close enough, slim fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw as they drag you toward their owner. Sharp teeth suck your bottom lip between their edges, sinking into your soft flesh and keeping it captive as Dabi’s tongue caresses it in slow, fat strokes.

Copper floods your mouth, the strength of the bite forcing a squeal from your throat into his, Dabi’s tongue dipping into the warm heat to soak up your blood—to stain his own flesh with it, to suck it in and swallow it down, to keep it inside of him; a small piece of you, infused in thick sticky crimson that seeps through his tissues and into his soul.

“Hi, princess,” he breathes as his forehead presses tightly to your own, eyes so brilliant and bright with exhilaration it’s almost as if they’re glowing.

“Hi,” you can’t help but laugh a little around the greeting, your gaze searching his face in happy confusion as your arms twine around his neck, pulling your body closer to his.

Breathy little giggles laced with mania waft across your face as his palms find your ass, fingers flexing against the supple flesh before he’s hefting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, ankles hooked and heels digging into the dips at the base of his spine.

And then, he begins.

It’s almost elegant, the way he twirls your clinging bodies around the tiny kitchen to whatever invisible, silent tune is playing within the walls of his skull—something that you are not privy to, something that has him feeling elated—narrowly missing the corners of cabinets and the edges of counters as he goes, movements fluid and effortless.

But it doesn’t matter that you can’t hear the melody, the song in his head supplemented by your intertwined laughter, the sweetest music either of you could ever ask for, notes full of amusement and affection as it encases your conjoined forms, blanketing the atmosphere and filling it with the warmth of love.

The front door is still hanging open, dull yellow light from the hallway spilling into Dabi’s small apartment and alighting it with a hazy glow.

“Dabi, Dabi, the door!” you’re laughing out as he whirls toward it, skillfully using the ball of his foot to kick it shut as he ends his performance with a graceful spin and slots you up against the surface, trapping you between the cool metal and his body.

“What has gotten into you?” you’re asking as your chests heave together, eyes searching his face for any indication of an answer, residual amusement still tinging your words.

“I love you, that’s all,” he responds simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I love you, and I’m happy you’re mine.”

“I am happy to be yours,” you say softly, a hand moving to brush a strand of ink out of his eye.

“Good,” he whispers, nose nudging yours slightly. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

The claim is sealed with his lips, over and over as they stamp their claim across your flesh using broken blood vessels and thick saliva.

His teeth are ruthless as they mar your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving superficial splices across your soft skin, little slashes that weep blood. His lips are gentle as they kiss the blood away, murmuring affirmations of love into the wounds, strokes of scarlet staining his flesh.

Calloused hands explore the curves and contours of your body—the notches of your spine and the ridges of your shoulders, the swell of your breasts and the bends of your tummy, rough fingers dipping between your dress and your skin to tug at the material.

Daddy can’t wait but it seems, neither can you.

“I need you, baby,” he nearly whines, pet name cracking in desperation. “I need you, I need you right now.”

“Take me,” you’re gasping, little hands pawing at his clothing, trying to pull him closer. “Take me, take me, I’m yours!”

“Get my cock out,” he’s demanding, your hands moving to obey before the order has fully left his lips.

It’s difficult, in the position that you’re in, to wiggle your hands down to his belt and pick away at the buckle, flakes of cracked white leather collecting under your nails as you claw at it.

But you succeed, of course, because you will always succeed when it’s him who’s asking, silver buckle clanking heavily as it hangs open and limp. A hiss of air rushes down your throat as one of your nails chips on the brass button of his jeans, but the injury doesn’t hinder you in the slightest, avid to please.

“Good girl,” Dabi’s purring as your dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock and finally pulls it free from the confines of his clothing. The simple praise inspires a dreamy little giggle, and you gaze at him, eyes lidded with lust and love, giving his cock a gentle squeeze before pumping it twice.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, cobalt fading to navy as he crushes his lips to yours again.

It’s like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s been starved for you—your tongue and your attention and your cunt—for an eternity, calloused hands graceless as they ruck up your dress, fabric bunching around your hips. Removing your panties is deemed too time consuming, as is his usual method of tearing them to pieces, deft fingers shoving their way between your tightly pressed bodies to push the soaked lace aside, revealing your cute little hole.

It’s all so much, his tongue on your neck and his teeth in your flesh and his cock bumping against your ill-prepared hole, the whimpers spilling from his lips as his hips nudge forward with pathetic precursory mini-thrusts, the smoky sweet scent of smoldering hickory and spicy nicotine that’s invading your nose and mouth and lungs and brain like some sort of parasitic addiction: a haze that consumes your mind and body and soul, a haze you endlessly crave more of.

Everything aches as his cock splits you open, sensitive skin ripping while his cock carves itself into you.

“Da-Daddy,” you wail, head falling forward to bury your face in his shoulder, little fingers twisting in the tufts of hair at the base of his skull. “It’s—It’s so big!”

“Shh, shh,” he hushes you, but you can hear it, the sadistic smile in his voice, laced with a sick kind of pride. “Daddy’s almost in, you can take it for him, can’t you?”

You can, of course you can, he knows you can.

Usually, he shoves the whole thing in with one single thrust, hard and fast. But today he chooses to take his time, all of his previous urgency seemingly pacified the moment the head of his cock is inside of you, Dabi opting to savour every fucking inch as he pushes into your cunt, slow and steady.

It only prolongs the pain, fissured flesh tearing itself open more and more with each leisurely second that passes, and your head falls forward, face smushed tightly into his neck, the sweetest little whimpers spilling from your throat.

Tears burn your eyes as he finally bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush to your bottom, your raw hole fluttering a little in pain, sending tiny stinging spears shooting through your gut.

“Look at that, huh? Such a good little whore for her Daddy, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, breath sweltering against your damp skin. “Crying like a little baby and acting like she can’t take it, when she fucking loves to take it,” he tsks, almost as if he’s admonishing you for such behaviour.

“Daddy,” you whine, the world garbled with spit, tears clinging to your lashes. A dull throb roots itself deep at the core of your body, beating in erratic rhythm with your heart.

“Go on,” he breathes as his hips begin to draw back torturously slow, tender cunt aching with the motion as his shaft grinds against the micro-cuts, velvet feeling as rough as sandpaper. “Tell me. Be honest, and tell me how much you love to take my cock.”

And despite how much it fucking hurts, his words inspire a small, dim spark in the pit of your stomach, veins beginning to tingle gently.

“I—I love to take your cock,”

“How much?”

The question is growled out through clenched teeth as he rams back into you with such force that it sends your body skidding up the door, head bouncing against the surface with the motion.

“So much!” you cry out instantly, eyes shut tight and face screwed up in pain. “So much, so so so much, Da-Daddy, I—”

“Open your eyes, princess,” he orders softly, your lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire gazing back at you, tremoring with excitement, with the power coursing through his veins, your Daddy already high and heady on the control he holds over you as you instantly obey. “Daddy wants you to look at him when you tell him how much you love taking his cock.”

Crystal teardrops roll down your cheeks, thick trails of salt water sparkling in their wake. Your nose twitches in your effort to calm down, to stop crying, a hitched affirmative stuttering in your throat.

His hips are pulling back again, unhurried in their movement as his bright gaze sears into your face, eyes unblinking and alight with twisted excitement.

“I love—I love taking your cock so much, Daddy, it—Ah!” you manage to hiccup out just as his hips slam forward again. With gritted teeth, your eyes close briefly and breathe out, slow and controlled, your throat stinging as you stubbornly swallow the tremble in your voice, a steely breathiness replacing it. “It’s my favourite thing to do, Daddy, wanna take your cock every day for the rest of my life, Daddy.”

“Christ,” he exhales, the curse infused with an airy chuckle, lips spreading into a grin, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. “You’re so perfect, baby,”

Something warm and bright blossoms in your chest, ribs swelling with it.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you, Daddy,”

He laughs again, eyes darkening, something sinister glinting in his smile. “We both know that’s a lie,” he grunts as his hips rock again. “But that’s okay, because Daddy loves his perfect little brat so much. Besides,” he whispers, voice dropped to a smooth murmur as his lips caress your ear. “Brats are a helluva lot more fun than good girls, anyway.”

You aren’t given a moment to respond as his hips begin to piston, hard and fast and sudden, any answer to his remark morphing into a loud whine in your chest.

The pain has mostly faded now, any residual shocks promptly chased by flares of pleasure, cunt growing wetter and wetter with each drag of his cock.

Your chins slide against one another, slicked with thick saliva, and his front tooth catches on your bottom lip, hard enough to nick the flesh. Blood oozes from the wound instantly, but Dabi is sure not to waste a single drop, the tip of his tongue running along the fine line of scarlet and lapping it up.

Your mouth, licked raw and sliced up, doesn’t even hurt anymore, small cuts and bruised flesh buzzing as Dabi crushes his mouth to yours again, exhaling copper-tinged breath onto your tongue.

It’s all so potent, so intoxicating, so desperate as you gasp, viciously sucking air from his lungs into your own, gulping down his essence and holding it against your heart—bright and burning and blue, full of him—protected by a cage of ivory.

Your nails rip into his flesh through the thin cotton of his shirt, starved for him as they gorge on his shoulders, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the muscles with each ruthless piston of his hips.

He loves it, too, that thin, almost delicate streak of masochism that runs through his soul shimmering in the dim light as your vying hands force a deep groan from his chest, the sound vibrating in your mouth, rattling your teeth.

It’s so good, he’s so good, and you want more, because too much is never, and will never, be enough.

“More, Daddy, more, more!”

“My greedy fucking girl,” he pants, pupils cavernous and carnivorous as they devour your precious little expressions; the way your nose scrunches and eyes roll white and mouth hangs open, emitting sugary sweet sounds in hot little huffs of air. “So needy, huh? So fucking desperate for Daddy’s cock and Daddy’s cum, aren’t you?”

“S’all I want, Daddy,” you nearly sob, head nodding stupidly to accentuate your point. “S’all I ever want,”

“That’s all, yeah? That’s all that’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, isn’t it?”

“Jus’ wanna be your perfect lil slut, Da-Daddy!”

“Cum on my cock, then,” he demands, pace never slowing. “Show Daddy how good you are and cum on his cock.”

Each pump of his hips, each brush of his cockhead against that spot sends more sparks coursing through your body, little flares of ecstasy collecting in the crevices of your body and igniting a satisfying inferno that spreads through your veins, blood fizzing as it rushes through your body, alighting every nerve until it reaches the apex of your thighs, and then you’re obeying his order, cunt convulsing as you gush heat all over his thick cock, his title shattering on your tongue, shards melting into gasps of air.

The blaze has spread to your brain now, tissues melting to goo as the flames lick the walls of your skull, extreme pleasure the most potent shot of novocaine to your brain, everything gone numb, dumb, under its influence.

“Tell me,” he nearly whimpers, breathy voice fading into growl as it cuts through the thick haze. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You!” you cry instantly, the word fragmenting as he pounds into you. “You, you, Daddy, I belong to you, wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s, ever.”

“Mine,” he snarls, the word imbued with such brutal possessiveness it stings your skin, his eyes shining bright with the elation of owning something so special, with the comforting knowledge that it is yours and yours only. “Forever.”

“For eternity,” you mewl out, head nodding in quick little motions.

“You’re goddamn right,“ he rasps, hips starting to stutter. “Your cunt, your tits, your entire fucking body, it’s all—ah, Christ—it’s all mine. You belong to me.”

The proclamation is spit into your mouth just as his cock throbs, pumping you full of thick cum. Your thighs tighten around his waist, squeezing him closer, as if you’re trying to wring every last drop from his body, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft whimper vibrates in your throat the moment he begins to pull out of you, and Dabi laughs again, murmuring out pacifying remarks doused with condescension as he pushes back into your sopping cunt, carrying you toward the bed.

With grace and fluidity, he manages to maneuver your knotted bodies under the fluffy comforter, keeping his cock from slipping out of you even an inch. A sweet little hum of contentment spills from your lips as you snuggle into his neck, riding on the tails of a giggle, the precious sound seeping into his skin.

It sends a shock of warmth through his system, your intoxicating happiness like bubbles of sunshine in his blood, and he emits his own hum, deep and vibrating against your temple as he allows the clutches of unconsciousness close in around him, because you’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

Forever.

✰ ✰ ✰

The early evening wind is cold but gentle as it plays with the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair, softly caressing his bare skin as it passes. A shiver slithers up his spine, chills erupting across his flesh, and Keigo hugs his arms tighter, desperate to retain as much body heat as physically possible.

I’ll be surprised if you can keep up with this for more than a week or so, Dabi had hollered out the open window of his car as he backed out of the parking lot, voice overlaying the growling of the Eldorado. Go ahead, prove me wrong! Show me your pathetically weak self-restraint isn’t as pathetic as I think it is.

And then he was gone, leaving Keigo standing alone in the steadily setting sun, strokes of fuchsia tingeing his gold curls.

The walk home should’ve been sobering, Dabi’s threats and promises bouncing off the walls of his skull, their direness reverberating in Keigo’s very bones. The walk home should’ve scared him enough to quit for good, forever, used needles bestrewn across the dry, sickly yellow grass like some sort of cliché omen, men with bruised eyes and scabbed skin staring as he passed them, unbeknownst to the fact that he’s exactly like them, that he could be them, one day.

And it did. It did scare him.

But not enough. Not in the right way.

It starts with a small, almost tender tingle beneath his skin, something birthed in his chest, in his soul, maybe, complemented by the anxious fluttering of his heart and the haphazard racing of his thoughts.

It grows as they do, becomes bigger, stronger, fiercer, almost voracious in it’s need to be sated as it eats through the blood in his veins, as the tingles turn to itches turn to pricks—sharp, desperate, painful.

By the time he arrives home it’s bigger than he is; a dark, suffocating cloud that enshrouds his form, zaps of lightning striking his skin, urging him to act, to soothe the sting they leave behind.

He knows it’s dumb, even as he’s doing it. He knows Dabi will find out, knows Dabi’s words were not merely empty threats, knows Dabi can and will follow through on his promises.

He knows this threatens everything. He knows.

And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Because this has grown out of control. This has engulfed him in its sickly sweet embrace, has invaded every single nook and dip and crevice in his body and filled it with an insatiable longing for poison, has overridden all of his thoughts and all of his feelings, all of his judgements and all of his impulses and corrupted his very sense of right and wrong, of permanent consequence; eaten through it like some sort of toxic acid and left emptiness in it’s place.

Emptiness that needs to be filled.

Just once more.

Just once more, he promises himself, fingers trembling as they scroll through his contacts, looking fruitlessly for someone Dabi might not know. Just once more, and then that’s it, he swears to it. Just once more, and then he’ll kick the habit for good, he promises.

He just needs it just once more; needs to feel that comforting rush of warmth embrace his veins and twine through his blood, his nerves, his tissues and bones and organs until he’s drowning in it, a sick, sweet paradise that’s all for him, that’s all his.

Just once more he needs to feel the safety of his lover as it bursts through his system, a feeling of euphoria, of pure bliss that saturates every bit of him until it’s all he is, until it’s all that matters.

It takes too long, whole body quivering with desire by the time Keigo secures a reliable supplier after fishing through a chain of people, the sun long gone below the horizon, his only source of light leaking from one sad lamp in the corner of his living room, pooling around the base in a greyish-yellow puddle.

Chisaki is the guy’s name, a friend had informed Keigo. He’s got good shit, but it’s gonna cost you.

Keigo’s never heard of him before, and in his hunger fuelled haze of addiction he can only hope this means Dabi hasn’t heard of him either. He knows he’s wrong, knows Dabi knows everyone in this fucking city by now, but he continues to hope anyway, as if the very act itself will somehow change the outcome.

In the moment, though, it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter that Dabi will inevitably find out, probably sooner rather than later. It doesn’t matter that this next fix may cost him you, permanently snatched form his grasp and whisked away to a secret land. It doesn’t matter that this could be the singular most fucked up mistake he’ll ever make in his life.

It doesn’t matter, because his true love is on it’s way, and it’s going to make everything alright again, even if only for a few hours.

✰ ✰ ✰

Tomura would be lying if he said the call that comes a mere few hours after Dabi’s supposed meeting with Keigo is surprising.

In a way, Tomura wishes it was.

It isn’t from him directly, and Tomura’s sure Keigo truly has no idea just how far reaching his—and now Dabi’s—drug empire reaches.

Tomura’s also sure Dabi warned Keigo of doing this exact thing and, just as they had predicted, Keigo hadn’t heeded that warning nearly as seriously as he should have.

It’s a request from one of their men stationed all the way on the other side of the city, a man Keigo must’ve played a torturous game of broken telephone to contact, a man reporting an order of two grams of China white to the good part of the city, the safe part of the city, the rich part of the city.

“This isn’t within my jurisdiction; I don’t even know how this guy got my number,” he says nervously, and Tomura can almost hear him fidgeting. “So I was wondering—I mean, should I do the delivery myself? Or do you have some other guy who’s a little closer? Not that I mind,” the man rushes to assure, and Tomura chuckles.

“Don’t worry about delivery. I’ve got just the person in mind,” he promises the man before hanging up.

Normally, Tomura would never handle a delivery himself, but this is a special case.

“Dabi, he broke,” Tomura’s saying as he climbs into his Maybach, phone held tightly between his ear and his shoulder, keys jingling in his palm. “Two grams of China white.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Dabi spits, though Tomura can hear the faint notes of disappointment cracking in his voice.

“We knew it would happen,” Tomura shrugs. “We knew he wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re doing the delivery yourself?” Dabi asks, voice high with surprise.

“Yeah, I…” Tomura trails off, chewing on his cheek. “I have a bad feeling.”

Dabi snorts. “A bad feeling? Since when are you superstitious? Since when do you give a fuck about any of our junkies—no, sorry, clients—at all?”

“Shut up,” Tomura snaps, and Dabi snickers. “Just have the shit ready, and don’t let her see.”

“Hit a nerve, did I? You goin’ soft for my girl?”

Tomura hangs up in response.

He can’t exactly explain it—or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it—but something thick and ominous has been sinking in his stomach since he first received that call; something heavy and toxic and full of sticky ink, something that feels very, very wrong.

Tomura isn’t stupid, and Dabi isn’t, either. Two grams is way too much smack for an addict that’s been cutting back as drastically as Keigo has been.

He hopes Keigo isn’t dumb enough to shoot it all at once, but he knows the way addiction roots itself in the mind, warping the brain into something illogical, something incomprehensible, something that craves only one thing and nothing else, no matter the cost.

He knows the way addicts work, the way addicts think, and the way these thought patterns are amplified by emotional triggers.

And as much as he’d never admit it, there is a tiny part of him buried deep within his soul that wished Dabi had refused the offer; that hoped that Dabi would go back on his word, decide this wasn’t worth it, that they’d get through to Keigo in a different, less dangerous way.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

✰ ✰ ✰

Despite the fact that it’s where every ounce of his smack has come from, Keigo Takami doesn’t know the name Shigaraki.

He’s heard you mention a man named Tomura in passing every once in a while—nothing more than a sentence or two, about how he picks you up on the days Dabi can’t, about how he shares your penchant for sugar—but he has no idea what the man looks like, or what his last name is, or the legacy said last name carries.

So when Tomura Shigaraki shows up on his front doorstep with a palm full of pure China white, Keigo is none the wiser.

It doesn’t seem to matter that this man is very clearly not the man he spoke to on the phone, not the man he nearly lost his mind attempting to chase down.

All that matters is that he’s got drugs, and he’s here.

Finally.

A smooth palm trembles as it shoves money into Tomura’s waiting hands, fingers eager and vying to have that powdery ecstasy between them.

Keigo doesn’t even care that Tomura doesn’t leave immediately after receiving payment—barely notices the man standing near his front door, watching with soured disgust as Keigo frantically readies his paraphernalia.

And that sinking feeling, full of heavy ink and acid, finally takes root in Tomura’s stomach as he watches Keigo pile a tiny mountain of heroin on his blackened, warped spoon, trembling hands careful not to spill even a single granule on his denim-clad thigh.

“Uh,” Tomura begins, unsure how to proceed, voice painfully flat. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Nah,” Keigo mumbles past the rubber held between his tightly clenched teeth, not even bothering to spare Tomura a glance, hyper-focused on his actions. “This is what I always shoot.”

Tomura’s tongue is too slow, words fading to ghosts on his tongue, unable to trigger Keigo’s rational memory at all. Because then that brownish liquid is sinking into his veins, and his head is falling backwards, mouth hung open in pure bliss, and he’s gone.

✰ ✰ ✰

It would be a lie if Dabi said that he didn’t expect some sort of update call within the next few hours.

It would also be a lie if Dabi said he expected it to be from the Goddamn hospital.

It isn’t exactly surprising that Keigo had chosen to put you down as his next of kin instead of your adoptive parents—his own flesh and blood, his only flesh and blood, his precious baby sister.

Vibrations quiver gently though the mattress, a low whine of protest slipping from your lips as you grope around with halfhearted interest for your phone, buried within the ridges of Dabi’s comforter.

The bright light of the screen outshines the small flickering television a few feet away and your lids squint in retaliation, vision temporarily blurred and face scrunched with concentration as you attempt to make out the bleary letters written across the top.

The hospital.

The words give you a jolt of pure adrenaline, whole body shooting up suddenly despite your sore muscles aching in protest, tingling adrenaline eating through the fatigue like an urgent corrosive, alighting your limbs, alerting your mind.

“Who is it?” Dabi asks with sleepy disinterest, gaze never leaving the television, slim fingers still tracing mindless patterns on your bare skin.

“The hospital,” you breathe, voice sounding faint and far away even though you can feel it distinctly vibrating within your chest.

Your mouth has gone dry, like your tongue is a thick swab of cotton, soaking up all the saliva from the corners and crevices of your mouth.

“What?” Dabi says, but you don’t respond, everything feeling numb, muted, muffled as your thumb taps the ANSWER button.

And then, everything goes blank.

You barely remember saying hello. You barely remember responding to any of the nurses questions—about your brother, your relation to him, your identity. You only remember a single sentence with startling clarity, something that rings loud and lucid throughout your skull, bouncing off the thick walls of bone and reverberating endlessly.

“Your brother has overdosed on heroin.”

It’s so simple, so straightforward, and yet your mind can’t seem to comprehend it, can’t seem to deconstruct and absorb those six simple words.

And then, everything goes blank again, brainwaves flatlining, rushing blood a strong, steady ringing in your ears. You can feel your body going through the appropriate motions, can feel the expected questions bubbling up your throat and past your lips, frantic, urgent, leaving an unpleasant buzz on your tongue—Is he alive? Is he stable? Can you come see him?—but you have no control over them, consciousness curling in on itself as it attempts to create sense from the situation.

How could this be possible? Keigo had stopped, hadn’t he? At least, that’s what he had told you, what he had promised you…And you had been stupid enough to believe him.

Because you had wanted to believe him.

You had wanted it to be easy and effortless, clean and concise, void of all the pain and intricacies and work that usually comes with achieving such a feat.

You had wanted, so desperately, for it to be the truth, for everything to go back to normal, just like that, in a mere instant.

A block of disappointment, filled with shame and glazed with guilt, sinks heavy and sharp in your stomach. It cracks as it hits the pit, contents leaking into the bubbly acid and causing it to roil.

He lied to you.

But he isn’t fully to blame, either. You should’ve known better, a tickle at the back of your mind chides gently. You shouldn’t have taken it at face value. You should’ve pushed harder, done a shred of investigation yourself to verify his claims, asked for more concrete proof than the sheen in his hair and the glow in his cheeks.

But you hadn’t wanted to.

Because you had wanted it to all be better instantaneously. You had wanted Keigo to prove all of Dabi’s words wrong, had wanted Keigo to show Dabi how incredible your big brother is, how vivacious your big brother is, how he can always do what he sets his mind to, no matter what.

How utterly, devastatingly stupid you were.

“Hey!” Dabi’s voice, full of concern and garnished with a touch of fear, finally slices through the thick mist that has encrusted your brain. “What’s going on? Baby, please, talk to me, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

“Did you know?”

The question is small, frail, nothing more than a wisp of breath, so fragile it’s as if a tone any louder would simply smash it to bits.

“What?” Dabi frowns, eyebrows drawn in confusion, sapphire rapidly searching your face as you stare dead over his shoulder, unblinking eyes focused on the drywall, those lithe fingers wrapped around your biceps flexing, blunt nails biting your flesh nothing more than a faint pressure, flesh gone numb.

“Did you know?”

The question is stronger now, harder now, firm with resolution and conviction. Finally, your gaze meet his, eyes blazing with a shield of watery glass, so fierce that he flinches a little, features crunching in irritation at his own surprised reaction a second later.

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know Keigo was still using?”

For a moment, it falls silent, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, whirring, clicking into place, his gaze methodically scanning your face, blazing in his scrutiny as his mind cards through all of his options, potential scenarios and possible outcomes, categorizing them in terms of likeliness.

Then he’s cold, hands dropping from your body, features hardened into that carefully crafted mask of incomprehensible passivity.

“Since when? Since you began meeting with him secretly, behind my back?” Dabi pauses, but your expression does not falter, stare solid as stone. “Yeah, I knew. Of course I fucking knew.”

Sapphire burns into your face and your molars grind together, glaring back at him just as fiercely. Viciousness brews in your chest, boiling as it singes your ribs.

“You know, I could’ve helped you,” Dabi continues, notes of accusation in his voice, “had you just told me what was going on instead of sneaking around like that.”

“Oh, don’t start. Don’t try to make this about you and how you feel left out. Don’t try to make me the bad guy.”

“And, so, what?” he shrugs, raising an eyebrow in mock question. “I’m the bad guy because I continued to supply your brother with exactly what he asked for without having even an inkling of the lies he had been feeding you? If you had just told me, we could’ve tag-teamed him. We could’ve beat him at his own game. We could’ve won! And then, maybe, none of this would’ve ever happened!”

“I couldn’t have told you, and you know it!” you cry, voice burning veraciously in your chest, words blistering your tongue. “You—You wouldn’t have helped, you would’ve put an end to everything straight away and locked me up like some sort of—some sort of prize, never letting me out of your sight for a fucking second ever again!”

“No, you are just assuming that,” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help you—help you both. Do you—Do you really think I’d have reacted that way instead of offering to help?”

“Yeah! I do! I’m not the villain here!”

“Neither am I!” he roars, eyes alight with blue fire, surging forward to grasp your shoulders.

A surprised yelp hiccups past your lips and Dabi tugs you toward him roughly, your chest pressed to his as he leans over your face, so close your noses nearly bump together.

“Y’know, it isn’t my fault your brother’s a fucking junkie, alright?” His grip tightens, painting his fingertips into your flesh in splashes of blue and violet. “It isn’t my fault he lied to you, just like they always do, because it’s more important to him to keep heroin in his life than it is to keep you in his life. It isn’t my fault you just assumed the worst of me instead of being honest with me, coming to me, asking for help!”

“What else was I supposed to assume, Dabi?” your nose twitches with the threat of a sniffle, the ghost of a sob, and you exhale harshly, a feeble attempt to halt it. “How was I supposed to know any different, when this is the way you’ve been treating me?”

“Everything I’ve done—every single fucking thing—was done to protect you, I can promise you that. I love you more than anything in this world, can’t you see that?”

His voice fissures on the last word, breaking under the weight of authenticity, but you do not yield, holding steadfast as you force your next question from your mouth, slight tremors running through your words as your body trembles in his hands.

“If you love me more than anything then answer me honestly. Did you supply him with drugs tonight?” The sentence tapers off into a whisper, those tears that you had held so stubbornly behind your lashes finally spilling over, strolling down your cheeks in pairs.

The silence is stifling, your breath held stagnant in your lungs as you wait, vying eyes searching his face for any shreds of clues and finding nothing but truth.

“No,” he finally responds, but his voice is kinder, softer. “How could I, when I’ve been with you all night?”

“But they were your drugs, yes?”

“Sweetheart, every drug in this city is my drug,” he chuckles a little at your naivety. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t give them to him tonight. Besides, the amount he’d need to OD is more than what I’ve been selling him.”

“But…But you…”

Agony cracks your words into sharp shards that pierce your organs, and you cough around the pain, both palms pressed flat to your chest as you try and hold your body together.

What is the truth? Is there even a truth? One correct, indisputable answer?

“I don’t—I’m—I can’t—”

A dense blend of anguish and confusion drapes across your brain, burning holes through your thoughts and rendering them incomplete, incomprehensible, a tangle of half finished sentences.

Because none of this makes any sense anymore, trust and truth shattered to pieces, scattered among skepticism and deceit.

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It seems as though you can’t inhale enough air into your lungs, organs shrivelling up and rejecting the oxygen your broken, uneven gasps send rushing down your throat. Your body crumples in a heap on Dabi’s lap, and the air around him changes instantly, its suffocating heaviness eradicated as love dipped in guilt devours it.

Ferocious sobs slash through your chest, ribs creaking beneath their force as your whole form stutters, heavy sorrow weighting your heart. It aches, each dull pulse procuring another wave of spiked anguish, and you suck a hiss through your teeth, furling in further on yourself in a desperate attempt to quell the pain.

Gathering your limp body in his arms, Dabi hushes you gently, your tears seeming to have melted his hard exterior, dousing the flames raging in his eyes.

“Shh,” he murmurs, a palm rhythmically smoothing over your hair as you weep into his chest, little fingers scrabbling against his bare skin. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”

His soothing voice calms the turmoil in your chest, his tender touches dimming the chaos in your skull, and you snuggle into him, seeking more of his solace.

“Listen to me,” he pulls back, taking your salt-sticky face between his palms. “I love you, you hear me? I love you, and all I want to do is protect you. From everything. I’m sorry that this has happened. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to keep you safe, I promise.”

A pause, a moment for his words to brand themselves into the tissues of your brain, steady sapphire boring into your face, bright with sincerity.

“Maybe I didn’t do the best job, or make the best choices, but they were all with your—with our—best intentions and interests in mind,” he continues, the edges of his voice rough, eroded by emotion. “I’m trying with all my might. I love you more than anything. We’re a team, right? Let’s solve this together. No more secrets, no more lies, from either of us. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”

“Neither do you,” you mumble, words knotted in strings of spit.

He laughs, and it sounds wet, large hands cradling your head to his body again. “You’re right. Neither do I. So let’s make it better, together, okay? You and me, always.”

“You and me, always,” you repeat.

“Always, baby,” calloused fingers brush back strands of sweat-soaked hair from your forehead, lidded eyes watching his actions with fondness. “Now,” he whispers, a sad little smile on his face. “I think we have a hospital to visit.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The scent of Clorox burns your nose as you hurry down the dull white corridors, frantic eyes flying across each of the silver nameplates bolted to the wall outside each door until finally, you find the corresponding number the nurse had given you.

And although you knew the sight you were to be greeted with would hurt, you didn’t expect it to be quite so heart-wrenchingly gruesome.

Lilac encompasses his closed eyes, the tiny spider veins knotted across his eyelids a deep, sickening purple. Dried blood, well on it’s way to forming thick scabs, has pooled and oxidized in the lines of his lips, cracked open from dehydration.

Dim curls, matted with sweat and salt, stick to his forehead and his temples, their usual lively gold now dulled and void of their sheen. Sallow skin stretches across all his sharp edges—his knuckles and his wrists and his elbows and his collarbones—lacking that healthy, radiant glow Keigo had always seemed to emit before.

It’s hard to look at him like this, veins and nostrils hooked up to a tangle of clear tubes and whirring machines, the steady beep of his heart in direct juxtaposition to the erratic thumping of your own.

Nausea swells in your stomach, acidic bile burning up, up, up your esophagus, but you swallow against it, teeth clenched as your force a deep, calm breath out your nose.

“Is this the all-time-low you kept talking about?”

You don’t look at him as you speak, gaze still captivated by your feeble big brother, the question trembling with muted anger.

“Yeah,” Dabi says quietly. “This is it.“

This is it. This has to be it; there’s no where else for him to go from here, except into the ground—and that’s forever.

Your voice rouses Keigo, golden eyelashes fluttering open to reveal bloodshot topaz, filmy gaze taking a moment to clear before it focuses on you, recognition shocking clarity into his brain.

He exhales your name in a small, weak huff, fingers twitching against the threadbare bedspread, as if he yearns to reach out for you, to grab you and pull you towards him and never let go.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, feet bolted to the floor, veins filled with something colder, sharper, than ice.

It’s Dabi who gives you the nudge you need, his gentle touch torching the frost coating your body and jumpstarting your limbs, finally allowing that familiar presence of your big brother draw you in, as it’s done so many times before.

And then you’re running to him, crossing the sterile room in a mere few strides and flinging yourself down on his hospital bed, arms latched tightly around his neck, face buried against his chest.

He’s saying something, you can feel his words vibrating against your cheek as his frail arms wrap around your waist, but it all sounds muffled to you, nothing more than a steady, hazy stream of his voice, sentiments drowning in your own ragged breaths and vicious sobs.

Those large hands skim across your form, patting and grabbing and kneading as if they can’t believe you’re here, as if they can’t believe you’re real, as if you’ll disappear from their grasp the moment they aren’t on you anymore.

His touch causes something to break, cracking wide open at the core of your soul, so deep, so dark you’re terrified it might swallow you whole. Your body crumples under the strain, curling into the warmth and comfort your big brother provides—that only your big brother can provide, that your big brother will always provide, no matter the circumstances.

Everything hurts, and you cling tighter to him, fingers twisting in his thin hospital gown as claws of despair shred your lungs and tear at your stomach, desperate to be felt, acknowledged, known.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Keigo croaks, his voice dense with spit. “It’s okay, it’s okay, niisan’s here, it’s okay.”

Those roaming hands clutch you tighter, pressing you close to his heart and promising to keep you together, to keep you whole as those talons threaten to rip you apart. Nothing can hurt you anymore—not here, not now, not with Keigo wrapped around you.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like this, cuddled up in your big brother’s arms as silent tears leak from your eyes, his lips pressing routine kisses to the crown of your head as you cry, but it’s long enough for Dabi to leave, smoke, and then return, the scent of nicotine twined around his body, his reentrance bringing a whiff of it with him.

Finally, you lift your head, swollen eyes blinking slow and sticky, Keigo rendered as nothing more than a wavering blur through through the thick tears coating your vision.

“You can’t...” you begin, words fading to ghosts in your throat, weighing heavy and bitter on your tongue. “This has to stop, Keigo. We can’t just...We can’t just sit around waiting and hope it gets better on it’s own. We need help. You need help.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice grating on his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you’re murmuring out, pacifying palms rhythmically running over his matted curls, a fresh bout of tears shining in your eyes. “I’m just happy you’re alive, Keigo.”

“I should’ve never lied to you,” he whimpers, face screwed up as if the words are painful, barbed on his tongue. “I just—I wanted you—”

And, really, that’s it. He wanted you. He didn’t just want you to be proud of him, nor did he just want you to stop worrying so much. He wanted you, all of you, to himself again. He wanted you, safe and sound and at home, where you should’ve been all along, where you’ll always belong.

As it turns out, he’s just as selfish as Dabi.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I want you; I want you to get better, I want my big brother back.”

And it hurts to hear that, your voice so raw, so honest, cut open with a sharp razor as emotion spills out and washes over him in burning waves, his eyes glazing over as his bottom lip twitches.

“I miss you, Keigo. I miss all the things we used to do together, before this—this monster that you’re grappling with took root. I miss getting ice cream from that mom and pop shop a few streets over; I miss going for bike rides as the sun set, and I miss stargazing at the park after it sunk; I miss it all. Don’t you?”

The question cracks on your tongue, more tears dripping down your cheeks as your eyes search his face, begging him to see your sincerity, begging him to say yes, genuity written into the creases of your forehead.

His own tears, caught so artfully by his long lashes, finally break free from their confines, streaming in pairs across his hollowed face. Because, yeah, he does, he misses those moments more than anything in the world—because, really, nothing else matters more than those sweet little memories made with the one person he loves most, the one person he loves more than anything or anyone else.

Not even heroin.

“You can do it, Keigo. I know you can. You’re so—” A hiccup cuts you off but you swallow past it, powering on, voice thick with love, care, belief. “You’re so strong, niisan; you’re the strongest person I know, and you’re a hell of a long stronger than this addition, I’m absolutely sure of it.”

Both of his hands grip one of yours with such force it’s a marvel his sharp knuckles don’t slice right through the thin skin stretched tight and taut across them. You place your other hand atop his, dainty and gentle, thumb running across his flesh in soothing motions.

“I don’t want to watch you kill yourself slowly,” you tell him, resolution firm in your voice. “And I won’t. I won’t do it, niisan. Not anymore.”

Blood drains from his face at your statement, skin gone from sickly to ashen, and his body goes rigid, hands still as stone in your palms.

“Is this goodbye?”

“No,” Dabi cuts in before you can question him about what the heck that’s supposed to mean, coming to perch on the parallel edge of Keigo’s bed. “This is we’re here to help.”

That sentence should bring a rush of much-needed relief gushing through Keigo’s veins, loosening his tight muscles and unclenching his jaw and relieving the stress that has snuggled into his very soul. It should make him feel revitalized. It should make him feel elated.

But it doesn’t.

Because Dabi’s eyes are hard, and while his gaze is fiery, it holds no warmth, the flames of contempt blazing in his irises contradicting his flat words. A rough palm clamps itself over Keigo’s collarbone, a poor imitation of friendly, and Dabi leans forward.

“Make no mistake,” he murmurs in Keigo’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear, the force of his grip tightening to bone crushing. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

Keigo’s shock must be evident on his face, shining in his eyes and trembling on his lips, because Dabi smirks—a small quirk up of his lips, arrogant and self-satisfied—before he pulls back completely.

This is the second time Dabi has surprised him, in all of Keigo’s years of knowing him. This is the second time Dabi has proven to him that he is, in come capacity, capable of thinking about people other than himself—even if Keigo’s sure this decision isn’t entirely separate from Dabi’s own agenda.

And while Keigo still can’t convince himself that Dabi has your best interests in mind, it’s abundantly clear that he has some of your interests in mind, this singular action speaking volumes.

Because Dabi rarely, if ever, goes back on his word; it’s a well known fact at this point that his threats are never empty threats, always containing some sort of meaning, some sort of promise, and that thought sends spikes of ice shooting up Keigo’s spine.

If you notice the odd interaction between the two of them, you don’t say anything, a gentle squeeze bringing Keigo’s dumbfounded attention back to you.

“I have some news,” you begin softly, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I’m coming back home.”

That belated elation finally floods his veins, warm and tingling as it rushes through his body and eradicates all of the desolation Dabi had just instilled in him, a genuine smile breaking through the hard trepidation coating his face.

“And Dabi’s coming with me.”

The bright happiness that had blossomed in his blood dries up instantly, veins shrivelled and parched, panic and despair bolting through his body like sharp spears of lightning, and Keigo’s expression withers, face screwed up with a certain sourness before it droops, giving in, giving up, features weighted and grim as he nods his understanding.

“Compromise,” Dabi says, and while his voice is amicable enough, something sharp glints in his eyes, something sinister tugging at his lips.

Still, it’s something. It’s a start. And Keigo will take anything he can get.

Compromise. Compromise.

Keigo supposes he can live with that.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #takami keigo x reader #tw:toxic relationship #tw:minimal prep #tw:drugs

505 notes · View notes

averageanonymous · 3 months

Text

Summary: The new Grand Duke of Hell has requested an Audience with the recently appointed Supreme Archangel.

This is somewhat of a sequel to This Post/Ficlet. It doesn't need to be read in order though. More info at the end.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“The Grand Duke of Hell has requested an audience,” Uriel says, just short of a sneer, as he enters Aziraphale’s ‘office’. (Of course, it isn’t really an office. Just a desk in a secluded corner of heaven. Gabriel hadn't even had a desk, apparently. Aziraphale had insisted on one.) He tosses a folder in front of him.

“Always nice to see you, Uriel,” Aziraphale greets his fellow archangel without looking up from the documents he is working on, pointedly ignoring the not-remotely-subtle roll of Uriel's eyes. “You said an audience with the Grand Duke? Somewhat irregular…but in light of recent developments, I suppose an audience isn't unjustified.”

“Mm,” Uriel turns to leave, barely pausing to throw over his shoulder, “First floor boardroom, five minutes.”

Aziraphale looks up sharply, sputtering, “Five minutes!?” But the other angel is already too far away to bother answering, if he even heard at all. Aziraphale shuffles his papers together in a rush and places them in a desk drawer before gathering up the folder left by Uriel and starting quickly towards the lift.

Honestly, he thinks as the lift door opens, I don't expect them to like the situation, but this is ridiculous. He steps in and presses the button to take him to the first floor. It's as close to “neutral” as exists in the building shared by Heaven and Hell with the exception of the lobby.

As the lift begins the long drop down, he flips open the folder and scans through the pages. They’re basic audience request forms, followed by a contractual agreement to refrain from all hostilities including but not limited to maiming, dismembering, beheading and spontaneous combustion. The section on the request form where it's meant to indicate the reason for the meeting has been left blank. Aziraphale checks the signatures, but doesn't recognize a name in the messy scrawl.

He assumes that Shax took up the role of Grand Duke. She seemed quite ambitious… though perhaps she would have taken on Dagon’s responsibilities on the Dark Council and the Lord of the Files would have moved into the coveted position. Either way, it didn't make much difference which demon was in the seat. They were all cut from the same cloth.

Something in him twists at that thought. Not all, he amends. There were exceptions to every rule.

As the lift approaches the first floor, he straightens his bowtie, adjusts his coat, rolls his shoulders back. He lets just a little bit of Heaven's Grace shine in his skin, not too much, but enough to remind whoever it is he is meeting just who it is they're dealing with. He's not just an angel who spent most of his years on earth. He's not the Angel of the Eastern Gate of Eden. He's no Cherubim or Principality. He is The Supreme Archangel of Heaven. With that, the lift doors open.

A hall with several gray doors greets him. The gray tile floor is accented by intricate patterns of black and white. At the end of the hall, the largest door is flanked by angelic guards on one side, and a pair of mid-level demons on the other. Standard procedure for any officially sanctioned meeting of the representatives of Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale approaches the door quickly. His internal clock indicates that he is three minutes late. He tells himself that there's nothing wrong with making Hell wait a few minutes, though. After all, with how they run things Downstairs, waiting is surely quite familiar to them.

With a nod to the angels, who respectfully nod in return (at least the lower angelic ranks don't seem to hold the same ire towards him as the upper ranks), Aziraphale pushes open the door and enters the room-

His heart literally stops beating, the physical functions of his corporation all stalling as his mind freezes, attempts to re-process what he is seeing, and fails miserably. There must be a mistake, or someone is playing a great bloody joke, or SOME other explanation that makes who is seated before him, lounging at the head of the table with his legs up like he owns the place, make sense.

It doesn't make sense. It can’t make sense.

Aziraphale finally finds it in him to choke out, “Crowley??”

“Don't think I've ever seen you so speechless, angel,” Crowley drawls, uncrossing his ankles and uncoiling from his chair, every bit the Serpent. “Something got your feathers in a twist?”

Aziraphale tries to take in the demon as he steps around the table. There's so much to take in, though, that Aziraphale finds it difficult to even look at him. He forces himself to anyway. His gaze is immediately drawn to Crowley’s wings in their full manifestation. Even folded tightly against his back, they're huge and lustrous, shining like polished obsidian. It’s clearly a statement. And so is the rest of his appearance. He has a black metal circlet on his head, two curling horns giving the illusion of Crowley himself having horns. His dark red hair is longer than it has been in years, curling around his shoulders. Aziraphale can see black snake skin on the sides of his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt and reappearing on the back of his hands. And at the ends of his fingers he's got claws, for Heaven's sake. His gaze travels back to Crowley's face, to his eyes, hidden behind his usual dark lenses, and then, unbidden, to his lips. His eyes snap down, but he knows Crowley saw.

He inhales shakily, trying to gather himself. Memories of the last time they were together are themselves almost a physical blow. Aziraphale can recall with perfect clarity the feel of those lips pressed to his. He can remember the array of unfamiliar sensations and emotions it elicited.

Aziraphale finally steels himself and looks back up at Crowley, Grand Duke of Hell.

“I know we didn’t leave things on the best of terms, but whatever it is you think you're playing at, this isn't funny,” Aziraphale finally snaps at him, dropping the file on the table.

“Not meant to be,” Crowley shrugs, “I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“After everything you said to me about- about not rejoining their side-”

“I'm a demon,” Crowley cuts him off. “I lied.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “So that's how it is,” he says, not sure where this leaves them.

“That's how it is,” Crowley agrees. He claps his hands together, “Right. Now that's out of the way. I didn't come here just to shock you, Supreme Archangel. There's things that need to be discussed. Now this Second Coming nonsense your lot have cooked up -”

Aziraphale shakes his head and holds up his hands, confusion and betrayal warring within him, “Crowley, you can't expect me to play this charade with you.”

“Not a charade, angel,” Crowley corrects him.

Aziraphale huffs in frustration and steps closer, eyes darting to the sides of the room as though the walls are listening, and says with quiet vehemence, “Oh, really? You’re the actual Grand Duke of Hell, and you think that we can, what?”

“Work together. Obviously,” Crowley hisses back in a stage whisper, “You and me against the forces of Heaven and Hell, working towards the common good of humanity.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, “You know it isn’t that simple.”

“It can be,” Crowley says, taking a step towards Aziraphale. They’re close now, close enough to touch. Crowley hesitantly reaches across the space between them. When Aziraphale doesn't pull back, he tentatively curls his pinky around Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale looks down at their hands, joined by that smallest touch, and feels his heart beating a quick rhythm in his chest.

“You and me, angel,” Crowley says again, his voice sure. The mockery is gone now, the act vanished. Beneath the gaudy costume he is simply himself. Crowley continues seriously, “We have an opportunity here. You at the top of your totem pole, me at the top of mine. What do you say?”

Aziraphale meets his gaze.

For the first time since before the Metatron came to his shop, Aziraphale feels…

Hope.

He curls his pinky around Crowley’s in return, their fingers linked in a promise.

“Where do we start?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading! This (even more so than its prequel ficlet) is essentially a first-draft mini-scene from a multi-chapter fic that I'll likely never write in entirety. I figure I can let them gather dust on my computer, WIPs dead in the water, or I can release them to the internet. I'd rather let them be free. But hey, maybe someday I'll write enough of them to string together into an actual story.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #supreme archangel aziraphale #grand duke of hell crowley #scenes from a fic i'll never write

28 notes · View notes

devouringbodies · 10 months

Note

Hi!

Do you have any hannigram fanfic recs from hannibal's pov?

Hey! Hannibal pov can be kinda hard to come by I feel and personally I can be a little picky about it lol. But there are definitely some great ones out there.

Several of the fics in my first rec list are from his pov btw!! Or at least alternate pov. More than just the few I specifically noted. But here's a few more from Hannibal POV:

Heal your wolf(hound) well by devotional_doldrums - currently a wip, season 1 au that deals very closely with Will's encephalitis and Hannibal's developing (to his ire) conflicted feelings about it. Surprisingly very cute and great background character stuff.

The storyteller by gzdacz - in a similar vein to the above, but involves Hannibal dealing with the fall out to Will succumbing (in a way) to his encephalitis. Very psychological. Very interesting character study of Hannibal! Love seeing that man in situations he can't control lmao.

Fill my mouth with your name by @ghostforwhat - vignette style over the seasons and then a post fall study. Very romantic, great look at a post fall dynamic in a sea of so many of those, I also just love language stuff in fanfic, it's one of my buttons, and done beautifully here.

The sun returning by jonnimir - another post fall, hannibal and Will are living in a cabin in the woods during winter and it's bringing back memories for Hannibal. Despite that it's mostly light hearted, a holiday fic technically at its core, and deals with Hannibal's spirituality in a really interesting and believable way.

Pi's lullaby by t_pock - ok so generally I'm not a fan of kidfic at all, but this one is really really good. It's super cute, the oc child is simply wonderful, Will here is just wonderful. And it mixes the wholesome cuteness of kidfic with Hannibal's obsessive covetousness perfectly.

Hope those fuel your needs! Again I'm sorry if any links don't work, or if I messed anything up. I read so much fic sometimes I think I tend to blur stuff together lol.

#asks #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal fic rec #hannigram fic rec #hannibal pov #fic recs #🪰

57 notes · View notes

tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

Note

Love prompt #18 (why can't you just accept my help?), Harry time travels back to when Tom is in his early Hogwarts days before he discovers his identity and is having a hard time.

thank you for giving me a prompt! this was fun, and it got longer than i intended. honestly, it could be even longer 🤦 but i decided to cut it off. i hope you like it, anon! and if anyone else wants to send a prompt, please feel free. you can make your own or pick from here.

“Up late again, Riddle?”

Tom didn’t easily startle. He supposed it came from growing up in an orphanage where the walls were thin, and there was no such thing as privacy. With no locks on the door and no way to stop whoever from entering whenever they wanted. So when Harry Potter had entered the common room in the dead of night and hovered by the alcove to the dormitory stairs, watching and contemplating whether or not he would say something, Tom had known immediately.

He had felt those green eyes staring like a cool rain on the back of his neck. Something about them was profoundly unnatural, especially now in the dying light of the fireplace, the sparse candle-lit lanterns, and the single stick Tom had beside him for reading.

Tom expected their world-weary sombre during these times of war, but there was something greater to their depths. Much like the Black Lakes’ green-tinged water from the window on the far side of the common room, hinting at what could be beneath the surface but so vast that once one tried to see past the few tens or so metres in front of them, they only found deep inscrutable darkness.

Tom turned away from Potter’s never-ending green and continued to read through the never-ending book before him. Picking a poison, his thoughts supplied unhelpfully. “No, Potter. I am obviously a figment of your imagination.” Tom felt Potter’s careful approaching steps pause and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, “It’s rather revealing that you think of me enough to consider that a possibility.”

Potter huffed, his steps louder with his ire towards Tom, “I don’t think about you, Riddle.”

“Then why are you here?” And though Tom asked it with an air of indifference, he was curious.

Potter was odd. He arrived at the start of the year with little to no fanfare: an introduction, a pat on the back, and a timetable of classes. He blended in with the Slytherins and was welcomed with passing intrigue; after all, a mysterious Potter child appearing out of the woodwork so late in his magical education was something to pitter about. However, his confidently revealed halfblood status hadn’t earned him any favours or lasting interest.

And with his odd attachment to Tom, of all people, Slytherin House’s poor little orphan mudblood—Tom’s jaw clenched at the thought—Potter indeed hadn’t remained coveted company.

Potter fell into the seat across from Tom, a low-backed inky-black tufted velvet armchair, and shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. When I got up to wash my face, you weren’t in bed. I thought-“ Potter’s mouth moved in odd shapes like he was making words but couldn’t produce their sounds. Eventually, he gave up with another smaller shrug.

Tom’s gracious mood was steadily declining. He wasn’t Potter’s pity project. He didn’t need a minder. “Potter, your misplaced feelings of concern or whatever odd obsession you have with trying to be my friend are unnecessary and unappreciated.”

It had only been once during Potter’s time here—but clearly the boy was holding onto it much longer than Tom—that Tom had an…unfortunate after-hour run-in with some of the older Slytherins. He had given as good as he got and begrudgingly acknowledged that Potter’s spontaneous arrival and subsequent assistance had been a significant factor in Tom’s more-than-minor but less-than-major injuries.

It didn’t mean he had to be grateful to Potter or anything. He certainly wasn’t grateful Potter had seen him so battered and weak. So stupidly helpless.

It hadn’t helped that after the incident, Potter, who had mainly been avoiding everyone and especially Tom, had become his unrelenting shadow. And given Tom’s vicious nature and Potter’s clear competency in Defense, they had only become further ostracised in their House. Though, somewhat pleasingly, the avoidance seemed more out of fear than disgust.

Potter frowned, “I don’t get your problem, Riddle. What’s the big deal? Is it so bad that I like hanging out with you?”

Hanging out? More like hanging around, Tom sighed. “You don’t like ‘hanging out’ with me. And the ‘big deal’ is you clearly have some sort of saviour complex. You aren’t interested in who I am or what I’m doing,” and Tom rathered Potter to stay that way, “you’re just latching on to someone you think is hapless. Making yourself feel better about your own life and situation by ‘helping’ me.”

Tom glanced up from his text, Potter’s face was comically agape in horror. He continued, “I’ve seen you talking with that Hufflepuff half-giant. It’s the same for him. You like outcasts because you know that with your own halfblood status in the Wizarding World, you’ll never truly be accepted even though you’ll get much farther and have greater opportunities readily available than any of us. You enjoy that sparkly look he has in his eyes when you talk to him, and you want me to treat you with the same sort of awe and admiration for daring to stand by my side and associate with someone so far ‘below’ you.”

Tom’s chin held high throughout his little speech. Confident in his deduction of Potter’s inner thoughts and machinations. But then Potter started laughing.

And laughing. And laughing.

He laughed so long and hard that Tom feared someone would come and find them. Students hating him was one thing, but Tom had nearly every professor eating out of the palm of his hand and would like to keep things that way. He hissed, “Potter will you cease your incessant laughter.”

It took several more moments and several large, inhaled breaths before Potter could manage to pull himself together. And when he did, it was simply to shake his head and say, “Riddle. For someone so arrestingly smart, you are an idiot.”

Tom was struck speechless. He’d never been called an idiot before. And never by a person barely passing something as simple as Divination, of all things.

“Why can’t you just accept my help?” Potter asked after a small beat of silence. “I’m probably the only person around you that doesn’t have shitty intentions. And I am interested in you and what you’re doing.” He stood up from the chair to pick up one of the other tomes Tom had scattered on the table before him. “I know you’re trying really hard to learn more about yourself. That you think you aren’t just a muggleborn. I believe you.”

Tom blinked once, blank-faced. Potter believed him?

Potter flipped quickly through the pages of the genealogy book Tom had discarded as useless, with no trace of the name Riddle anywhere. He stopped suddenly and turned the book towards Tom, holding it open on his lap, the spine of the book against his stomach, “You talk to the snake carvings, and sometimes the portraits with snakes scattered around the dungeons and some of the upper floors when you think no one is looking. I’m looking.” Potter points to a single name: Marvolo Gaunt. “Parseltongue is a Slytherin trait. Extremely rare in England. Only one family left alive is known to speak it.”

Tom’s eyes, which had been staring at the name in shock and wonder and elation and confusion, found Potter’s again and saw no expectation. No mischief, ridicule, or pride in showing Tom the errors of his desperate searching. Tom saw no building exchange, no intelligent, craftily prepared trade for Potter’s revealing of Tom’s most sought-after answer.

Tom simply saw hope. He saw Potter’s open and encouraging face. He saw Potter’s desire for Tom’s happiness—not his appreciation or gratitude.

At the realisation, something warm and coiling had settled in the centre of Tom’s chest. And suddenly, those fathomless green eyes were the clearest shards of sea glass, exposing the wonders of wreckages and treasures and the unexplored if Tom would only dive in.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #pov: tom #my fic #1.3k words #prompt ask #this was fun #i hope you like it #i'm not sure if it'll meet expectations 🫣

107 notes · View notes

b00kdiary · 2 years

Text

An Old Flame (VI Part 2)

Aemond Targaryen X Targaryen reader

Where two old flames meet again after 6 years and now as grown adults, their desires and feelings are in conflict with the civil war brewing within their families.

Warnings: swearing, violence, death and major angst ( mature content 18+)

Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen)

“It is said that as Targaryen’s we are closer to Gods than to men,” Rhaenyra said, her face tight as she beheld my brothers and me “and the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps”

I considered her words, considered the lesson.

The blood of the Targaryen’s, the blood of fire, is strong in you Y/N.

“But if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms we must answer to their Gods” I watch as a soldier carries over a large and coveted book, stopping before us. “If you take this errand, you go as messengers, not warriors.”

My lips thinned at the words, the commands of a Queen for peace during times of war and her eyes raked over me, definitive and absolute as if reading my displeasure.

“You must take no part in any fighting” She continued firmly, looking us all over “Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

Luke did not hesitate to step forward, his hand moving to lay over the aged cover and his head bowing obediently once before lifting and locking eyes with my mother.

“I swear,” He said solemnly.

Jace and I connect gazes momentarily, his weariness and ire a mirror to my own and yet as a Prince and Princess of the realm, we both step forward too.

“I swear,” We say in unison, our hands lying beside one another as our mother nods in grave approval.

“Cregan Stark…” My mother begins, a small smile lighting her lips as she thinks to the Lord of Winterfell “is closer to your age than mine. I would hope as men you can find some common interest” She hands Jace the rolled and stamped letter, her throat bobbing slightly as she observes him.

“Yes, your grace” Jace replies coolly, his eyes softening when he notices our mother’s hesitancy.

It was no easy task to send your children into the world with targets on their backs.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here” Rhaenyra continues, her eyes falling to Luke and I notice how tender they become as if truly seeing how small he was in comparison to Jace. “You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys and…”

Her gaze lifts to me now, sterner and more controlled and I imperceptibly lift my shoulders, straightening my back “Lord Borros is an eternally proud man, he will be honoured to host a Prince and Princess of the realm… and your dragons. I expect you will receive a warm welcome.”

“Yes, mother-“ Luke stutters, cringing “Your Grace.”

My heart melts at the boyish mannerism, the youth and greenness still coating his every feature.

“Yes, Your Grace,” I say softly, nodding my head once. My mother watches me, her gaze untiring and solid and I can see the words behind the stare.

Keep Luke and yourself safe.

***

The sky was darkening and clouding over with the threat of a storm.

A bad omen, if superstition was to be believed.

I don’t take heed to it, not as Valeria soars like wind through the open sky, her body lithe and graceful and every touch and smell of ice and nature spurs my body to life, washing away all the pain and grief that has festered within me these past days.

We were closer to Gods than men because of our Dragons.

Without them, we are nothing.

My eyes fall to Luke at my side, similar contentment gracing his face as he rides Arrax, the wind blowing through the ringlets of dark brown atop his head.

Arrax was significantly smaller than Valeria, his body pearlescent with rippling toned scales and muscles allowing his movement to be swift and undetectable. Where Valeria was fierce and cunning, Arrax was naïve and playful, still growing into himself, just as Luke was.

I slow down to a smooth glide as Storm’s End became a speck of darkness along the path and I steer Valeria beside Arrax, his movement slowing to allow us to fly side by side.

“We are nearly here,” I say, my voice louder than usual to accommodate for the distance “I will try my hardest to not interfere with your work Luke, I am here to ensure your safe return, the errand is yours.”

He nods, smiling but the look is sad, contemplative, as old as I’d ever seen Luke look.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, frowning “Are you worried?”

“No,” He says, his face grave as he shakes his head “No, I just-“

He looks up at me, and I can see the questions and confusion plaguing his mind.

“Luke, tell me” I urge, my hand coming to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, one that had come loose from my fishtail plait. He was fighting himself, and for as long as he’d been alive I could always tell when something was on his mind.

When he needed me to be honest with him.

“Is it true-“ He pauses, a cold harshness filling his eyes as he looked at me” Is it true you fell in love with Aemond… that you laid with him?”

The words surprise me, hitting me like a blow to the chest and I can barely neutralise my expression, barely holding in the way my face drops and my body freezes up at the accusation.

“It is true” Luke exasperates, gaping at me with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You love him?” He demands and I flinch at the betrayal lacing his tone.

“Luke” I sigh, my face beseeching with him “You don’t understand, you weren’t there-“

“After what he said about us? How he humiliated us at the dinner?” He cuts me off, frowning so severely and looking at me like he didn’t even know who I was.

“You took his eye Luke and then laughed at the pig as if he did not have enough wounds to bear from you!” I hiss, my face tapering with ire. Luke’s face falls, and he blinks at me, surprise and slight shame coating his cheeks at my chide.

“Look-“ I sigh dejectedly, that pain seeping back into my body and heart tenfold “I will not claim that he is perfect, nor will I claim that loving him was something that I planned but, it happened and no one, no one, will shame me into regretting it.”

He frowns, his face softening at the way my voice shakes, at the way my body has begun to shake.

“But he is our enemy now” The words are confused, boyish and naïve “How can you love someone who stole everything? Someone, whom we plan to destroy?” Luke looked at me with heaviness, cocking his head as he observed me pant in painstaking breaths.

“You don’t get to pick whom you love Luke,” I say, my voice breaking and heart cleaving and he remains silent as I speak.

“You’ll understand yourself one day, you’ll meet a girl, or a boy depending on your taste, and everything else will fail to matter. They will become everything, every piece of your heart and soul will live for them.” I close my eyes, memories and feelings of the last month washing over me in tandem with the breeze.

“And yet you’re here?” Luke asks, his face scrunched with sadness “You chose to leave him behind.”

And he chose to leave me behind too.

“My heart is his yes,” I say, tears stinging my eyes “But our mother has my allegiance. Always.”

Luke nods once, solemn and understanding as if reading every inch of sorrow and heartbreak on my face, in my voice and knowing that whatever transpired, however much he disliked it, it has left me changed.

And broken.

I look away from that pity, hating how every person in my family seemed to be looking at me the same way now.

As if I was seconds away from shattering completely.

My mind draws back to late last night when my mother had knocked at my door, entering my bedchambers as I lay, utterly awake and plagued, in my bed.

“Mother?” I call, brows furrowing in concern as I lifted from the satin sheets. I take in her dark nightgown and the robe wrapped tightly around her body, I see the candle lighting her tapered and thinned face.

And then I see the vial in her hand.

I bite my lip, weary and confused as she comes beside me and seats herself on the bed, silent and grave as she turns to look at me.

As she hands me that vial.

“What-“ I open the lid with a frown, sniffing at the slightly brown liquid inside.

“Moon tea” She explains, her voice as gentle and quiet as a draft of wind.

I look at her, my heart stuttering in my chest as I hold the tea, slight colour heating my neck and cheeks at the knowing and sad smile that graces her face.

Gods, kill me now.

“I don’t know what to say” I mutter back, gulping to clear the dryness of my throat. My eyes flicker, awkwardness and discomfort suffocating the room as my mother watches me.

“You needn't say anything” She replies, pulling her robe tighter around her body to fight against the chill. “Y/N I am the last person who would ever reprimand you for losing your maidenhead, you may do with your body as you please. I see no logic in a woman’s virtue needing to remain intact for her to have value, it’s all fucking bullshit.”

I laugh lightly, startled at the profanity but still, my heart blooms at her words, comforted by the fact that my mother would never condemn me, would never view me as less than or sullied for lying with Aemond.

Even if some twisted part of my soul felt that way.

“But” She exhales harshly, her eyes so full of fatigue and I melt into the hand she presses to my cheek. “A bastard baby in times of war, especially one that hails from the other side… it wouldn’t be- “

“It’s the worst possible thing that could happen to me right now” I cut in, nodding gravely as she frowns while rubbing her thumb against my cheek. “I know mother, I think that having Aemo- having his baby, it would destroy what little shred of peace I have left… I could not survive having to fight against the father of my child.”

The words are a broken whisper, a tear slipping down my cheek at the thought and my mother grits her teeth as silver lines her own eyes.

I don’t wait for her to say anything else, not as I pluck open the vial and bring it to my lips.

I could still taste the bitter-sweet tang of the tea even now.

***

Vhagar was here.

My body felt like it was on fire and yet being consumed by ice simultaneously, like every function was falling to pieces within me.

"Y/N?" Luke said uncertainly as he stood beside Arrax, his soft brown eyes looking wearily and fearfully from the large and monstrous beast on the outskirt of the wall to Valeria and then me.

I tried not to vomit up the bile that rose in my throat.

"We go inside," I say quietly, my hands clenching to fists as I looked at the looming creature, shadowed by clouds and darkness yet again.

Aemond was here.

"We will give Lord Borros mother's letter, convey the need for his alliance and then leave." Luke eyes me sceptically, looking at the stiffness of my body and the blood that has drawn from my now pale face.

"We are here as messengers, not warriors," Luke replies softly, nodding.

I hear the soft crunch of gravel as he moves towards me and my heart aches at the small, gentle hand that envelopes mine for a moment, holding it tight with reassurance and comfort. I look up, my throat clogged and at the sweet tenderness in my little brother's eyes, I nod, steeling myself for the encounter ahead.

I was Y/N Targaryen and the blood of fire was strong within me.

I would not forget it.

I threw my braid over my shoulder, my back straight and chest raised as we walked towards the two large iron doors of Storms End, led by several armed and stoic guards as we ascended the steps up and into the sombre place.

I tried to calm my breathing, but even as my face cast itself into firmness and ice, my heart was a thrumming and bleeding mess, the ache so strong that it was a miracle that I could still walk as I did.

I inhale and exhale sharply several times as we entered the Great Hall, thunder and lightning mixing and raging in the skies above, striking through the vast and gloomy room for mere moments at a time.

"Lucarys and Y/N Velaryon" A deep voice announced "Son and daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Aemond's head snapped to the doorway.

Snapped to me.

My body trembled at the shock that lit his face and how his expression fell, a mirror to my heartbreak.

I allowed myself one moment to take him in. I looked over the dark leather, the long overcoat, the daggers and longsword adorning his body and the shadowy expression that coated his face.

He looked beautiful and terrifying.

The definition of a damning nightmare.

I exhaled bleakly, my breath stuttering as he stared at me, his body so stiff and tight that he looked as if he might snap. I felt the tension and conflict that plagued us as his gaze locked with mine, that one sapphire blue eye shining with veiled agony.

His attention swept down my body languidly as if needing to take in everything, to re-memorise me again as if I had changed since our last encounter.

I felt him graze down the steel bodice of my armour, the metal shining bright, the build contorted perfectly to my body like a second skin. He looked over the matching silver plates that covered from my wrist to my elbow, the chainmail dark and glinting underneath.

His eye tapers slightly at the weaponry I adorn, the two long daggers strapped to each thigh, the longsword sheathed at my waist, and finally the broad sword across my back.

Luke may have been a messenger but I was here as his defender.

"You have no idea how far I am willing to go to protect the ones I love."

I remembered the words as clear as day, and as Aemond's face darkened and his body seemed to hone into violence and fury, I knew he remembered those words too.

I look away from him, fortifying myself, desperately holding together every cry and scream and bellow of fury and pain that threatened to explode out of me.

"Lord Borros" Luke greeted genially, his voice echoing through the room as he stepped forward "I have brought you a message from my mother… the Queen" He amends his mistake quickly, and though it was not damaging, it made him appear green and feeble.

Aemond's smirk was a testament to that.

"Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the King" Ser Borros mused, laughing with brutal amusement as he looked between the two opposing Princes. "Which is it, King or Queen?"

I hold my tongue, biting it hard as he chuckles "The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." I notice Aemond's ire, that one scrutinising eye narrowing slightly as he looked at the Lord before us.

"What is the message?" He demands, and it does not take long for one of the servants to rush forwards handing the Lord the paper. There's a tussle and conflict regarding the Maester and some other nonsense I do not care for, not as my body shivers, undulating under the watchful eye of Aemond.

My stare falls to him again, as if drawn to him by some unknown higher power and I can barely contain the stinging in my eyes.

He was so close yet so far.

He seemed to realise it too, I watch his throat bob roughly, just as his long and slender hands clenched painfully into tight and white firsts at either side of him as if he was physically restraining himself.

"Remind me of my father's oath?" Lord Borros demanded with outrage, his dark eyes widening and my attention swayed "King Aegon came to me with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact."

My heart stops in my chest.

I look to Aemond, a gasp lodged in my throat at the tight and aggrieved expression he wore, the way his gaze couldn't meet mine.

My sore eyes then fell on the Lady beside him.

Marriage pact.

She was tall and slender, the satin dress she wore tapering against her small waist and flattering against her curved hips and full breasts. Her skin was pale and unblemished like fresh snow and her dark hair and tender eyes made her appear so perfectly put together.

Like a true Lady.

I felt my body heat, suddenly weighed down by the armour, weapons, and everything that made me so incomparable and different to the beautiful lady Aemond was now betrothed to.

"I will love no other, I will marry no other but you"

Cold, depthless wrath lit my veins, lit my soul as my face melted into a glare, so harsh and brutal that Aemond seemed to flinch in response. His face dropped, his gaze unwavering on me as he beheld my accusatory glower, as his eye seemed to fog with remorse.

"I would not be so easily swayed by the words of the Usurper or his brother, My Lord," I said suddenly, my voice sharp and honed with cunning and wit. Luke looked at me, eyes wide and I felt the air shift at the cordial yet wicked smile I gave the large and dark man before me.

"The prince often makes brazen and prolific promises," I say, eyes lighting with satisfaction at the warning that seethed in Aemond's face as I look at him momentarily "I can speak from first-hand experience and say that his words hold little value, no value in fact."

Lord Borros considers, his gaze flittering from Aemond to me with veiled intrigue, but still, I remained the picture of politeness and calmness.

Even as Aemond glared holes into my head.

"Be that as it may, Princess Y/N" Lord Borros said gruffly, frowning as he looked from me to my brother "If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed?" My eyes follow his, to the three girls standing beside the throne, all as lovely as the one that stood beside Aemond.

My heart lurched in reminder.

"My Lord, I am not free to marry," Luke said, stepping forward earnestly "I am already betrothed."

I felt a small smile of pride grace my lips at his conviction, and I knew that Rhaena was a lucky girl for having my brother as her soon-to-be Lord-Husband.

"So you come with empty hands?" Lord Borros says, his voice rough with dark humour and I feel my blood boil "Go home, Pup and tell your mother that the Lord of Storms End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord," Luke replies frowning, and even I am surprised by the utter ice and judgement that laces his harsh tone.

I frown, contempt lighting my veins at this ignorant and stupid lump of a man before me.

"We appreciate that you have given us time to speak, My Lord," I say, my voice laced with poisonous intent, and Lord Borros seemed to tighten as I inched closer, my heels clicking on the stone floor.

"But, my Queen shall remember this refusal, as shall I."

Everyone seemed to tense, even some guards lowered a hand to their weapons as I stood before the chaise, my head high and body strong, looking directly at Borros Baratheon.

Brutal satisfaction thrummed in me at the slight hint of uncertainty that shone deep in his eyes.

"And after we take back Kings Landing after we behead the Usurper and his family" My voice was so vicious, so terrifyingly steady as I spoke, "After we have avenged all those who have wronged us, My Lord, we shall set our sights here."

I looked around the dark, empty, vast hall, and I smirked at the utter horror that wrecked through his three daughters, and then his other daughter and then I quirked my brow once to Aemond in cruel acknowledgement, even as his face was as hard as granite.

"Make no mistake Lord" I bowed mockingly, stepping back as my eyes remained locked with the ever-furious Borros "Storm's End will burn and we shall see how proud you are when faced with fire and vengeance."

I paused, the corner of my lip tilting as I cocked my head, "You may find then that you rather prefer to be the Queen's dog."

He was seething, red and panting and wide-eyed as he watched me and yet there was little to be said to a young Princess, little to be done as I backed away moving to Luke, who watched me with both awe and dread.

"Come" I whispered harshly to him as I turned, and he made move to follow suit.

"Wait" I paused at that calm voice "My Lord Strong."

Luke and I turned in tandem towards Prince Aemond, Luke's face tapered with affable indifference while mine contorted with anger and warning.

Aemond did not dare look at me, not as he smirked, a slight tilt of his lips as he gazed solely at Luke.

A dragon eying its prey.

"Did you think that you could fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?" He questioned, his feet silent as he stepped closer to us, a calm storm etched onto his hard face.

"I will not fight you" Luke replied sternly, his head lifting as he faced him "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

"A fight would be little challenge" Aemond mused, shaking his head and my breath stuttered in my chest at that look in his eye, the wildness.

I watch in shock as his hand lifts to his eye patch and he pulls it clean off, revealing the beautiful and striking blue sapphire in its place. Luke stiffens, his breath shallowing out as he beholds the red bruising and brutal scaring, the way that the stone embedded there glinted.

"No, I want you to take out your eye, as payment for mine" The words were razored and sharp, honed like a cutting blade.

No.

"One will serve, I would not blind you" He continued hoarsely, his hand making quick work of unsheathing a dagger at his right hip and I gape in horror as he chucks it forward, the metal scratching against the stone as it slides across and stopped before us.

"Aemond" I gasped, frowning bleakly but he seemed gone to the world, that festering and dark shadow of his trauma and soul consuming him entirely.

"Mm, I plan to make a gift of it to my mother," He hums, a small smirk lighting his face at the idea, pure gratification filling him.

His words surprised me, even after all I knew.

Aemond Targaryen had endured so much, and yet, it seemed his need for vengeance arose only to comfort his mother. To avenge the tears she shed and the pain she felt the night that he lost his eye.

Not to avenge himself or his lost eye, but to avenge her.

It would be sweet if not for how deranged and terrifying his revenge was.

"No," Luke said sharply, shaking his head. I could see the fear and dread lighting his young face and my hand shifted imperceptibly toward the dagger at my thigh, my mind taunting me with the question of choice.

Luke or Aemond? it repeated.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor" Aemond whispered, so low and vicious that I knew this would not end well.

"Give me your eye or I will take it, bastard!" I jumped in front of Luke as Aemond bellowed, two daggers swiftly in each hand as I panted before him, shaking from alarm at the man I scarcely recognised.

"NOT IN MY HALL!" Borros yelled out, and the guards around us unsheathed their own blades in response.

Luke was trembling behind me, blade in hand and guards were now armed and defensive around us both as Aemond angled his own dagger towards Luke, that cruel and vindictive glare a hard and unforgiving promise.

"Aemond please" I pleaded softly, my hands shaking fiercely, my two daggers still raised pointedly at him. His eye snapped to me and I saw them soften, saw them melt at hurt expression but it seemed even I could not stop this inevitable doom.

All he saw was Luke.

"The boy came as an envoy, I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof" Borros stated roughly and Aemond seemed to relax at his words, shifting as he beheld us "Take Prince Lucerys and Princess Y/N back to their dragons."

I sighed deeply, palming my daggers back to my side as I looked wearily at my brother. He was putting on a brave front and I nodded once to him, signalling him to move with the guards before us. His eyes were wide and pupils dilated but still, he listened, moving swiftly towards the exit.

My eyes met with Aemond's once more, perplexion and anxiety coiling through me as I met that voided and ruthless stare back.

And as he twirled the dagger in his palm and sheathed it again at his side, never once leaving my gaze, I knew.

I knew that this story would have no happy ending.

***

“Fly, Luke!” I roared the words through the thundering and pillaging of rain and hail that enveloped us “You need to fly to Dragon Stone quickly, do not look back”

I could scarcely see for the rain and wind that plundered and wrecked over me, hailing down with utter fury as Valeria soared through the pitch-black and rupturing sky. The pounding of thunder was constant, and fear tanged through me at the sparks of lightning that struck and sang after every thrum.

I’d never seen the skies in such turmoil before.

My hands gripped onto Valeria’s reigns harder, the ropes soaked as well as my entire hair and body, and I shivered as it cut cold to my bones. Valeria was bigger than most dragons and did not struggle to wade through the endless flurry of rain and brutal attack of wind.

But Arrax was not so proficient.

The young Dragon was relentless and loyal, and sensing Luke’s fear and hearing his commanding words, he flew as swiftly and adeptly as he could and yet his body seemed frail in comparison to the storm that ravaged around us.

Valeria was grunting and restless and it seemed she too sensed the danger and foreboding aura that suffocated the air.

The unspoken and unseen threat that lurked in the shadows of night.

“Rȳbagon naejot nyke, Valeria (Listen to me Valeria)” I beseeched, running my hand down the wet and rough-hewed skin of her neck and she crooned roughly in reply, her body still thrumming and wings battling harshly.

“Dohaeragon nyke, se obey nyke, jiōragon īlva lenton (Serve me and obey me, get us home)” My words were almost fully drowned out but still, Valeria followed my command and soon we were sailing beside Arrax and Luke, the both of them fighting against the pull of the storm.

I grunted against the water that seeped over every pore of me and seemed to overwhelm my breath and senses as we flew. The darkness of the sky was unmarred, clouded and grey with nothing and no one but us and our dragons.

And yet, I knew, knew that we were not alone.

“Gods please,” I begged low and broken, a prayer for whoever was listening as we swept higher up, trying to get to a clearer vantage point “Please, protect my brother.”

It seemed the Gods were not listening or watching tonight.

Not as Valeria suddenly stiffened, growling with vicious intent and I stared with dread as Arrax did the same, their cries melding as one as they seemed to jitter, eyes snapping through the empty skies for whatever had them so unnerved.

And I didn’t know why, not until that large and foreboding beast roared inches before us, her endless body brushing close enough to touch us as it flew overhead.

I screamed as Valeria ducked down and coiled out of Vhagars destructive path.

“Luke!” I yelled for him, my heart lurching as I snapped my head back to see Arrax swiftly moving out of the way, his body fast and nimble. I could barely see my brother on his dragon but still, I knew he was wracked with fear.

“Fly, Luke!” I cried, my gaze flicking frantically over the endless darkness for Vhagar. “Fly home and don’t look back, please” Valeria cries out in response, feeling my fear and her body fights harder against the onslaught.

We glide down, moving swiftly to find Arrax and Luke, Vhagars looming figure an eclipsing shadow above us, so close that I could practically feel the fire in her blood.

I can faintly hear Aemond laughing, the sound was so cruel that I could cry.

I tug Valeria’s reigns, digging my knees harshly into her flesh and she accelerates forward, wings tucked in and head bowed low, using the momentum of her movement to speed ahead, closer to where both Arrax and Luke staggered ahead.

I looked back, panting against the onslaught of rain that clouded my vision, my heart stuttering at the small flashes of flesh and night that I could see through the gaps of grey-hewed clouds.

And the stark contrast of white hair against that endless prowling nightmare.

I grit my teeth, my eyes searching wildly for an escape, some way to outmanoeuvre Vhagar, one that would save us the fruitless battle of facing her head-on, I knew we would never win against the oldest and most seasoned of war dragons.

I wipe at my face as I lift up to my knees, a small flicker of hope filling me at the tunnelling of grey mountain peaks that descend far below near the waves, narrow enough that Valeria and Arrax could wade through and force Vhagar to pull back, giving us enough time to lose her.

I don’t waste a second, pushing Valeria harder and faster than I had ever before, that depthless fury and hunger behind me edging us both on. I can see Arrax a few hundred feet before me, Luke a steady and small heap atop him, shivering and soaked entirely as he held hard onto his reigns.

“Luke!” I called, screaming as loudly as I could over the perilous thunder and the near growling of Vhagar.

“Luke, go down! Go down!” I screamed the words until my voice ached and my body sank with relief as his head flickered back to me in acknowledgement and then downwards to that point before he was tugging on Arrax and they were burrowing deep down into that momentary sanctuary.

“Sōvegon ilagon (Fly down)” I tug so hard at the ropes that I feel it cut into the sensitive skin of my palm, but I barely acknowledge the sting of pain or the warmth of blood.

“Ilagon (down) Valeria.” She follows accordingly, a small hum in reply as she too tucks in her large-scaled wings, forcing all her energy to drop her down into the gap, where I could see Arrax and Luke now flying through.

Vhagar roars, a taunting sound, one that I imagined she’d done during the early days of conquering, revelling in the fear and helplessness of her prey.

I would not let us be another victim to her.

I would not.

I gasp out a harsh breath as Valeria’s onyx wings stretch out, the movement smooth as we are enveloped by the darkness of the surrounding mountain walls. I cringe at how close the fit was, a few inches further and this would not have been an option.

Plan B meant us having to face the open skies with Vhagar at our backs.

I hear a grunt, a frustrated human rumble of anger and I immediately recognise that deep gravelled voice.

Aemond.

I glance back, watching Vhagar huff as she rears back and up, pulling inches from smashing into the too-small valley that Valeria and Arrax now navigated.

I guess size wasn’t everything.

My heart was hammering so loudly I could hear it in my ears, and it took everything in me to not begin sobbing, to not break down into utter wrecking tears and pleas.

Why was he doing this?

“Ao enkagon nyke iā gēlȳn (You owe me a debt)” Aemond purrs the words as Vhagar flies along the upper lips of the valleys, her body so much larger than Valeria or Arrax, shadowing any light and trapping us with only the two close walls and the relentless lapping waves.

“Aemond, please” I cry out, hot tears now mixing with the cold rain on my face as I implore, looking up at the laughing boy sitting upon his beast.

Not a boy, but a God.

That was what Aemond Targaryen took himself to be in this moment.

“Please, Aemond stop this madness” I cried again, my voice echoing off the cleaved walls and above and yet laughter, cold and feelingless laughter greeted me in reply.

“Iā laes syt iā laes, eminna ziry aril (An eye for an eye, I will have it back)” His words flew through the treacherous weather and set in my bones with ice and dread.

“Taoba!” I cringe at the mocking tone, at the way he drags out and enunciates the word, cruel bellowing amusement following it. I stared ahead at Luke and despite not being able to see his face, I could practically taste his fear.

As I know he could with mine.

A little further, we only had to go a little further and we could follow the dark waters back to Dragonstone. I knew that Aemond would not chase us for long and as soon as the weather calmed and the storm died down, Vhagar would not have the advantage of swiftness and stamina that we had.

Just a little further, I could practically see the end.

“No, Arrax” I freeze at the startled cry that escapes Luke’s mouth, dying out on the wind. I squint my eyes ahead and my stomach coils as Arrax struggles under him and I can barely hold in my alarm as the dragon suddenly shoots up.

And fire explodes out from him, fanning over Vhagar.

“No!” I scream, tilting forward and dragging Valeria up as Luke manages to stray his terrified dragon away from the wrath and endless teeth of Vhagar.

Vhagar- who was now snarling, roaring with death and vengeance in her blood and soaring up with so much power towards my brother.

“No, no no no” I hear Aemond grunting, see his body writhing as he tugs at his ropes, as he tries to control her “No Vhagar, serve me Vhagar”.

“Please, please please” The sobs are a prayer on my lips, my throat drying and heart clenching as Valeria flaps up with such unyielding force that it was an effort to stay on, and I could feel her sorrow, her helplessness as we chased after the lion and lamb before us.

Arrax was flying up, so feeble and young in comparison to the over-grown and ageless death incarnate that chased him, that was hunting him with need and want and hunger.

Nothing could stop her now.

I bit my lip to hold back my screams, Valeria following up towards the parting clouds, to that beam of light and openness that shone above, that would be far easier and safer to navigate.

“Go, Luke!” I yelled out the words towards him, yelled out with every atom of my being as he steered his beast and flew through a large and pillowed cloud to the heights above, “Don’t look back, just fly Luke!”

I prayed that he followed my commands, and prayed that he was soaring as quickly as he could, using the open sky and light to his advantage.

“Vhagar is bigger, but Arrax is faster” I whispered the words on repeat as we ascended higher, my mind trying to stuff down the terror and alarm that filled me as my eyes couldn’t locate that predator, couldn’t see that ever-large presence anywhere.

I gasped as we glided through the parting clouds, my eyes burning from the intensity of the shining sun and the light that erupted through the clear blue sky.

It was ethereal and silent.

I scanned around hysterically as Valeria slowed down to a stop, her own heart darting with mine, searching for Luke or Vhagar I wasn’t sure but only the endless sky and the white pillowy clouds greeted my gaze.

“There,” I rasped at that flapping stationary figure, not 100 yards before me. Luke’s head looked left and right frantically, and I could see even from here how he shivered and trembled with cold and fear.

He was looking for me.

“No, no, Luke go home” I clenched my fists tightly, desperate to shout out to him but I couldn’t risk revealing our location, couldn’t risk Vhagar getting to him before I did. Valeria shot ahead, her wings near silent against the soft breeze of cool air that ran over us as we neared closer to Luke.

I could see his face now.

He glanced back at me as we neared, Arrax turning with a tug of his reigns towards me and my heart ached at the small relieved smile he gave me. His face was red and wet, yet I could see the hope in his soft brown eyes as he took me in, seeing his body visibly relax.

He never even saw what was at his back.

I barely had time to scream a warning before Vhagar erupted out of the clouds, clamping her jaws straight through Arrax and Luke in one brutal snap that severed and tore through flesh and bone.

“No no no no Vhagar!” Aemond cried, as he desperately fought to draw her back, and yet the damage was done.

I felt as if I'd been stabbed through the heart, I couldn’t even scream, couldn’t cry as I gaped down, gasping for my breath and shuddering as I saw the broken and bloodied chunks of Arrax falling to the lapping waves and dirty sands below.

I choked, slumping forward from weakness as my throat clogged so painfully that every breath felt like inhaling glass. Valeria was jittering and bucking, moans and cries shrieking out of her mouth as she too mourned the loss of her kin.

I lurched forward in surprise as Valeria jumped and molten fire ran through me as Vhagar crept closer, impending and silent as she glided to a stop just before me.

“Fly, Y/N!” Aemond was screaming at me, and he was so afraid, I could hear it, hear that unwavering terror as he tried and failed to get Vhagar under control. “Go Y/N, please, fly!”

I didn’t move, couldn’t move as I stared down that archaic and hushed beast, watching its heaving breath and looking in the depthless dark of its eyes as it considered me.

Valeria did not move, did not baulk as we remained before the executioner. I closed my eyes, tears never ending as I ran a trembling hand down her spine, down the rough and unsteady flesh and my heart crooned at the small purr she gave in reply.

And I knew that she would face death with me.

Arms open in welcome to it as we faced our maker together.

“NO, Y/N, NO!” His voice was broken and he was begging me but still, I waited for the end to come.

It never did.

I could feel the hot breath that ran over me, I shivered at it as my eyes fluttered open, sore from the tears that still ran.

Vhagar was observing me, calm and considerate.

“She knows that you are with me, feels that you are a part of me, and will never hurt you.”

The memory and its truth made me want to roar and burn and erupt with flames and fury and death.

A sob broke past my lips as I tugged at a growling Valeria, my eyes looking away from that merciful monster as we swept and tunnelled downwards, towards what was left of Luke. I grit my teeth at the lashing wind, my body trembling so fiercely as we near the sandy shores below.

Valeria’s feet barely touched the ground before I was wrenching out of the seat, tumbling and groaning as I slipped down her muscled body, my knees barking with pain as I collided with the floor.

I was choking on my breath as I pushed myself off from my bruised knees and up, the sand gritting against my hands acting as a sure reminder that this was real.

This was real.

My legs were so unsteady and my body was quivering as I rushed over to the waters lapping edge, a fragmented cry hollering out of me as I took in the torn flesh of a wing that lay in the gravel, dragged up by the current.

“No, no” My voice was broken, utterly broken as I collapsed onto my knees before that torn wing, my heart similarly ripped into two.

Luke was dead.

“Oh gods, no” I cried so hard that I felt like nothing could compare to this pain, nothing could ever hurt me as much as I was right now. I gripped the wet and veined flesh, my body slumping forward and crumpling as I hugged it to my chest, as I sobbed with no restraint.

Sobbed for the brother that I had sworn to protect.

The brother I had failed.

“I’m sorry Luke” I was gasping for breath as I looked up at the now perfectly clear and blue sky, “I am so sorry, I am so so sorry-“ I couldn’t breathe properly, not as my body coiled and shook and my blood felt like it was molten and toxic in my veins.

Luke was dead.

“Y/N”.

I started at the wrecked and cracked gasp of my name and my body froze over at the trembling hand that fell onto my shoulder. My breath was caught in my lungs, ice coating my tongue at that desperate and pleading touch.

“I’m sorry” Aemond whispered and I could hear the sorrow in his hoarse voice, “I am sorry, I did not mean-“

I shriek furiously as I yank my longsword from its sheath at my hip, my blood sweltering and hatred coating my heart as I dropped that ruined flesh from my hands, my knees turning in the brittle sand as my steel arched down before me.

Aemond huffed, stumbling and falling onto his back in the sand to avoid the mortal wound. His eye was wide with shock as he stared, lined with tears and redness as he lay sprawled and wet before me.

“Y/N-“ He began, his face dropped with misery.

I raised myself onto my feet, tossing my soaked braid over my shoulder before I stalked over to him, my glare like a knife edge and my heart hardened by bereavement.

“Unsheathe your blade” I demanded, my voice unrecognisable, dark and fierce with the promise of death.

Aemond gawked at me, his chest heaving up and down as he panted, his head shaking despairingly as he took in the white-knuckled grip around the pommel of my blade.

“No.” He said softly, sitting up and shaking his head more sternly now “No, I will not fight you.”

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor” I spat the bitter words out, my eyes stinging as his face fell, as he heard me echo back the words he had said to Luke.

“Y/N, I am sorry-“ His eye was so glazed, so full of misery and mortification.

“You will take our blade and defend yourself, or I will kill you where you fucking lay, Kinslayer” I snarl, twisted pleasure filling me at the way he winces, the way his face physically recoils at the name.

“No.”

I growl as my sword comes pummelling down, every morsel of antipathy and retribution in my being driving it down, aimed straight for his fucking heart.

I grunt as steel strikes steel, my face inches from his and he pants as he holds his longsword against mine.

A fight it would be then.

I rip off from him, the sound of scratching metal ringing around us as I parry back, watching Aemond rise hesitantly, his face beseeching as he stares at me.

“Y/N please-“

I don’t let his pleas end, not as I twirl the sword in my hand, bowing it over his head in deft and thundering blows, so swift that most people would have been unprepared.

But Aemond was not like most people.

He shifted, hissing in a harsh breath as he weaved past that first blow, then the second and on the third, his weapon met mine in a singing cry as he blocked a swipe I had aimed for his shoulder, pushing it off swiftly and then dropping his weapon low to avoid the swipe I made for his legs.

He did not defend himself well enough though.

While his attention remained focused on his legs, my left hand, armed with a long dagger, tore up from behind my thigh and I revelled in his cry as it cut up his chest to his collarbone, sinking deep into the flesh.

He grimaced back, stumbling and clutching his chest and my mind spun at the blood that coated my dagger and the red that seeped through the wound and down his palm.

He snapped his head up to me from that oozing red, his face pales from the blood loss and contorted with hurt, his eye imploring with me.

And yet, I couldn’t allow myself to care.

“Ao enkagon nyke iā gēlȳn Taoba ( You owe me a debt, boy)” I jeered the words back at him, scowling and despite how hard my heart was, it still cracked as he sighed in dejection, his blade shaking in his weakened arm.

I didn’t hesitate to attack again, slamming my longsword in brutal and efficient strokes, and each hit pushed Aemond further back, his own sword now digging closer to his chest as I pressed down on him.

I reached back for my dagger again, a killing blow on my mind but Aemond wasn’t as careless, and I screamed at the brutal snap of pain that barked through my wrist, my knees buckling as the barrel of his dagger hit down against the join there and then once in a brutal blow against my rib.

My head smacked on the ground as I collapsed, stars and shadows flooding my vision as I tried to keep my grip on my sword. I was slumped out on the sands, Aemond astride me now, our grunts and curses assimilating as he fought to disarm me.

His sword was discarded, my daggers too and the broadsword strapped to my back was now trapped under the weight of my own body.

Aemond’s knees pinned down my writhing legs and held down the bucking of my body as I clawed at him with my left hand to free the hold he had on my sword arm.

“Ah” I howled out as he began slamming my wrist down against the ground, once, twice, three times and my fingers uncoiled unwillingly, the steel clinking against the ground beside me and out of reach.

“Y/N please stop” Aemond pleaded, gritting his teeth above me as I scratched at him, nails cutting through the skin of his cheek as he fought to pin my arms down beside me.

I was screaming, bucking and thrashing and wailing with anger and grief and he clamped my arms down with his, blood soaking and staining most of him and me now. I fought against the death grip he had on me, and my eyes clamped shut as I sobbed.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go” I shrieked, my voice cracking with cried moans and tears as I smashed my head back against the ground, weakening myself but still desperation had me helpless.

“Y/N please stop, please stop” His head was lower now, and I could feel the brush of his warm breath against my cheek, and my body froze at the feeling of wetness against my lips.

Tears.

I fluttered my eyes open, wheezing softly as my chest heaved wildly. I stared up at the beautiful blue eye, at the dread and remorse that laced through it, dropping with every salty and hot tear down his bloody face.

“I’m sorry” He whimpered gravely and I was too frozen, too overwhelmed to even react as his head collapsed to my chest and his body began shaking and deep defeated sobs slipped past his lips.

I choked on my breath at the devastating sound, my heart bleeding and raw as every morsel of me fought to not envelop him in my arms and keep him there.

Luke was dead.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m so sorry” He was frantically and wildly kissing against my neck now, tears soaking into my skin as he begged me, as he wept and hugged me, desperate for me to just hold him.

Luke was dead.

A strangled moan escaped me as I pushed him off of me, and despite how he clung to me, I didn’t falter in my strength as I ripped myself off of him, crawling back and stumbling to sit a few inches away from him.

“Y/N, darling, please” He rasped again, his eye shattering me as he reached a shaky and bloodied hand forward, reaching toward me as if he needed me.

But all I could see was Luke’s blood on his hand.

I flinched away from him, shaking my head, my lip wobbling as new and stinging tears gathered and fogged my vision and I saw him physically cringe at the sight, at that pain he had caused.

“You killed him,” I breathed, my voice a soft and broken breeze, echoing in the utter silence around us.

“I k-know, I didn’t mean to I swear-“

“YOU KILLED HIM!” I roared, my hands slamming down onto the sand with rage, loud sobs breaking through me as I glared at him, as I glared at him with such hatred.

“He was only a boy” My voice cracked and I watched with contempt as his eye clamped shut momentarily, taking in every word. “He was a boy and you hunted him down for sport and you killed him.”

“I didn’t know Vhagar would act out, I thought I could control her” He was leaning forward on his hands now, frowning as tears fell from his eye. “I just wanted to scare him, I never wanted- I didn’t want-“

He couldn’t even say the words.

“You killed him,” I say again, snarling it as I point at him “You are a kinslayer.”

He heaves at the word, his chest rising and falling so violently that I thought he’d vomit.

He reached for me again, apologies and remorse falling from his lips, but he paused, seeing that seething and boiling loathing on my face, knowing that had a single weapon been within reach of me that I would have already emptied his guts beside that of Arrax and Luke.

“I’m sorry,” He said again, his voice hoarse and guttural and I watched him, my heart throbbing as he slowly rose onto his feet, his sword sheathing at his side while his eye never left mine.

“I never wanted to hurt you, I love you” I scoff at the sad declaration, my hands clenching at either side of me in the gritty sand “I do, I love you.”

“I hate you.” I spit, snarling and I don’t care how much hurt flashes across his face at my solemness, “I fucking hate you.”

He bites his lips, silver lining his one eye as he slowly steps back, retreating from me. His gaze never once leaves me, his eye taking in every detail of me, no matter how hateful and angry I was right now, I know he took in and memorised every feature that he could.

He knew that the next time we met would not allow such luxuries.

I saw his lip quiver slightly as he stared at me, his eye holding mine with so much wish and need and yet my face did not falter from its leer, even as my heart shattered into a million more brittle pieces.

He turned from me, his body weak and slumped and I saw his hand move back to clutch the wound at his chest, still leaking blood from the way he clamped down so hard against it.

“You should kill me now while you can, Aemond”.

He paused at the cruel and void-less words, his body stiff as an arrow and tight with surprise and numbness, though he did not turn to face me.

“Because I am coming for you.” The words were a vow, a ruthless and unbreakable vow as I rasped them and I could see him shake. “I will kill everything and everyone you love… your brother, your mother, even your sister and her babes will not be safe from me.”

His body straightens, locking at the mention of his family, at the mention of innocents like Helaena and her children.

But Luke was innocent too.

“I will not stop until they are all dead, and then after you are left vulnerable and alone in this world, I will come for you and I will make what you did to Luke seem like a mercy.” My voice splintered on the final words, singing between us on the wind and into the foreboding silence that reigned around us.

Aemond remained stood there for a moment, stagnant and pensive as if considering if he had it in him to murder the woman he loved.

He did not.

I scrutinised him as he strode away, his body limping and exposed as climbed up the ascending hill of sand, his body getting smaller and smaller as he moved further into the sloping mountains towards his Dragon.

It would have been so easy to kill him then, so easy to throw him down and slice open his throat, or even run a sword into his back and through his heart.

But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.

Luke was dead.

I bellowed out a broken and desperate scream to ease that building destruction within me, my entire being shattering and erupting as I cried, cried for everything that had been so mercilessly ripped away from me.

Valeria’s shrill cry rang out too, in bleak tandem with mine.

Two mourners lamenting the loss of everything good.

_____________________________________

@uaze123 @lomllino @daddysfavoritesexkitten @backinwonderl4nd @mirandastuckinthe80s @zgzgzh @kentarosbabyaby @schniiipsel @curiouser-an-curiouser @doingfondue @tempo-rary-fix @colonelwafflesoftheorder @m00n5t0n3 @crispmarshmallow @caspianobsessed @moni-cah @loomipee

#aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond smut #enemies to lovers #team black #hotd 1x10 #aemond stannies #aemond x oc #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond angst

229 notes · View notes