#CROSSING FINGERS NO ONE BETTER FOR THE JOBS THAN ME APPLIES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 9 months

Text

The Most Dangerous Game [1]

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, slight hints of dub-con, coercion, manipulation, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, friends with benefits, obsession, unrequited/one-sided love, brief angst, choking, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, characters written as 18+ note - it is never a good idea to make mutually beneficial arrangements with jade leech. // split into two parts due to size. read the second half here.

Even though Floyd has yet to invite you to any of his practices and games, you’ve attended each one like a diligent, dedicated, devoted parasite. You sit amongst a sea of faces and watch him dribble down the court, sweat clinging to every curvature of muscle that composes his well-built figure. He’s glowing down there, a radiant sun that everyone, both offense and defense, seems to revolve around. And when he scores—when his lips widen into that goofy, good-natured grin you adore so dearly—you’re the first to rise from the bench and cheer like a marionette on strings.

For all of your support, Floyd never looks your way.

Why should he? You cannot expect light to acknowledge shadow when both are so contrasting. Instead you’ve contented yourself with admiring him from afar, sectioned off from his brilliance with invisible barriers and walls. He’s something of a celebrity in your eyes—an untouchable, unfathomable star.

He’s the reason you’ve started wearing your makeup a certain way—lavender eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner and the softest touch of glitters upon your skin. He never notices; you never expect him to. He’s the reason you’ve applied for a job at the Mostro Lounge, swallowing the anxiety that comes with nerve-racking interviews and social interaction in hopes of getting hired. You failed both times (you talked too much in the first interview and in the second you didn’t talk enough).

By the third attempt, you’ve made a modicum of progress. You’re certain all is right in your world when you leave the VIP room, still fidgeting with post-interview jitters. As you wander through the glorious tunnel hall, awash in dappled light and mulling over the worth of the position you applied for and whether it’s the best for Floyd-watching, you happen to cross paths with your star.

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

He turns, assesses you with a fleeting once-over, and then hums his lazy greeting. “Sup, Shrimpy.”

Shrimpy. Even though he hardly spares you the time of day, hearing that nickname—the one reserved only for you—is enough to soothe the sting of cyclical, never-ending neglect.

“We might be coworkers soon,” you tell him, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

“That right?”

You nod, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I look forward to working with you! Um… Maybe you can show me the ropes?”

Floyd considers it, his lips twisting into a disinterested half-frown. “We’ll see. It gets kinda busy and Azul’s always puttin’ me out on the floor. I dunno if I’d have enough time. ’Sides, he’ll probably want Jade teachin’ ya. He’s better at that stuff.”

“That’s okay! I can handle crowded,” you blurt, desperate to reel him in before he can slip through your fingers yet again, an eel in every sense of the word. “And I’m sure you’re just as good, if not better, than Jade!”

It’s worth it if we can be closer. If I can stand next to you, admire you, watch you work…

Floyd stares at your clasped hands. If he notices the way your fingernails—each painted a delicate purple—pierce your palms, he doesn’t comment. His mismatched gaze flicks to your face.

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

“Ah, that’s true. Well, actually, I just came out of an interview. I think I did well.”

“Who knows,” he says, grinning, and your heart sprouts ivory wings, bone poking through organs to shred them into ribbons. Floyd leans in close, his face centimeters from yours, and you can smell the wild ocean that clings to him—the natural scent of his home mixed with sandalwood cologne. You’d devour him if you could, but then that would leave you with a pile of bones and you like the energetic life that is just barely contained within so much muscle. “Shrimpy’d look good in my uniform.”

And before you can boldly cover the remaining sliver of distance, he’s floating away with a mystical giggle, pulled from your proximity by some invisible force. You’d follow him down the hall if you weren’t so overcome with joyous shock, nearly folding in on yourself with a pulse so rapid you fear it’ll ascend into your throat. Beneath makeup so meticulously applied, your face is warming with a ferocious heat.

He said I’d look good in the uniform.

Your hands press against your cheeks to quell spreading embarrassment, and you’re unable to suppress the toothy smile that pulls your lips apart.

No, not just that. He said I’d look good in his uniform. His uniform! Floyd said that. Floyd told me I would look good in his uniform!

The space between ribs and lungs suddenly becomes a cage filled with restless butterflies, each fluttering amidst pearly bone and velvety organs. You replay his words as if they are the finest song, a tune uniquely produced by Floyd, and it sets your heart on a frenzied track. But then it sinks into your stomach when you realize you forgot to reapply the expensive perfume you procured from Sam’s shop. Could he still faintly smell it even with the closeness? It’s sultry-sweet, smelling of vanilla, patchouli, and a handful of blossoms you can’t recall the names of.

You can, however, remember what the perfume is called—Date Night. You bought it solely because you were certain it would be to Floyd’s tastes, but even now, as you yank your sleeve up to sniff your wrist, you realize you have no idea what constitutes a pleasant scent for him. Like his moods, his interests are always mercurial. Today he might like youthful scents. Tomorrow he might prefer something mature. Next week he might hate both.

“Black orchid,” he says, and you whirl to face him, your tongue tied in knots.

“Flo—” It promptly unties itself the minute you recognize who stands before you. “Oh, it’s just you, Jade.”

“My, how dejected you sound. Have I made you unhappy?”

“Not at all. I just…thought you were Floyd for a minute.”

“Most often do.”

“Right.” You fold your arms behind your back, looking anywhere that isn’t at him. “Um… Could I trouble you with something?”

“I suppose I have enough time to lend a listening ear.”

“Okay, so I was interviewed again for a server position and I think I did well, but I’m still not sure if it was well enough. That’s why I’m hoping you might be able to put in a good word for me. Since you’re close with Azul, you know.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re as close as you think.”

You cut through him with a sharp scowl, unamused with whatever game he’s playing. “This is important.”

“As is the distinction in how we define closeness. Is it a matter of time that molds a bond, or is it a matter of physical proximity? For example, our proximity allows me to make note of your perfume. Would that make us just as close, if not closer, than where I stand with Azul?”

Your brow furrows, but then you’re grasping at his lapels, eyes wide and crazed. “You noticed?! Do you think Floyd would notice? Does he like black orchids?”

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

Jade tilts his head at you, his hands closing around yours and expertly peeling them off. He smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his blazer. “There is no but.”

“But Floyd can’t identify flowers and he might not appreciate it like you do.” You peer at him, frowning. “There is a but. Two buts.”

“Ah, you know him well.”

“Hardly. I don’t even know if he likes this kind of perfume.”

“Have you tried asking?”

You open your mouth to answer—yes, yes of course!—but the lie sticks in your throat.

“My record is five minutes,” you say instead, which is arguably more telling than the inquiry you’ve left unanswered.

Jade raises a perfect eyebrow. “You keep track?”

“He usually gives me five minutes or however long his interest in me lasts. Sometimes he doesn’t even spare me a glance. I go to all of his games and practices. I cheer the loudest. I make sure to offer him a water bottle and towel after everything’s over. Still, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’m only afforded a few minutes.”

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

Cold-hearted ass. Floyd would never be this mean to me.

You almost give him the pleasure of an icy retort, but you catch yourself. “Can you please just tell Azul to seriously consider me? I want to work at the lounge! And isn’t he always saying he could use more help? Well, here I am—and it’s all willing. No trick contracts necessary.”

Jade hums, stepping around you to assess…something. You aren’t quite sure what that something is, but after a moment of silence he looks at you and says, “The Mostro Lounge is an establishment, not a place for play.”

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

“Work and play are essentially the same when you’re so blinded by certain distractions.”

Unsurprisingly, he sees through your motives. Jade has always been perceptive as a pinpoint, slicing to the heart of matters until the bitter truths leak out. Although your interest in Floyd has never been secret, it’s still troublesome that you can’t fool him with excuses.

Your shoulders deflate. “How else am I supposed to get closer to Floyd? I can’t join the basketball team and I might not get hired for the lounge. I can’t even transfer to Octavinelle either because I’m head of Ramshackle! This is so unfair.” To cement the complaint, you scuff your shoe against the tiles, huffing noisily. “I’m a loyal customer, too! I always pay the one drink minimum when I visit, and sometimes I get more than one just so Azul won’t kick me out for loitering. I even have the menu and its prices memorized by heart! I’d be a perfect worker.”

“And yet your only motivation for wanting to work is to see Floyd during his shifts.”

“Exactly! He served me once, you know. It was a really good day…”

You sigh, smiling dreamily as the memory surfaces like foam on a rising tide. He’d balanced the drink on a silver tray, weaving smoothly through the aisle spotted with servers and customers alike, and there was a certain bounce in his step. It was a great day solely because Floyd’s mood was sunny, and when he’s pleased you’re pleased. When he stopped at your table, he set the drink down—a fizzy slush dyed blue and purple—and said, “Shrimpy likes sweet stuff, yeah?”

Not always, you thought, but you nodded and wrapped your fingers around the cold glass, savoring his voice more than the pretty presentation itself. You purchased this one solely because it reminded you of the Coral Sea and its ice floes during winter. Floyd didn’t seem to make the connection, but you didn’t expect him to. Just knowing he was the one handling your beverage was enough for you. You must have been admiring him for too long because he was smiling the next moment, one arm draped over the booth so he could observe you much closer than before. You’d shrunk into the booth, fearing he’d taken issue with such blatant staring.

And then he giggled, angling his head in that cute, childish way. “Shrimpy’s eyes are reeeal pretty.” He hummed to himself, seeming satisfied with your mute shock. “Just like shiny stones.”

If you had been sipping, you’re certain the fruity liquid would have gone down with a choke. Before you could insist on an elaboration—what sort of stone? Why do you say that? Are they really that pretty?—he was slinking away, practically sparkling with a potent thrill.

For the rest of the time you spent in the lounge, your heart was packed full of feathers.

“He said my eyes were pretty. Isn’t that just wonderful?”

“It’s the truth,” Jade echoes, a hand held over his heart. “When the light hits your eyes at the right—”

“Oh!” Your exclamation seems to startle him, but you pay it no mind. “Azul probably thinks I’ll be subpar because of my interest in Floyd, but if I can prove that I won’t be distracted he’ll definitely hire me!”

“I…” He pauses, furrows his brows briefly, and then assumes his usual countenance. You miss the flicker of hurt that fizzles out in his eyes, snuffed like candlelight at midnight. “I suppose it would certainly give you a better chance at securing a position.”

“Then I’ll just say everything I’ve always wanted to tell him and I’ll be able to focus.”

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

“You wish. There’s no way I could do something like that.” You clap your hands and raise them above your head in pleading prayer. “So please let me practice on you instead!”

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.” Huffing, you reach up and flick his forehead, a daring gesture that might’ve earned his ire if he wasn’t smiling like a scheming devil. “You’re Floyd’s twin. If I pretend you’re him and run through a practice speech, it’ll be easier to confess when the time comes.”

“Do you honestly think so?” His feet carry him towards the lounge, shoes clicking out a rhythm of departure. “I’m afraid I’m not a charity. You’d have much better luck discussing your problem with Azul.”

He’s deliberate in his movements. If he walks away from you, it’ll leave you with a sense of urgency—if you don’t negotiate a deal now the discussion will end here and you’ll never have another chance to broach this subject again. You know his game. You hate his game, but playing it is the only way to get through to him.

He really does look like Floyd when his back is turned, and watching him walk away from you is more agonizing than a knife to the stomach.

Swallowing your rationality, you hasten your steps and seize his arm. He stops and cranes his neck to peer at you.

“Wait. Just…” You scowl at the floor, hot with shame. “Please help me. I’ll do whatever you want in return. Just let me run a practice confession by you and then I’ll never bother you again.”

“You were so confident before. Where’d your bravado go? If you’re going to confess, you must have courage.” You can’t bear to lift your head to view his knowing smirk. “I’m even willing to cheer for you.”

“Stop dragging this out. Just tell me what you want.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Lithe fingers curl under your chin to raise your stare to his. His eyes flash with mischief, softening in a way that’s so reminiscent of his brother. And then, as if to inflict even more emotional damage, he adds in Floyd’s nasally timbre, “Shrimpy likes havin’ fun, yeah?”

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

You jerk back so fast that your sneakers squeak on the floor, gratingly explosive in the otherwise empty, silent hall.

“You… You—how did you—” Your heart is thrumming beneath your shirt, a ticking bomb just waiting to blow your chest open. “That was a perfect impression of Floyd.”

“It’s nothing special. I’m merely putting on a voice.”

“No, it’s really special. It’s everything!” You twirl towards the glass, suppressing a squeal. “That was so Floyd! I can’t believe you can do such a good impersonation! Jade, this changes everything. You’re just what I need to make this confession work!”

He stares at you as you spin and giggle like a drunken ballerina. “Is that so?”

“Yes! Very so!” You skip over to him and clutch his hands, grinning like a maniac. “Please help me with this and I’ll do whatever you want. And if I get hired, I’ll pull more than my weight! I promise!”

He peers at your face, speechless for a brief second, before his heterochromatic hues flick to your hands clasped around his. “Very well. I’ll help you, but in return I’d like your assistance with something.”

“With what? Come on, Jade. Don’t be an ass.”

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

He chuckles. “I’d like a taste-tester.”

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

“For my own personal hobby.” He smiles sincerely—or about as sincere as he can get when he’s Jade Leech—and adds in a mournful tone, “Azul and Floyd are rather stubborn when it comes to trying my mushroom dishes, so I would appreciate it if you could offer your time and taste buds in exchange for my aid.”

“Oh. Wait, really? You’re serious?” You narrow your eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe that’s all you want…”

“Are you willing to offer more? If so, I’d gladly like a mindless scapegoat who will do anything and everything I ask without question, a personal assistant who excels in mathematics for calculating the lounge’s monetary affairs, and a—”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick with being your taste-tester. Those other occupations don’t sound very fun.”

“Then if we’re both in agreement, shall we shake on it?” He extends a gloved hand. You peer at it, hesitant. “Well, how about it? I’ll be your Floyd if you’ll be my Shrimpy.”

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

“I never said that. However, if you do manage to claw your way into the lounge, congratulations will be in order.” Gracefully, he removes his scarf and wraps it around your waist to draw you in closer. The slightest scent of brine clings to him, but beneath that there are notes of lavender and vanilla. A fragrance that could be Floyd’s if you deceive yourself. With a sly grin, he murmurs in Floyd’s voice, “Ya’d look damn fine in my uniform.”

For a moment, you stare at him, unblinkingly infatuated, before a smile sharpens on your lips. You twirl out of his grasp, taking his scarf with you. Closing your hand around his, you meet his tone-toned eyes and shake firmly.

“I’d look even better beneath you,” you tease, captivating with an addictive, amorous charm, and return his scarf to its rightful place upon his shoulders. “I look forward to working with you, Jade. In more ways than one.”

You swipe invisible dust particles from his blazer and take a step back to admire your handiwork. Before he can get another word in, you’re strutting down the tunnel hall, bathed in whimsical blues, and humming a fluttery tune. Jade gazes at the space you once occupied. He brings two fingers up to his neck to feel his pulse. It’s pounding beneath his touch, a rush of blood and endorphins. With a trembling inhalation, he holds his breath, lowers his arm, adjusts his scarf, and peers at his reflection in the glass. Exhaling slowly, he notices his cheeks are tinged pink.

“The figures for this month’s budget…” he mumbles, continuing on his way, his shoes clicking a steady rhythm upon the tiled floor. He’s calculating the numbers, but they hardly matter when his thoughts drift elsewhere. “The figures for…the budget.”

Gradually, color drains from his face until he’s pale as paper, stoic as stone, but his restless heart continues to run laps within his ribs.

“So this is the kitchen,” you marvel, admiring the cramped space for a short moment before peering at your distorted reflection in a metal colander. “It’s smaller than I imagined.”

“The dorm kitchen is much larger. Keep in mind the Mostro Lounge is merely a sliver of space Azul acquired. It’s only natural that it’s smaller,” Jade explains, as if it’s riveting information you absolutely must know. He’s flipping through a thick cookbook and scanning each recipe. “You should familiarize yourself with the layout if you intend to work here.”

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

He tuts. “One of the basic requirements for becoming a Mostro Lounge employee is that you must display a certain level of maturity and respect, both of which you seem to lack.”

With a scowl, you turn away from the array of hanging kitchen utensils. “I have plenty of both.”

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

“Floyd doesn’t have either and you let him slide.”

“Well, of course. I would never police his habits, or lack thereof. Why should I risk relinquishing my front row seat for free entertainment just for the sake of peacekeeping?”

With a petulant eye-roll, you stalk towards the countertop and lean against it with your arms folded. Jade glances at you.

“So why’d you have me come here again? I wanna go back to Ramshackle and sleep.”

“If I recall, you wanted to practice your confession.”

“Here?” When he nods, you gasp. “No way! I can’t confess in a kitchen—of all places. That’s not romantic at all.”

Jade angles his body towards you. “Any place can be romantic enough if you make it so.”

“I’m not confessing in a kitchen, Jade.”

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

Taking pause, you consider the many locations spread across Night Raven’s spacious campus. Floyd has always been so spontaneous, so it’s difficult to determine which places he might frequent. With a furrowed brow, you narrow your list to four key spots.

“The botanical garden, the locker room, the library, and Floyd’s room,” you admit, ticking each off on your fingers.

“A locker room doesn’t seem very romantically appealing. Ah, might this be a human’s ideal aesthetic?”

“Not exactly, but imagine how perfect it’d be if I caught him after one of his games and confessed! It would totally look like a scene from a movie, right?”

With a halfhearted, mostly distracted hum, he traces a finger down the length of the page and then draws away to procure the needed ingredients. You watch him, noting a bowl piled with mushrooms and a cutting board already situated near the cookbook. Jade flits about the kitchen with the grace of a ballerina, his long legs carrying him to and fro in the small space. By the time he’s returned to the island in the center, you’ve already read through the recipe.

“Mushroom brownies?”

“Precisely.” He smiles at you, his eyes bright under the dim kitchen lights. “The healthy kind.”

You peer at him and frown. “Healthy as in good-alternative-to-junk-food healthy or…”

“Your distrust stings. When have I ever strayed from a recipe? It doesn’t call for hallucinogenic or poisonous mushrooms, so I won’t add any.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He sets the items on the countertop. “Perhaps you’ll have to watch carefully then. My hand might just slip…”

“I’m supposed to practice a confession. I can’t do that when I’m dying!”

“And in compliance with our deal you’re required to share your opinions on my cooking, so fortunately for you I must keep you alive.” Jade tilts his head at you, beaming amiably, and pushes the bowl of mushrooms into your chest. “Now if you would be so kind, please wash these mushrooms for me.”

Your fingers curl around the bowl and, grabbing the colander from off its hook along the way, you drag yourself over to the sink. “Fine, fine. But please promise these won’t kill me or make me see and feel things.”

“You have my word.” His hand splays across his chest, a genuine gesture of honesty. At least you hope that’s what it is. “Those mushrooms are safe to consume. In fact, the Agaricus bisporus is known to be very low in calories and sugar. You’ll get lots of protein and vitamin D from them, which is why they’re often used in nutritional, plant-based dishes. Hence why they’re a key ingredient in this recipe.”

“Is that right?” You set the strainer down and empty the contents of the bowl into it.

“Indeed. I managed to find quite a few on my last hike and so I’ve been saving them for this very moment.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re in the Mountain Lovers Club.”

There’s a brief silence and then Jade asks, “You were aware?”

“I found out from Floyd during that one time Vargas made us all go camping. He said you were pretty bummed about not being able to go, but you really didn’t miss much. I, on the other hand, did.” You twist the knob and cold water spills from the faucet, wetting the mushrooms and washing away soil and grime at once. “I heard Floyd and the others went up against Vargas. I would’ve loved to see it, but instead I was tied to a tree.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It was such a lame way to spend my evening. I would give anything to watch Floyd in his mer form. Curse Vargas! It’s his fault I missed the fight!”

“Why not ask? I’m sure he’ll show you if you’re so desperate—ah, forgive me—curious to see.”

“Maybe.” You shake the colander to stir its contents and sigh, reminiscing the few times you’ve witnessed Floyd in his element. “He’s really handsome…”

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

You whirl to pin him with a hateful scowl. “You’re not helping.”

Jade giggles. “Aw. Is Shrimpy sad I’m not givin’ her enough attention?”

You open your mouth to snap at him—not funny, asshole—and immediately close it. Lowering your gaze to the mushrooms, you grip the handles of the colander more tightly.

“Yeah,” you mumble instead, shaking off any form of shame that attempts to crawl its way up your spine. “Yeah, I’m sad. Really sad! I want to have a genuine conversation with you, but I can never get past feeling so…amazed. Like… Like everything that leaves my mouth—I feel like it’ll sound stupid and then you’ll think I’m weird or boring. I just… I’ve always liked you, but I can never put it into eloquent terms and so instead all I can do is admire you from afar and hope you’ll come talk to me.”

Exhausted from your word vomit, you wilt against the sink. And then, before you can think to turn around, a pair of hands rest upon your waist and you turn to find Floyd pressing himself against you. He smiles and runs his hands up the length of your hips, mapping your body’s shape with delicate strokes.

“No need to be so tongue-tied,” he says, resting his chin upon your shoulder. His breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, wispy and tantalizing. Instinctively, you shudder, pushing back against him, your eyes darting from the hands that cage you in on either side to his face, so close you could practically yank him by the collar and kiss him. “I don’t need fancy words. Just be yourself and talk to me. S’not so hard, yeah?”

“But it is!” you insist with a whine. “It is when I… When you… When… Ugh! It’s impossible!”

“But you’re talkin’ to me just fine. What’s so different?”

“Because… Because you’re just like Floyd and this confession sucks!”

Like a spell that’s been broken, the sensual tension dissipates before it can reach its peak and you find yourself standing rigidly straight between Jade’s arms, the silence only shattered by the rushing water. He blinks, momentarily stunned, before clearing his throat.

“My apologies. I assumed this method would help resolve some of your reservations regarding Floyd.”

You tear your eyes away from him, settling on the floor tiles beneath your feet. “It helped too much. It felt so…real.” With an embarrassed groan, you reach to turn off the faucet just as Jade does, and his hand covers yours like a blanket. You manage a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry for being a mess.”

His features soften considerably. “Let’s split the blame evenly and be a mess together. How does that sound?”

You snort. “That definitely makes the shame tolerable.”

With his hand still on yours, the two of you twist the handle and the flowing water ceases. He seems to remember you’re still holding the colander, for he nods towards it and then withdraws.

“The mushrooms look clean enough. Let’s take a break and bake the brownies. After that, we’ll try a new approach.”

“That sounds good!” Confidence partially restored, you empty the mushrooms into the bowl and skip over to him. “Do you usually forage for ingredients by yourself? Doesn’t anyone want to go with you?”

“Well, Azul doesn’t share the same enthusiasm for my hobbies, and Floyd doesn’t fancy mushrooms.”

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

“Then no. I’m afraid I’m all alone on my excursions.”

You poke at a bulbous button mushroom. “Why’s that?” And then you hastily add, “Never mind. You’re you, so of course no one wants to go.”

Jade gathers a handful of mushrooms, sets them down on the cutting board, and gently pats them down with a paper towel. “I don’t mind solitude. In fact, it’s quite comfortable.”

You pass him a knife. “I’ll join you on your next club thing.”

He stares at you, astonished. “Will you now?”

“Yes, I will! I want to collect cool-looking rocks.”

“Cool-looking rocks…” he repeats and slowly runs the knife through the mushroom held between his fingertips. “You want to accompany me on a hike for the purpose of finding…cool-looking rocks?”

“You’re correct. Or am I going to interrupt your comfortable alone time?”

“For a reason as wonderful as the one you’ve proposed, I’d say you’re more than welcome to interrupt.”

“Hell yeah!” You bump your hip against his, giggling. “Rock hunting with Jade! I can’t wait!”

He peers at your waist for an abnormally long time before asking, “I assume you want to find rocks for Floyd?”

“Mhm! He gave me a pretty stone once and I’ve displayed it on the mantel ever since. I pat it every morning before leaving for class.”

“How routinely predictable of you.”

“Why, thank you.” You procure a knife for yourself and, setting a handful of mushrooms on the board, mimic Jade’s precise actions. “It’s been my good luck charm ever since.”

“If I may pry, why did you take a liking to my brother?”

“If I’m allowed to interrupt, then you’re allowed to pry. For now. As for why I like Floyd… I guess it started shortly after we first met. I thought he was scary at first—and he was—but he’s really sweet once you get to know him. And there’s something so…Floyd about him.” You gaze at Jade. “You know?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Please enlighten me.”

He slides the rest of his mushrooms towards you and busies himself with opening a package of medjool dates. While considering your response, you watch him pit each one before setting them aside to be diced. Eventually, you decide on a solid answer.

“Well, he’s always himself. He doesn’t care what others think. He’s energetic and playful. He’s annoying in the best ways, and he’s really smart when he applies himself!”

“So far you’ve only listed adjectives. I fail to see how any of that explains your feelings.”

“That’s just it! It’s difficult to put it into words. I like Floyd because he’s Floyd. Because he’s entirely himself without any restraint. Because he’s lovable and funny without trying to be. Because he’s always nice to the ones he cares for. Because he’s genuinely, honestly, unapologetically Floyd.”

Jade’s hand slows and with it the knife comes to a halt. His knuckles whiten around the handle. “Well.” He shuts his mouth, stares at the oven as it preheats, and fixes his lips into a thin smile. “Those are certainly heartfelt sentiments. I’m sure Floyd would appreciate them if you told him.”

“But I can’t! I have to prepare myself for the inevitable rejection and I’m just not ready yet. Not to mention, I can hardly hold a conversation with him without sounding awkward! It’s impossible, Jade. He makes me feel stupid.”

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

“Perhaps…” He reaches for your free hand, fingers twining with yours. “You needn’t speak at all.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“Body language is a very important facet of moray courtship. I could teach you. Alas, if you’d prefer to do this the human way…”

“Moray courtship?”

“You aren’t aware? It’s rather fascinating to land-dwellers.”

“What is it? Is it like a kiss on the cheek and then you’re married? If that’s the case, all I need to do is kiss Floyd and—”

“Not quite. It’s much more complicated than that. Although I suppose a kiss is just as meaningful on land as it is in the sea.” Jade’s leaning in now, his face centimeters from yours. “Well? Why not tell me all the things you wish to express to Floyd in a single kiss?”

“But…” You turn your face away from him. “I can’t. I’m saving my first kiss for Floyd.”

There’s a stifling silence that fills the space between you and Jade. For a minute, you think he might break your wrist, what with how tight his grip has become, but then it loosens. He runs a hand through his hair to tousle it in a way that’s reminiscent of Floyd’s disheveled style. When you look at him again, he’s Floyd.

He’s not. You know he’s not. You tell yourself he’s not. But tonight he’s temporarily Floyd, and that lie patches an empty hole in your heart.

“Hmm? Savin’ a single smooch for me? Shrimpy’s too nice. I gotta pay ya back for bein’ so cute.”

“Jade—”

“S’not fair to say another guy’s name when I’m here. Ya want me to squeeze ya out? Well, do ya?”

Stop pretending! you think, torn between what you want to do and what you shouldn’t do. But if I practice on him… No. No, I can’t do that to Jade. It won’t mean anything and first kisses are supposed to be special. But he’s right here in front of me, and he sounds and looks just like Floyd. Damn it! Maybe it doesn’t have to count as my first kiss. Just one kiss. Just so I know what I’m working with. That’s all there is to it. A new approach—like what Jade said. Kissing instead of talking. I can do that.

You swallow every logical inhibition, each one burning your throat like fiery whiskey, and set the knife beside the chopped mushrooms. You admire his toothy grin, ignoring the strand of hair that falls in the wrong place, and tug him towards you by both ends of his scarf. His breath ghosts over your lips, and suddenly your entire throat feels dry and your palms are clammy with sweat.

It’s just one kiss.

Your mouth fits awkwardly on his at first, hesitant like you’re attempting to force the wrong pair of puzzle pieces together, and you fumble for a place to put your hands after he’s gathered you in his arms. With your eyelids fluttering shut, you attempt to lose yourself in the moment, in the sounds of your frantic heartbeat as he tilts your head, gently molding your lips to his, and eventually everything clicks into place. You lace your arms around his neck, the stiffness in your shoulders slackening, and part your lips to offer more of yourself to him. Floyd’s a brilliant kisser, all rough edges smoothed out in a kiss that’s so short you greedily pursue him for more.

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, stroking along your jaw. And you comply, desperate to please, to be all that he ever sees. He laughs, breathlessly alive with energy, and sandwiches your face between large, smooth palms. His thumbs hook into your mouth, prodding playfully at your tongue. “Not too wide, Shrimpy. Else you’ll send a totally different message…”

You’re adrift in his arms, heart aflutter with adoration, brain fuzzy with cotton fluff and static, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling like a fool when you pull away. “Your lips are soft…”

He giggles and runs his index over your plush lips. “Shrimpy’s softer. Sweeter, too.”

“I hope…” You wipe saliva from your mouth, looking everywhere but at him. Your nerves are buzzing with adrenaline. I kissed Floyd. I kissed Floyd. We just kissed. “I hope kissing conveyed my feelings for you.”

“Mm, hard to say. Ya gotta do somethin’ more than once, otherwise it’s never gonna stick.”

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

He’s leaning in again, his lips brushing yours, and this time you’re clinging to him, so ready and willing to have your breath stolen yet again. Unfortunately, before the kiss can deepen any more than before, the oven beeps, shattering the fantasy that’s been building over time. You tear yourself away from Floyd, panting from both the exhilaration and the embarrassment, and gaze at the oven.

“Oh… The oven… Right. Yeah. Brownies.” Flustered, you pat his rumpled uniform—just how hard were you gripping his clothes?—and take a measured step away from him. “We’re baking brownies.”

Floyd—no, Jade watches you skim through the recipe. He presses two fingers to his mouth and traces his bottom lip. In the heat of your inexperience, you nipped at that very spot, your blunt teeth almost clicking against his razored ones. He returned the favor, nibbling your lip between his pearly points, led on by the welcoming warmth of your body pinned to his. Though he didn’t break skin, the thought that he could’ve—that he could’ve tilted your head back, bitten your lips bloody, and savored slick iron—is a delicious temptation.

A faint heartbeat thrums beneath the pads of his fingers, nestled deep within the flesh of his lips. His chest is tightly wound, not yet close to bursting, and when he inhales it’s thorned wire—painfully unpleasant.

He kissed you.

“Okay… Okay. Mushrooms finely chopped. Done. Now… Next—uh. Combine the minced dates and mushrooms. Easy enough. I’ll…put them in a bowl.”

Surfacing from the enchanting trance of the past few minutes, you and Jade soon begin to work in tandem, wordlessly following the recipe step by step. Unlike previous times, this silence isn’t nearly as overwhelming. You’re certain it’s only because the both of you are so focused on baking, too distracted to confront the matter at hand, but a deeper part of you says otherwise. And you’ll never confirm this unless you take a hammer to the ice barricade that has erected itself between you and him.

Sighing, you place a tray now filled with brownie batter in the oven, shut the door, and set the timer. Jade’s stare bores into your back every step of the way—as it has been for the past fifteen minutes you’ve refused to meet his gaze. Now you turn around, and immediately your face begins to warm.

“A-About everything that happened…” you start, watching him as he works to clean the countertop. It’s now or never—say it before you lose your nerve and shame devours you in one ruthless bite. “Maybe it’s asking too much, but can you teach me more about moray courtship?”

His posture seems to become even more prim and proper upon hearing your request. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to—”

“But as Floyd! You have to teach me as Floyd.”

Jade’s hand, which had previously been wiping a layer of almond flour away with a rag, stills. He nods and resumes cleaning seconds later. “Of course. As per our agreement, I’m meant to be your Floyd. I wouldn’t teach you as anyone else.”

“Okay. All right. Cool.” You gather the dirty dishes and bring them to the sink, shaking off your apprehensions as you go. “If I know moray courtship, I’ll be able to craft a better confession. Or we could kiss and maybe he’ll understand what I’m trying to say.”

“In that case, you may want to improve your technique.”

“Shut up! My technique is… Actually, yeah, you’re right. It’s a mess. I suck at kissing.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. You just need practice.” Jade meets you at the sink and offers you a washcloth. “I’d be more than happy to be your practice partner.”

You scowl at him, unimpressed with his friendly nonchalance. “You just want to see me fail when I try to kiss you.”

“That’s an added bonus.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the rag from him. “So how exactly is kissing part of moray courtship?”

“It’s not. Kissing is just a basic form of showing affection. All mers kiss, just like how all humans kiss. There isn’t much significance.”

You stare at him, your fingers curled into the sodden dishrag, and your mouth drops open in disbelief. Jade chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, and guides your mouth shut with his slender index.

“Now a mouth left agape… You’re dangerously bold, Shrimpy.”

“You… Y-You… You!” Acting purely on instinctive impulse, you cup water in your palms and toss it at him. He doesn’t do anything to dodge, allowing the water to soak through his uniform with a patient smile. “You’re the worst! I genuinely believed you!”

“Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so willing to kiss me.”

“Not you!” You try to slap him and this time he smoothly side-steps your flailing arm. “Floyd, Jade! I want to kiss Floyd!”

“And you will.” He shrugs his blazer off, folding it neatly, before adding slyly, “In your dreams.”

You round on him, intending to smack him silly, but he catches your wrist. Your face explodes with a newfound warmth and you rip your arm free, loathing his growing smirk with every passing second. Grumbling a slew of empty threats, you distract yourself with the dishes. Jade observes you as you clean a bowl, content to exist in silence once more. It’s a relief for you because you no longer have to battle his scintillating wit or entertain more annoying banter. But the longer you spend at the sink, meticulously scrubbing, the more you linger on the past few events.

You kissed him, and it wasn’t as terrible as you thought it’d be—likely because he was Floyd during that moment. Even the words that left his mouth were so undeniably Floyd, filled with a fondness only he’s capable of twining throughout his speech. And hearing that prized nickname Floyd reserves for you was more magical than any sort of delusion you might conjure in a dreamscape.

Despite the fact that the kiss had been the result of your inability to see through a simple trick, it did, embarrassingly enough, soothe your fear of rejection. If it’s Jade impersonating Floyd, you’ll never need to mourn whether or not your feelings will be reciprocated. And isn’t that just the perfect panacea to your situation?

If it’s Jade, you can immerse yourself in the romance you’ve always wanted with Floyd.

If it’s Jade, you’re allowed to be delusional and lovesick because it’s only a game.

That’s all it will be. A game. A dangerous game, but a game nonetheless. And in this game, both sides can win. You get love from Floyd, and in return Jade gets critique on his cooking. It’s a beautiful arrangement, so why should you spend time regretting and fretting over little details that will sour your fluffy fantasy?

“If you’re actually going to teach me moray courtship—real moray courtship—” you begin, choosing each individual word with the utmost care, “Floyd can’t know about this. It has to stay between us.”

Jade pantomimes locking his lips and tossing an invisible key. “It shall be our special secret.”

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

Jade allows this to carry on for an extended moment before asking, “What reason would I have to disclose our private affairs to Floyd?”

“I dunno. Maybe sabotage my chances with him? Make him think I’m weird? Make him hate me?”

“All wonderful ideas, but I’m not that viciously vindictive.”

“You literally are.”

“I literally am not,” he mimics with a sharp smile.

You groan and set the final dish in the drying rack. Wringing excess water from the rag, you pretend it’s Jade. He’s lucky he has his brother’s face, or else you never would have considered agreeing to an arrangement as wildly detrimental as this.

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

“Fair.” Drying your hands on your shirt, you walk over to the island, where two stools have been positioned near it. You lower onto the one across from Jade and prop your elbows on the countertop. “You know, I never took you for a sweets guy. Or should I say a sweets eel?”

He chuckles, heterochromatic hues glittering in the amber light. “Confections are rather scarce under the sea, and since I’m here on land I might as well explore all manner of culinary delights.” He leans over the table, nearly conspiratorial, his head angled almost adorably. “Especially sweets.”

“No sweets in the Coral Sea, huh? Then what’d you eat in place of that?”

“Our diets usually consist of a variety of fish and crustaceans. However, at establishments like the one Azul’s mother manages, you can find all kinds of desserts. Sugar is considered a luxury where I’m from, hence why it’s so popular at undersea restaurants. And like most land products that aren’t compatible with water, it’s imported from the surface and stored with magic.”

“Oh, so it’s kinda like fish eggs. They’re a wealthy thing here on land. Except I don’t think fish eggs need to be stored with magic…”

“I suppose that’s one way of connecting the similarity. Sugar is plentiful on land, whereas it’s scarce in the sea. And there’s no shortage of eggs where I come from.”

“That makes sense.” Jade nods but refuses to elaborate further on the subject and so, rather clumsily, you attempt to segue into another topic. “Do you prefer life up here to life down there?”

“Well, I’m always going to be a moray. That fact will never change.”

“But if you had to choose land or sea, which one would it be?”

“If I had to choose between the two… Both are charming in their own ways, each with different appeals, and not every mer is granted the opportunity to live so freely on land.” He hums, considering. “If you were in my position, what would you pick?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How artfully you dodge the question… But if I was picking, I guess I’d go wherever Floyd goes.”

“Oh?”

“If we’re married, I mean! Or in a relationship of some sort. I’d go wherever my partner’s going because anywhere will be wonderful with them by my side. We’d have fun together, see new things, and enjoy each other’s company. The place is just a plus. What matters most is that I’m with someone I care about and we’re making memories together.”

“How nice of you to confine yourself to such a romantic delusion.”

“Says the guy who avoided answering,” you snap, turning your chin up with a huff.

“Perhaps it’s avaricious, but if it’s acceptable I’d like to choose both the land and the sea.”

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

His lips curve up with a sincerity you’ve never seen before. “One day I wish to show my beloved the wonders of the sea, and I hope she’ll be willing to share the beauty of the surface with me in return. But if she isn’t very partial to the cold, dark depths, we could live on the land before retiring to the sea as we near the end of our lives. My preferences needn’t be considered so long as she’s content.”

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

“Is sharing a life with the one you treasure most not a saccharine ideal?”

As if in agreement, the timer on the oven pings and Jade rises from his seat. You sit with his question, mulling it over like it’s the world’s most complex mathematical equation. But it only takes your brain seconds to arrive at a truthful answer.

Of course I want to share my life with the one I love. Preferably with Floyd…

But that presents another question: What sort of future would Floyd want? Perhaps he’s like Jade and wouldn’t care where he settles so long as he’s with his special someone, or maybe he has a sentimental attachment to the sea and would rather shed his human form and exist in the deep, spiraling blue. Maybe he’d make an exception for you and keep his feet planted on the ground. There are so many possibilities with him, and each one is more random than the last. The longer you dwell on it, the more uncertain you become. Jade’s viewpoint is so agreeable, but it isn’t Jade you want to spend an eternity with. His words are not Floyd’s, however much you wish they were, and you’ll never know what Floyd wants unless you ask and get it right from the source.

But you can’t because you fear surpassing the boundaries of the friendship you’ve worked so hard to maintain. If that crumbles all because you were too blinded by your heart’s desires, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Why is love so hard?” you bemoan just as Jade places the tray on a cork trivet. He slides the oven mittens from off his hands, sparing you a glance before leaving to pour two glasses of milk for the both of you. And then, after hanging the mittens where they belong, he selects a knife from the block and returns. While he scores the brownies into squares, you watch steamy strands curl up in a hypnotic dance. “Love should be sweet without any sadness. Like a brownie! It’s delicious and makes you happy when you eat it.”

“If that was the case, it would be much easier to digest when it isn’t reciprocated.”

“Right! If I’m able to experience a sweet heartbreak, I can move on quickly.” You avert your gaze. “I hope…”

Sighing, somewhat sympathetic, he slides a plate and glass towards you. “For now, why not start small?”

You take the fork he offers next and poke at the dessert. And then you snort, a wide, silly smile blossoming on your features. “You just want my critique.”

“Indeed. Minus the sob story, if possible.”

“Yeah, whatever.” You stab a sliver of the brownie and bring it to your lips. “Hey, wasn’t I supposed to be a taste-tester? Why’d I end up helping you bake?”

“The results of a team effort often taste more delicious, do they not?”

“We’ll see.” You chew slowly at first, expecting the rubbery earthiness of a mushroom. Instead, you find yourself indulging in the rich taste of chocolate. Humming your approval, you eat another bite. “It’s way better than I thought! To think mushrooms could make a dessert so yummy… No wonder why you like them so much. They’re very versatile.”

Jade’s shoulders seem to droop, as if he’s just been relieved of some terrible tension, and a smile flickers on his lips. “I’m pleased it’s to your liking.”

“Mhm!” You lick chocolate smears from the prongs of your fork. Jade tracks the movement of your tongue, but you don’t seem to notice as you work to polish off the brownie. “I’d say it’s a ten out of ten.”

“And so the judge has spoken,” he jests, sampling the brownie on his plate. He nods to himself. “I agree with your assessment. This dish is certainly worthy of praise.”

You sip from your glass next, eyeing him as he runs his fork through the brownie. “I’m not a food critic, so I don’t know what else to say other than it’s delicious and not overwhelmingly sugary. It’s a fun way to mix mushrooms and dessert. So… Uh, bravo? Go us?”

Jade hums around a mouthful. “Your honesty is much appreciated.”

“Should we save some for Floyd? I know mushrooms aren’t his thing, but he likes candy and we don’t have to tell him the ingredients.”

“So you’d rather lie.”

“Not lie. Just…skirt around the details. I think he’d enjoy them.”

“He’ll enjoy squeezing you once he learns you indirectly fed him mushrooms.”

You slap your hands on the countertop and jump up from your seat. Jade blinks at you, fork poised at his mouth. “Wait! I’ve got it! Maybe a kitchen confession is worth it. I could invite Floyd to cook with me and when we’re in the middle of everything I can confess. Then I won’t have to trouble him in the locker room—because chances are, if his team lost, he might be in a bad mood—and I won’t bother you either if I try confessing in his room—because you share a room. The botanical garden would be nice, but I have no idea when or if Floyd would ever visit. And the library… Oh! Maybe a study session? Or should I try tutoring him? But then I’m also not getting high scores and I don’t know how romantic studying is…”

A laugh that sounds more like a gasp yanks you from your hasty monologue, and your quizzical stare slices through him. He covers his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking, and you think you see tears spotting his lash line.

“Forgive me,” he says after he’s calmed down. (You won’t.) He dabs at the corners of his eyes with a napkin. “It was so pitifully amusing I couldn’t contain myself.”

Your glower is as fierce as the humiliation. “S-Shut up! You wouldn’t know anything about how it feels to be in love! I want the location and my confession to be perfect because that’s what Floyd deserves. Laugh all you want—I’m going to confess! E-Eventually…”

“You’ll get there one day. Until then, I look forward to witnessing this spectacle.”

“You’re seriously the worst.” Scoffing, you have enough decency to clear your area at the island before rounding on him, jabbing your finger at him in accusation. “And because of that I rescind my previous compliments! The brownie is a solid eight now.”

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

The look he gives you is nothing short of lascivious, and your heart leaps up into your throat. Jade steeples his hands like he’s about to brief you on some confidential mission while his eyes rove your body from top to bottom. Even though you’re fully clothed, you feel vulnerable and bare standing before him.

“We certainly won’t,” you retort, clipped and curt. To give your hands something to do, you check the time on your phone. “It’s late. I should get back to my dorm.”

Jade smirks at your not-so-subtle escape attempt. He gestures to the brownies. “Why not take some for yourself? It wouldn’t be very fair if I kept all of the spoils after you put in the time and effort to help.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

“Yeah, obviously. Taking anything from you feels like a trap just waiting to be sprung.”

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

You’re already walking towards the door. “You keep it. It’s your food anyway. I’m only supposed to try it and judge.”

Jade stands from his seat to meet you at the doorway. You turn to view him. He’s holding the tray like it’s a consolation cake. “Won’t you take a sliver? You can have it for breakfast tomorrow morning. Doesn’t that sound marvelous? A delicious brownie with some milk—the only way to start your day, no?”

“Jade.” Your voice takes on a sultry purr, and you bat your eyelashes at him. His entire body seems to perk up at this, and for a moment he reminds you of Floyd with his tightly wound mannerisms, each one unfurling like a sporadic spool of thread when he’s interested in something. If there were stars in his eyes, you’re certain his gaze would hold an entire galaxy with how they sparkle hopefully. “If I take a slice, will you stop being so pushy?”

A Cheshire smile curls upon his lips. “That’s all you needed to say.”

To spite you—or sweeten your sour attitude—Jade sends you home with the entire tray.

The botanical garden is bursting with vibrant life, housing plants of all species, each flourishing within the sticky humidity that blankets the expansive space. You undo a button on your blouse, desperate to abandon your layers in hopes of cooling off. There’s a book in your hands, opened to a page with scientific names and facts of specific flowers. The one you’re currently searching for is a heliotrope. According to this helpful guide, it’s a beautiful bloom meaning eternal love.

It’s the perfect gift to pair with your work-in-progress confession. And, to make it even more symbolic, it’s purple! If that doesn’t scream Octavinelle, what will?

Now if only you could find this flower. It feels like you’ve already seen every available area in your tireless hunt and still haven’t come across the prized heliotrope. But you’d asked Professor Crewel earlier today and he’d confirmed such a flower exists within the gardens, so you refuse to leave without one.

I’m not looking hard enough, you conclude, fanning yourself. This is for Floyd. I can’t give up.

“Ugh. But why can’t Floyd appreciate flowers like Jade?” you grouse, flipping through the book as you walk, admiring other blossoms under the same letter category. “I love him, but he’ll never understand the significance. Is it even worth it to go through all of this trouble? What am I saying? Of course it’s worth it! It’s for Floyd! Who cares if he’s not interested in flowers like Jade? He can still appreciate the sentiment.”

You turn the corner and look up from the paragraphs of text. At the very end of the pathway, hunched over a metal bench and tending to what looks to be a chunk of driftwood, Jade stands in his lab coat. You stop yourself so fast that your shoes screech against the concrete path and you almost trip. Jade glances in your direction just as you leap out of sight, now hidden behind a tall trellis of thick, twisting greenery.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

Quietly, you shut the book and eye your various escape paths. On all sides, plants line the walkways, some growing taller than you. Surely it’s possible to leave without stirring up unwanted trouble. Before you can think to move from your current hiding spot, Jade’s silky voice permeates the air.

“Romantic Blooms: A Guide on the Language of Flowers,” he reads, peering over your shoulder at the textbook’s title.

You don’t flinch, having expected he’d come to investigate. Though knowing him, he probably suspected it was you the moment you entered his peripheral.

“Jade.”

“(Name).” He smiles, ignoring the frigid way you address him. “What a lovely coincidence running into you.”

“I was just leaving.”

“Oh, is that so? I was going to ask if you needed anything, but since you seem to be in such a hurry I won’t keep you any longer.”

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

“Actually… Would you, by any chance, know where I could find a heliotrope?”

“Is there a particular reason you’re in need of one?”

“It’s for Floyd.”

“For me?” he mocks, tone high and nasally, while he leans in close.

“Yes, for you.” You poke his chest, pushing him away from you. His smile widens. “Heliotropes mean your love will last forever.”

“Aw. Shrimpy wants forever love with me. Ain’t that adorable!”

“Do you…want that with me?”

“Course I do. You don’t need some silly flower to prove it, y’know. ’Sides, flowers aren’t eternal. It’s gonna wilt eventually. What kinda flower can’t last as long as the thing it symbolizes?” Floyd grasps your chin, tilts your head towards him, and captures your lips in a chaste kiss. When he pulls away, you’re still processing it. “Morays aren’t the monogamous type. Some are. Like my Mama and Pops.”

“O-Oh. Is that… Does that mean…” He kissed me. Again. Floyd kissed me. “W-What about you?”

Floyd peers at you, smirking mischievously, and within seconds he’s plucked the book from out of your hands. “Take a guess.” He slinks away before you can settle on one, laughing as he goes. “S’not a hard one!”

By the time he’s turned the corner, obscured by the foliage, it occurs to you he’s taken your book. Gasping, you hurry after him, not at all offended with his thievery. Rather, when you spot him on the other side of a row of vegetable plants and he challenges you with his typical come-and-get-me look, your heart fattens with adoration, on the verge of imploding like a grand star in a dusky outer space.

It plays out much like a fantastical dream, only this time the distance isn’t as harrowing, and you manage to catch up to him after he takes you all around the botanical garden, giggling the entire way. If you were sweating before, you’re drenched now, but it’s worth it to capture him in an embrace. The hug is short-lived, for you pull away in hopes of cooling down and catching your breath. While you do that, Floyd fumbles with something. He’s cutting a cluster of blossoms with pruning shears.

He offers the flower with his trademark theatrics. “Ta-da! One heliotrope for Shrimpy.”

Gathering yourself, you admire the flower held between his fingers, resisting the urge to cheer. “It’s very pretty. Thank you.”

“Not as pretty as Shrimpy.” Gingerly, he tucks it behind your ear. “Anyone ever tell ya your eyes get reeeal big when you’re happy?”

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

He leans down to your height, beaming sincerely. “Now ya know.”

“Yeah…” Delicately, you run your fingertips over the violet cutting, your whisper swelling with joy. “Now I know.”

Floyd watches you pet it, abnormally still. You’re so used to seeing him fidget when he’s forced to linger in place, a creature unable to restrain his energy for even a moment, that it’s almost uncanny when he stands straight as a board. A large hand, encased in a gardener’s glove, reaches for you and you don’t have the foresight to meet him halfway. Instead, he awkwardly pats your shoulder, seemingly unsure of where to place his hand after it started moving towards you.

“If we were together, I’d give you more than a flower.”

For a minute you think you hear Jade’s deeper intonation slip through. His hand slides down the length of your arm, and his fingers interlace with yours. His stare, filled with forlorn longing, pins you in place. His hands fit seamlessly in yours, as if they were intended to all along. Rather hastily, you slide the gloves off to rid him of his fabric barrier. Smooth, soft digits entwine with yours next. Floyd shuffles closer, caging you between himself and a metal workbench.

“You don’t have to! A flower’s more than enough for me.”

“No, it ain’t. You deserve so much more.”

“Then…” Your breath hitches when he slots his knee between your legs. Nimble fingers slide under your blouse, palming at your stomach. “What would you give me?”

“Everythin’. Whatever ya want. I’d never let ya be sad or lonely again.” He noses your collarbone, sighing moonily. “I’d give you an entire garden of heliotropes if it means you’ll never look at anyone else ever again.” As if realizing something, he sighs, clears his throat, and adds, “I want ya so fuckin’ bad, Shrimpy. I just want you to be happy.”

You reach to pat his head, and he seems to preen at your touch. “I… I feel the same. I…”

I love you.

Floyd’s fingers dance beneath your clothes, mapping every inch of skin as if he’s trying to commit it to memory. He’s slowly rutting against you, his breath hot in your ears. Perhaps it’s the humidity, but you feel dizzy in his embrace, lost in a lustful haze.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he confesses, roughly tugging your bra down until your breasts spill free. He cradles them in strong hands. “Always thought about it when I saw ya sittin’ pretty in class.”

You blink. It’s not a dream. He’s touching you. You blink again for good measure. It’s still not a dream.

“Do what?” A dumb question. You know what he means, but you wish to hear it right from his mouth.

“Kissin’ and touchin’. Ya have no idea how many times I wanted to pull ya into an empty classroom and just…” His teeth graze your pulse, tasting the stuttering beat beneath. “Make a mess of ya.”

“What… What was stopping you?”

“Didn’t think you’d feel the same,” he mumbles, nipping at your throat. When he speaks next, it’s in an octave lower, and he’s lost Floyd’s whimsical vocality. “So I would content myself with observing you in secret. You never noticed I was there, but I saw you. Every single day at every hour, studying tirelessly in the library or sharing a meal with your friends at the cafeteria…” He twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, prompting a shuddering gasp from you. “You’re captivating when you exist in oblivion.”

That…doesn’t sound like something Floyd would say.

“Floyd, wait…”

He pulls away to look at you and his pupils are blown impossibly wide, almost as if he’s high off the scent of you, the warmth of your skin under his palms as they wander lower, and the daring thrill of exhibitionism. He seems to snap out of his trance moments later when he offers you a toothy grin. You chew your lip, uncertain.

What was that all about? Looking pretty when I’m oblivious? Watching me in secret?

“All good?” His fingers curl into the waistband of your uniform pants, and for a moment you wish you were wearing a skirt so he’d have easier access.

Feebly, you nod, your every nerve alight with an insatiable yearning. “I’m okay.”

Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe this is how Floyd flirts.

“Promise?” One hand massages your hip, enticing you to agree.

You pull him in so that your bodies can connect. He hums at the contact, whether in pleasure or approval you can’t tell. “I promise,” you whisper, abandoning logic to breathe him in like he’s the worst kind of addiction. A fatal temptation, but it’s impossible to stop when you’ve come this far.

Floyd giggles and resumes his fondling, closing his hands around your breasts. You whine your grief, mourning the loss of his lingering touch on your waist. Although a deeper part of you is relieved he didn’t stray further in his exploration. Had he done so, you wouldn’t have had the sensible conscience to stop him. You almost direct his touch downwards, but instead your hands grab at his face to drag him up and away from your neck. He fills in what’s left of the space between the both of you, capturing your lips in a searing smooch. This time, rather than flailing about foolishly, you hold him still, savoring the sloppy exchange of breath and saliva. He licks into your mouth, chasing your tongue, and though it isn’t a competition you let him overpower you.

Victory hangs in the air, but you’re not sure which of you has won.

It’s everything you could have ever coveted from Floyd: a saccharine, movie-esque moment in the middle of a flowering garden. For this singular moment, he’s all yours. Your star only has eyes for you and he’s all over you, unable to keep his hands to himself as he ruts his hips in time with yours, panting against your mouth as if you’re the only oxygen source to be found at the bottom of the sea. His touch is firm and gentle all at once, hungrily impatient, and when he kisses you it’s as if he does so with the intention that this may be the last chance he’ll ever have.

Without much forethought, you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, undoing two more so that he may slide it from your shoulders to reveal the oh-so-inviting bareness of your neck.

You catch his face in your hands, eyes narrowed with an unspoken threat. Mind where you bite.

He reads you loud and clear, for he flashes his teeth at you and places one of his hands over yours, his entire body rumbling with laughter. “Why not?”

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

“If ya don’t want it, don’t ask for it.”

“Floyd—” His lips brush against your skin and you shiver. “Please…”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ Rather than bite marks, open-mouthed kisses pepper your skin. “Next time.”

You intend to object, to plead that you want nothing more than to be bloodied with bites, but he’s drawing all sorts of sinful sounds from the depths of your throat and it’s impossible to voice your disappointment when pleasure’s quickly taking over. You grab his chin and smash your mouth against his instead, determined to out-kiss him—if such a thing is even possible. Floyd giggles, invigorated with the challenge you’ve initiated, and angles his head to kiss you more deeply.

It makes up for the lack of bites, you tell yourself, and the outlandish assurance soothes you. With the way he’s breathing into you as if you’re his lifeline, a buoy floating on rocky waves, he’s shamelessly unslakable. But then so are you when you nip at his tongue, taking it in your mouth until your chest is begging for reprieve, unable to compete with the lung capacity of merman. His hands are still roaming and you mirror his actions, clumsily unbuttoning his lab coat and pulling it from his person. Floyd would never dress so neatly, every button buttoned and tie tied expertly, but you ignore this detail in favor of receiving another starved kiss from him.

Your hands drift lower until they’ve settled over the strain in his pants. Momentarily, you hesitate, your heart collapsing into your stomach.

This is real. He’s actually… Because of this, Floyd is… You swallow thickly and palm it carefully. Floyd groans low in your ear. He bucks against your hand to force friction.

“You’re so cute,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your fingertip, wickedly cruel in your tentative, experimental petting. “All of that from a little—” you put on his voice next, a poor mimic— “kissin’ and touchin,’ huh?”

“S’not nice when you…tempt—ah, tease me…” He shakes his head, stumbling over Floyd’s trademark drawl. He buries his face in your shoulder, gasping when you apply just a little more pressure. “Shrimpy’s so meeean, makin’ me wait for it.”

You giggle and run your fingers through the sturgeon scales hanging from his ear. The disturbance has them clicking against one another. His earring’s in the wrong place, but for today it’s right. So right.

Your lips part in a frenetic smile. Oh, how you adore him.

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

Led onwards by lustful impatience, you reach between your bodies to undo the zip on his trousers. Floyd sighs again, as if your touch is the greatest relief, when you squeeze him through the fabric of his boxers. You’ve always theorized how big he might be, but now that you’re finally approximating his length you’re wondering how you’ll ever fit all of him. The delicious fantasy of a filthy struggle—of trembling around him as he eases himself inside, filling you up thick inch by thick inch—renders your temperature volcanic.

“About moray—” You inhale sharply when he rolls his hips, and the last of your restraint rots away. With your tongue tucked between your teeth, you concentrate on massaging the bulge between his legs with newly restored confidence. “Moray courtship…”

“Mm, yeah… What about it?” His voice quivers against your mouth, wet and wanton.

“What’s it like?”

“Ah. Well… Hah…” He slows his fervent humping and presses his forehead to yours to look you in the eyes. “I’d bring ya lotsa stuff. Food and shiny treasures and—haa… And I’d pretty up the cave. Protect ya from predators. Keep ya comfy and content.”

You imagine Floyd dutifully prowling the perimeter of your shared living space, all taut, lean muscle, senses on high alert, while you remain swathed in soothing shadows. The fantasy is so vivid in your mind that you almost reach out, fingers chasing the distant delusion of a Floyd who loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone. Instead, you grasp the phony. His hands are on your waist, steadying you, and you embrace him like he’s the lover you’ll never have.

“And you’d never leave me?”

“Never. Not once. Not ever.” The promise is made between kisses, each more pleasurable than the last. It sets your entire body aflame with an intoxicating exultation. Tears prick your eyes. “I’ll stay with ya forever, Shrimpy.”

“But what if someone else—”

He places a finger to your lips, silencing what’s left of your doubt. “I don’t want someone else. You’re all I’ll ever want, so there’s no need to worry about things that will never come to pass.” A smile adorns his features next and he slides his finger down your lips to trace your jawline. You sigh at his touch. It’s everything and nothing. Too much and too little. Everlasting and fleeting. “You’re always gonna be my Shrimpy, ya got that? No one else can have ya. Promise me.”

Your face aches from smiling so much, but this time you can’t help it. Those words, coupled with his actions, renew your once-dampened, self-conscious spirit. You drink him in, doing away with hesitation.

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

There’s a spark of something sad in his eyes then, but it passes like a short sunshower, swallowed up in a sea of salacity. You fail to take note of it when you’re so busy stroking him through his boxers, imprisoned by the magnetic force of attraction that’s settled between the both of you. He hums his appreciation, sliding his hands up the expanse of your stomach to squeeze your chest. You can’t seem to keep yourself off of him for more than a minute, pulling him into you for more of everything. More friction. More kisses. More connection.

More. More. More.

The steamy press of his mouth to yours is prurient, teeth clicking against teeth and warring tongues, but it’s so addictive. You wish to remain like this forever, savoring kisses and exchanging tender touches. Everything about this version of Floyd matches the one you’ve spent countless nights picturing. You feel enshrouded in cotton when he grinds helplessly into your hand to chase a mounting climax. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to experience—a physical culmination of real, raw love.

Floyd’s pace is frenzied now, and he’s chanting how good you feel like it’s the gospel. He’s close; you can sense it, see it, hear it in the way he gasps and groans. His fingers dig into your sides, just beneath your ribs, to keep himself anchored as he rests his head on your shoulder. His eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly to reveal the pointed beginnings of his razored teeth, and with just a few more touches and gyrations he shudders through his orgasm.

He’s almost boneless in your arms when he resurfaces, lips pursed in a tight line. His face is flushed scarlet, a rare vibrancy you’ve never seen on the face of Jade Leech.

That’s right. It’s Jade you did all of that with. Jade. Not Floyd. Jade.

But it felt like Floyd.

“You good?” You offer him a warm smile when his eyes flutter open.

He leans into you and then slowly retracts himself. “Ah. Yes… Yes, I’m all right now. Forgive me for getting so carried away.”

You follow the direction he’s looking at to your hand, which is still pressed to his boxers and is sticky with his spend as it seeps through the fabric. Embarrassment trickles down your spine.

“O-Oh! Sorry. I… Um, let me just…” Eyes darting elsewhere, you yank your hand away, intending to wipe it on your pant leg. Your attempt at a carefree chuckle sticks in your throat when he grasps it instead. “Uh, Jade?”

He holds your gaze with startling intensity. For the few moments that pass between both of you, you assume he’s still playing Floyd, but there’s something about his mannerisms that tells you otherwise. He’s distrait, distant, dazed—whatever you choose to call it—and he’s studying you as if you’ve just hung the stars in his sky.

What’s he looking at? Is there something on my face?

“I never understood why Floyd calls you Little Shrimpy,” he whispers, curling his fingers around yours. “You’re more than a tiny, trifling shrimp. To me, you are the moon—hypnotically radiant, a pretty pearl in a pitch-black sea—capable of influencing the very ocean I reside in. And like an enchanted tide heeding the moon’s call—like a fisherman mesmerized by a siren’s lullaby—I’m drawn in by your beauty and brilliance.” He leans close, breath fanning across your lips. “I exist to revolve around you. To drown in you. Forever.”

You stare at him.

It’s all you can do. Stare and pretend you aren’t stunned by this revelation—like it didn’t just sap all of the oxygen from the air. What is he talking about? You’d expect something like this from Rook, who’s known to wax poetry as easily as he breathes. But Jade? Sure, he’s eloquent, but even he wouldn’t say something so…

What’s the right word to describe it? It’s not cheesy; you don’t think so, at least. It’s not heartwarming either. You feel like he might wheedle you into a scheme if you’re readily receptive to his flowery adulation. It’s nice to be compared to the moon, though. But then the moon is forever out of reach, unobtainable for a merman like Jade, who can only ever observe from the sea. It’s a love birthed from the yearning of a gap that can never and will never be closed.

You’re thankful it’s hot in here, otherwise your embarrassment would have been explosively obvious.

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

Upon hearing the real Floyd, the tendrils of the fantasy you once entangled yourself in snap. And amidst the fragments, a dozen anxieties come rushing forth. Hastily, you push Jade away and shove his rumpled lab coat at him. Fear-laced adrenaline has you struggling with the buttons on your blouse. He doesn’t seem nearly as panicked as you currently are, merely hugging his coat to his chest and watching you, smitten beyond sanity.

“Hide!” you hiss, smoothing the wrinkles in your shirt and then cursing when you realize you’ve missed a button. There’s no time to fix it. “Hurry! Before he finds out—”

“Before who finds out?” Floyd whips around the corner just as Jade vanishes from sight. You miss the way he grips his magic pen in a tight fist, pupils blown with a crazed sort of excitement. You’re equal parts relieved and grateful for his swift reflexes, but you’re more grateful for Floyd’s interruption. You weren’t interested in knowing the answer to your half-spoken inquiry. “Ah! It’s Shrimpy! Whatcha doin’ talkin’ to yourself?”

“F-Floyd, hey! Hi! I… I’m just looking around for…flowers.” You smile, full set of teeth on display despite your disheveled and mildly panicked appearance.

Did he hear us? Did he see us? Please tell me he didn’t. Please. Please. Please.

Floyd’s eyes rove over your too-tense form. He leans in close, and you jerk away with a nervous chuckle. His nose wrinkles, and then a curious smile pulls at his lips. You’re certain that can’t be good.

“What… What’s up?”

“Ya smell like Jade.” He’s gazing at your ear now and it dawns on you that the heliotrope is still snugly tucked there. “Didja see him?”

“What? No!” The look he gives you next is so skeptical you almost kick yourself. “I mean, not today I haven’t…” Swallowing another uncomfortable laugh, you remove the flower from its current resting place and crush it in a tight fist. The limp petals flutter to the ground when you release them from your hold. “Maybe it’s my perfume! I… I bought a new one, so I’ve been wearing it a lot lately.”

“Mhm… Perfume,” he muses, grinning up to his ears, his thumbs hooked casually in his pockets.

You’re a bad liar, you scold yourself, ashamed.

“Anyway, why’re you looking for Jade? I can pass on a message if I happen to run into him.”

“Could ya? Thanks, Shrimpy,” he says, pulling away to give you space. “Azul’s been on my tail about him all day. Super annoyin’ with it. Says he needs Jade at the lounge cuz it’s busy or somethin’.”

You intend to say, “So why not go in his place?” but then you realize something unusual.

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

Floyd shrugs. “Dunno. Jade never skips anythin’ important. He’s got a schedule he follows, y’know? Real diligent.”

“And I’m assuming the lounge is a big part of that schedule?”

“Prolly.”

Then why was he here in the gardens? Did he lose track of time? It’s an impossible thought; you fail to trick yourself into believing it. No, Jade would never.

“Oh. O-Okay…” You fidget in place while Floyd continues to look at you. He rocks back and forth on his heels, seemingly waiting for you to speak up. A minute stretches between the both of you. “Um… Is that it?”

He gazes past you then, at the spot where you’re certain Jade’s standing. “Yep. S’all I wanted to say. If ya see Jade, let him know Azul’s lookin’ for him.” He turns around, pauses, and then looks over his shoulder at you. “Your new perfume’s lame. Ya gotta get a nicer scent.”

And then he’s disappearing into the foliage, shaded under wide, full boughs. You stand stupefied and replay his words in a loop. Out of every detail gleaned, the strangest was Floyd’s claim that you smelled like Jade. You feel foolish for dwelling on it, but it’s starting to eat through your organs with its implications and now all sorts of questions are sparking in your brain. Why would Floyd pick up on your scent? Was he being truthful, or was that intended to make you squirm with discomfort? Is it an unpleasant sort of smell? Does he mean to say you smell salty like the sea because that’s where Jade’s from? But what does Jade even smell like? With the reluctance of a cat near water, you raise your wrist to your nose and inhale deeply.

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

You spin around just as a patch of Jade becomes visible, pieces of his figure slowly gaining clarity as the effects of the illusory spell fade. Neither of you says anything, opting to decode the message on the other’s face. You think about crossing the distance to scold him in close proximity, if only to break the thickening tension, but that urge falls away as soon as it comes.

“Do you think he knows?”

“It’s possible. Mages can always sense magic, even the smallest of spells. At the very least, he was aware a third party was here.”

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

“Physically, yes. It only works on those who neglect to notice or aren’t adept in spellcasting.” He slides his arms into the sleeves of his lab coat, gracefully unruffled. “I thought I’d spare you the chagrin if I made myself scarce. Unless you wanted Floyd to know, in which case I’ll be more than delighted to divulge our secret affair.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. And don’t call it that! It’s just convenient that you’re his twin and can do a good impression. Convenient, okay?”

“Conveniently an affair. Or should we settle for ‘dalliance’ instead? How about mutualism? Partnership? Which do you prefer?”

You rub calming circles into your temples. By the Great Seven, he’ll annoy you to death before you can even confess. You’re buzzing with irritation, but it’s not directed at Jade. Instead, you’re frustrated with your failure. You let Floyd leave. You had an entire conversation going and it fell apart because you sent him away. Because you just had to ask if that was all he needed from you. On top of that, it’s blisteringly hot in here and Floyd said you reek of Jade; and you’re not even wearing any perfume, and you probably smell and look so gross; and your nonstop sweating might be ruining your makeup and—

“(Name)?”

“What?” It’s harsh on your tongue, a demand rather than a question. He offers you a handkerchief. You stare at the pristine, frilly white blur clutched between his fingers. “I’m fine. I don’t need your sympathy. In fact, I don’t want it.”

And then the first tear traces a line down your cheek.

“Oh. Um. Hold on.” You wipe it away with your wrist, sniffling as you do so. “Fuck, I’m a mess. This is the worst. I can’t even… I can’t do anything right. I had the perfect opportunity to ask him or…talk to him—say anything I wanted, change the subject—I don’t know! And I… I blew it. I completely r-ruined it and now he thinks I smell like you, but we’re not even together like that and if he thinks I’m taken I’ll never have a chance!”

“I understand how devastating it must feel, but you shouldn’t let that discourage—”

You swat him and the handkerchief away when he takes a step closer. “Stop. Just…stop. You don’t understand. You have no idea how it feels. Don’t act like you do.”

Jade hesitates, opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I love him, Jade. I love him so much, but I don’t know where to start. It sucks. I feel so lost. And… And he said I smelled like you! Does he think I have a bad scent? Am I really that terrible?” You wipe at the onslaught of unstoppable tears and hiccup through a blubbery sob. “O-Or am I boring? Is that it? If I smell like you, does that mean I have a boring smell? But then it was my fault for ending the conversation. And then… And I didn’t even get to give him the flower…”

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

“You’re just saying that because you can. Because you’re not Floyd.”

“But I know Floyd, and Floyd only returns to those he deems fun or fulfilling. Furthermore, if he thought you smelled bad he would have said so, unfiltered and brutally honest. As one of his most devout admirers, this should be beginner’s knowledge for you.”

“I know. I know. I—” You pause, brows furrowing, and suddenly it isn’t so heart-wrenching anymore. “You’re right, actually.”

“See? There’s no need to sully your pretty visage with tears and snot. It was just one interaction. There are many more to come, surely.” He snips a new heliotrope from the bush and holds it out to you. “If not the handkerchief, will you accept this and try again?”

You stare at the cutting, shakily taking it. A wet, weak laugh forces itself from the constrictive confines of your throat. “Yes, Jade,” you mutter, scrubbing the salt from your eyes. “Yes, I’ll try again.”

He smiles, but it isn’t duplicitous. “Please don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean tomorrow or next week.”

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

“You say that and yet you’ve started smiling. What happened to ‘I’m the worst’ and ‘I ruined my chances’?”

Flustered, you slap your hand over your mouth to curb your growing grin. “I’m not smiling! It wasn’t funny! I… I’m still upset!” You back away on quick feet, ducking around the corner with a final, “I’m still the worst! A total failure!”

Jade laughs into his fist, savoring the fleeting sounds of your soles upon the concrete. As if coming down from a miraculous high, he allows his short-lived joy to ebb away. Sadness soon sets in when he glances at the scattered petals on the ground, and he can only hope the new heliotrope won’t meet the same wilted fate as its predecessor. He’s just about to gather them when you pop into sight once more, your chest heaving as if you just ran a grueling race. He stares at you, a single brow raised. Suddenly, feeling glum is the last thing on his mind.

“Back so soon?”

“I—” you huff, gathering both your thoughts and breath— “I forgot…to give you…a message!”

“Oh?”

“Azul needs you at the lounge.” You wipe sweat from your brow, rushing through the words. “And just so you know—skipping work doesn’t really seem like your style, but it’s not a bad change of pace for you. I kinda like rebellious, sweets-loving Jade who’s greedy for both land and sea. Can’t say Azul will agree, though.”

For once he doesn’t seem to have a clever retort at the ready. But that doesn’t matter because you’re already bounding away, light on your feet as if you’ve just won a lottery. Maybe you have and it’s the premise of a second chance that has you feeling so filled with luck. Jade shakes his head at the foolishness of it all, his close-lipped smile widening.

If anyone’s won anything today, it’s him. But despite this, it feels far more empty than he imagined it would.

You’re humming as you skip along, tracing the path you’re certain Floyd traveled. With the heliotrope clutched in your hand, you dry what’s left of the tears in your puffy eyes and hurry along. You won’t mess up this time. You’re going to give him the flower and then!

Your gait slows to an abrupt halt. And then… And then what? You’ll have to say something else. You can’t just wordlessly bestow a flower to the love of your life and think that’s enough. Great Seven, you’re not even prepared!

For a small, vulnerable second you consider turning back and returning to Jade to get his opinion on this predicament. He knows Floyd best; he’d have plenty of advice. But you don’t want to face him. Not after everything that happened. Reminders of your intimacy with him creep in like an intrusive thought, overwhelming with its lewd imagery. You can’t believe you allowed it to go that far—to stray into a territory you’ve never navigated before. Kissing is one thing. Working Jade towards his orgasm is another.

There’s a bingo card for this, surely. An invisible one you’re steadily marking off as you go: Kissing with Jade? Check. Feeling certain assets below the belt? Check. Being compared to a celestial body, which is arguably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever told you in all of the years you’ve lived your life? That’s oddly specific, but it’s on the card. Check.

It’s a bingo card for a mutually beneficial partnership. Not the kind for a pair of lovers. Definitely not.

You’d mourn your inability to draw significant boundaries if it weren’t for the fraction of yourself that hungers for the attention, drinking it in like it’s a frosty glass of water on a humid night. It’s wrong to fool yourself over and over—inane, even. Why would you subject yourself to this torture if you know what waits for you at the end of this: heartbreak at the hands of delusion? You shouldn’t use Jade like this either. That’s also wrong, but he’s so accessible. So willing to indulge you. It’s a fair trade. A fair game. No one gets hurt. No one wins and no one loses.

But then fairness is never promised in a trade with Jade—with anyone from Octavinelle, really. You fall into the especially desperate souls category and so your situation is very different from those who look for easy academic cheats or social hacks.

Shaking your head, you free yourself of these thoughts, pushing each one aside as if wading through murky water, and trudge onwards. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s already happened.

It’s not even real intimacy, you remind yourself, hardening your heart. It’s just physical. We both agreed to help each other. He’ll role-play as Floyd and we’ll go from there. It’s Jade who’s being weird with his silver tongue and stupid poetry.

“The moon, huh…” you mutter, twirling the heliotrope between your fingers. “That’s a first…”

Nice try, Jade. A few hollow compliments aren’t going to convince me to be gentler when I rate your mushroom dishes.

Your feet take you across the bridge, leaving the botanical garden and the alchemy workshop far behind, to the cobbles that extend past the Hall of Mirrors and towards a stone staircase. You take each step one at a time until you’re standing in front of the Mystery Shop. Surprisingly enough—or maybe it’s not because you were hoping for this—Floyd’s there, leaning against a tree trunk and scrolling on his phone. Your arrival seems to pull him from whatever was occupying him on his screen, for he glances up at you.

You shake off every nerve that tightens at the premise of interacting with him. Pretend he’s Jade. I talk to Jade just fine, so maybe if I can just—

Floyd kicks off from the tree, falling into a lazy step that looks more like a slither as he crosses the distance to get to you. Or maybe you’re paying too much attention to his legs. Either way, he’s standing in front of you now, his phone pocketed and arm outstretched. You follow the length of it, taking notice of the gift bag that hangs from his grasp like bait on a fishing lure.

He’s not shifty like Jade, you think. Okay, maybe he’s a little shifty. But he means well! Most of the time…

“Is… Is this for me?”

Floyd nods and shakes it. “Gonna open it?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

“Because Floyd is acting suspicious. What have I done that would make you buy something for me?”

“What if I wanna treat Shrimpy? S’nothing wrong with a little somethin’ every now and then, yeah? I think you’ll like it.”

“That doesn’t sound very comforting…”

“C’mon. Just open it.” He presses it into your hand. “Trust me.”

You roll your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. Pushy just like his brother.

“I trust you.” Cautiously, you stick your hand inside and withdraw a pink box patterned with red swirls. In looping script, the words Cherry Crush are printed. You almost drop the heliotrope in your excitement, and you tear the box open to get to the bottle that rests within. “No way!” You look at Floyd. He confirms your disbelief with a grin. “For me? Seriously? Really?”

“Who else? Course it’s for you.” He tilts his head, watching you a little too closely. “You like it?”

“Wait, I haven’t even put it on yet!” The cap comes off and you spritz some on your wrist. Waving it around so it’ll dry faster, you feel yourself break out into a dumb smile. “Yes, I do like it. A lot. Thank you.”

“No prob. I’m glad,” he says, pronouncing it in a hum. “You like smellin’ sweet, so I got ya somethin’ sweet.”

You catch a sugary whiff and sigh, wholly satisfied. It’s perfect, everything you could’ve ever wanted, and you hope it washes away whatever scent Floyd had previously detected on you. If love smells like Cherry Crush perfume, you never want to fall out of it.

“Oh, speaking of that, I actually got you something, too.”

“Gonna take a guess and say it’s that flower you’ve got.”

“Yeah! I picked one from the botanical garden. It’s a heliotrope.”

Floyd takes it from you, turns it over in his hand, and whistles. “Pretty. Why’s it for me? It looked nicer in your hair.”

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

“Oh. Uh, that… I think it would look much prettier in a vase or something…”

“Mm, nah.”

The once freely flowing conversation halts. You kick yourself for putting yourself in a corner. Why is it so challenging to keep a chat going? With Jade, you could go for hours, bickering and bantering about the smallest details. With Floyd, it feels like you have to carve your insides out just to keep him engaged. But if that’s what it takes, you’ll do it. Anything for Floyd.

“I think it might look pretty in your hair.”

“You think so?”

“Y-Yeah! I mean, purple is such a beautiful color and it matches Octavinelle’s aesthetic. You could even wear it as a pin. Oh, but you’d have to make it into one first. Or you could tuck the stem into the breast pocket on your uniform! That might work best.”

Floyd chuckles. “Shrimpy’s really into this, huh?”

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

Mutely, you nod. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth—frantic and metallic. Or maybe you’ve bitten the inside of your cheek in the midst of your hasty ramblings and it’s the river of blood filling your mouth that you mistake for a heartbeat. Either way, you want nothing more than to curl up in the soil and disappear forever.

“You should see ’em in the Coral Sea. It’s real nice down there. Lotsa flowers and plants and stuff.”

“Oh, I’ve actually seen some of them before! When we went to the Coral Sea to get that photograph from that museum, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He giggles at the recollection. “Good times.”

“You gave us a proper fright. You and Jade. Slippery eels…”

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

You snort when he flashes his teeth at you, not apologetic in the slightest. “I’m sure you did.”

Again, the conversation glides to a halt. Floyd seems content to stand and stare, and it pains you that you must, once again, direct him towards something interesting.

“Um, Floyd, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

“Well… Um, I don’t know if you like baking or anything—or maybe you’ve never tried it—but I was thinking… Actually, since you’re here, I thought that we might be able to… No, sorry. I meant, since we ran into each other, wouldn’t it be fun if—oh, wait! About my interview! Yeah, that. Is… Is it possible I could get another interview?”

If there was a competition to see how many times you could bumble in front of Floyd, you’d take first place and you’d still feel like a loser.

“Mm, I dunno. You’ll have to talk to Azul about it.”

“Then could I talk to him now?”

Floyd nods and steps ahead. He doesn’t look back to check if you’re following, and while you drag yourself behind him poisonous thoughts dig into your skull, threatening to split it open and infect the squishy brain matter beneath.

Why can’t I just ask him what I really want? I said all of those embarrassing things to Jade without any problems. So why can’t I say it to Floyd?

“Shrimpy’s so set on workin’ at the lounge. Why’s that?”

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

Floyd nods. You hurry to match his stride, lest he leave you and your crumbling heart behind. “I getcha.”

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

“Cuz ya don’t have much experience workin’.”

“Hey! I have lots of experience! Azul’s missing out on a very good worker, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure he is.”

“What would you do—if you were the boss, I mean?”

“Hire ya. Then it’ll get a lot more fun in the lounge.”

You finally fall into step beside him, your eyes wide with wonder. “Really? You think I’d be a fun coworker?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your grip on the bag tightens, courage filling you at once. He thinks I’m fun…

For all of his boasting about being accessible and willing to listen to everyone’s troubles, Azul is unimpressed when Floyd drops you off at his VIP room. Your beloved eel winks just as you step inside, offering you a sing-song, “Good luck,” before slinking off. You were confident for all of ten seconds, but then the door closes and you’re left with Azul, who looks very unwilling to hear you out; and suddenly your not-so-rehearsed speech doesn’t seem so foolproof anymore.

He doesn’t flinch when you rush him and slam your hands upon his desk. In fact, you don’t think he even looks up to acknowledge your boisterous presence, too engrossed in a stack of documents to even bother.

“Azul, you have to hire me! Please give me one chance. I won’t let you down. I’ll do everything you ask!”

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

“I’d hazard an assumption that you’re more serious about Floyd than you are about contributing to the lounge.”

You gasp, offended, to which Azul rolls his eyes, foregoing his usual lofty decorum. “That is…very true, yes. But I’ll work hard, and I’ll show up on time. I’ll even sign a contract! Please, Azul, I’ll do anything. I need this job.”

He hums, unconvinced. “You do realize it’s not guaranteed you’ll become any closer to Floyd than you already are.”

“I know.” You gaze at the perfume box resting within the bag. There’s hope. “But… But I’m not going to give up. I’ll keep pestering you about interviews until the end of your days.”

Sensing an in, Azul straightens the documents, sets them on his desk, and gazes at you. The atmosphere shifts in an instant with his newly stoked interest, or perhaps he’s feigned apathy all along just to see how far you’ll lower yourself.

“As it happens, there is an open position, if you’d be interested in hearing more.”

“Go on…”

“If hired, you’d join my staff as a waitress. We could use the extra help when the foot traffic peaks, and since you appear genuinely motivated—as wildly misplaced as this motivation may be—I could consider giving you the job.”

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

“Only if you work as you’ve so dutifully claimed you will.”

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

“If you were so desperate, you could have looked to Sam for a job. The Mystery Shop is always hiring.”

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

“Of course. One-track as ever… Well, if you’re truly so determined, let me ask you something.”

Danger thickens in the air when you spy his sticky smile, but if Azul is all who stands between you and Floyd you’ll take the risk.

“I’m only listening if you’re going to be honest. No strings.”

“Why, that smarts, (Name)! And I thought we were thick as thieves!”

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

“How rude. Is that any way to speak to your future employer and boss?”

“We’re getting distracted. What did you want to ask me?”

Azul tuts. “Ever the impatient one. If you must know, I’d like to ask if you’d be willing to make a deal.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

He’s thrown somewhat off course at your readiness. But before you can take his momentary hesitation and twist the conversation in your favor, he recovers with an admirable level of poise. With an airy chuckle, he plucks his magic pen from his breast pocket and swishes it in an elegant motion. A contract scroll, its contents written in perfect cursive, materializes within seconds. You stare at it, mesmerized by the aureate shimmer.

“The terms are fairly simple. You’ll work your hours as scheduled. You’re permitted to turn to Floyd for guidance so long as you remain focused on the task at hand. I’ll even align your schedule with his if it pleases, but I can’t make any promises that he’ll show up for his appointed shifts. He’s mercurial, you see, but you’re likely aware of this.”

You nod, soaking in the information like a rapacious sponge. “And? What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” he says, eyeing you with predatory intent, “is that you’ll have every opportunity to prove to me that your work ethic is as authentic as you say it is. Fail thrice and you’ll lose your job and, consequently, your chance at currying favor with Floyd.”

“That’s all? Sounds oddly safe coming from you.”

“Oh, did you think I was finished?” He chuckles and withdraws a vial from his desk drawer. The colorless liquid inside the glass sloshes when he sets it down.

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

“I know that. I mean, what’s it supposed to be a potion for? Is it a love potion?” You gasp and hurry to snatch it from the desk. Azul beats you to it, levitating it out of your reach with a swish of his magic pen. “Seriously, what is it? I’ll drink it if that’s what you want, but I need to know what I’m working with.”

“It’s meant for you, yes. I’ll need you to add part of yourself to the mixture and let it sit for, say, a few minutes. Three should suffice. Then you’ll be free to drink it.”

“What should I add?”

“Let me phrase it this way—what are you most comfortable drinking? Blood? Saliva? Something else?”

Your face falls and he laughs. “That doesn’t sound appetizing whatsoever.”

“Most potions never are, but this one is special.”

“Special how?”

“A lady of many questions, aren’t you?”

“Forgive me for being cautious, but you’re a man of many tricks and lies. Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

“If that’s the case, shall I call Floyd in here and have him give you the overview? Would that ease your worries?”

“Absolu—wait, no. No, not at all. I’m focused on working!” You open your palm to receive the fishbone pen he offers, its tip already submerged in pitch-black ink. “Work is in my brain. Not Floyd. I promise.”

“We’ll see.” Azul places the vial on the desk once more, its foggy opacity an unsolved mystery. “To review: You’ll work for me, show me that you’re not just here to follow a fluffy daydream—” his nose scrunches at that phrasing, as if it leaves a foul taste on his tongue— “and in return I shall so graciously provide you with plentiful opportunities to be near Floyd. You’ll also be expected to drink that potion at some point and retrieve a few things while under its effects. More on that at a later date.”

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

“And if I mess up three times, that’s it? I’m fired?”

“Three strikes and you’re out, as they say.” He smiles and gestures to the contract lying before you, an empty line awaiting a hasty signature. “Do we have a deal?”

You stare between the perfume and the scroll. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself and scrawl your name in messy script. The dim lighting contorts his enthused features into something devilish. Before you can even think to peruse the contract for its fine print—a trademark of any Azul Ashengrotto contract—the parchment rolls itself up and vanishes in a fantastical poof.

“A pleasure doing business, (Name). Should you find yourself in need yet again, you’re always welcome to consult me any time.”

You almost thank him, but instead you catch yourself and say, “You made me wait on purpose, dragging your decision out so I’d come to you when I was most desperate. You were probably going to hire me all along, weren’t you?”

“Let’s say my considerations have been successfully swayed.”

You roll your eyes, a fiery quip bubbling on your tongue, but a knock at the door draws your attention away from Azul.

“I’ll cook you if you’re playing any tricks,” you threaten before swiping the vial and stuffing it in the bag alongside the perfume. And then you pivot on your heel. “Turn you into something healthy. Like an octopus salad.”

“Oh, anything but that. I’m so terrified.” (He’s not.)

On your way out, you pass Jade. He looks partially surprised to see you, his widened, mismatched hues following you for a long, starstruck moment until Azul squawks at him with an impatient huff. You catch his chiding words just as the door eases shut: “Where have you been all day? I would expect this behavior from Floyd, but never from you.”

Your feet carry you into the busy lounge. Inhaling scents of food and drink, you hold your breath and let your achievement sink in.

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

And then you’re jumping up in celebration, punching the air with clenched fists, uncaring that students are turning to scrutinize. “Hell yeah! I got the job! Eat your doubtful, hater words, Jade Leech!”

You whirl towards the VIP room, all smiles and giggles, intending to barge in there and rub your success in his face. But then you take a bewildered pause.

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

Is it worth sharing with Jade? Would he even truly care? Something tells you he would—a tiny, nagging something that’s doing everything it can to convince you of a fact you’ve yet to prove. You think back to the night you spent in the Mostro Lounge kitchen, discussing the differences between land and sea while waiting for the brownies in the oven, and wonder if he was telling the truth when he said he’d choose both options. Maybe he only cares about the amusement and the entertainment and not the sentimentality of following a love across land and sea. He’s sly, a natural sycophant, and so that seems probable and much easier to believe.

Still…

“Ah, forget it!” you hiss, choosing to make your retreat now before you can talk yourself into divulging the good news. He’ll find out soon enough. He doesn’t need to hear it from you, but it would be immensely pleasing to be the one to deliver it.

Floyd is waiting for you in the tunnel that connects the lounge to Octavinelle. Backdropped by swirling blues and marine life, looking like a painter’s finest pièce de résistance, he slinks over to meet you halfway.

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

You stare at him, overwhelmed with love for his unruly charms, and nod ecstatically. Thoughts of Jade and revenge evaporate altogether, irrelevant now that you’re with your star.

“Hey, congrats! I knew you’d get it.” He leans over to wrap you in a harmless chokehold. “This means we’re gonna be workin’ together from now on. Make sure to pull your weight or else I might hafta squeeze ya…”

“Oh! Of course I’ll pull my weight! That and more.” Your fingers curl around his bicep and you lift your head to peer up at him, studying the droopy eyes, the messy hair, the sturgeon scale earring, and the curiosity curved on his lips. He’s perfect. You wish he was yours. “Floyd, can I tell you something?”

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

You’re inches from kissing him, hoping to confess your love in the most bodily of ways. Rather than acting impulsively you seize his fedora and, shimmying out of his arms, fit it on your head.

Before bitterness can seep into your smile, you strike a dramatic pose and ask, “It suits me, doesn’t it?”

Floyd’s eyes sweep over your form, starting at the hat and working down to your shoes. He grins. “It’s a good fit, yeah. Makes you look official.”

“Officially Octavinelle!”

Floyd’s brows knit together in concentration. He skips over to you and bends down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Now you’re officially Octavinelle. Got the seal of approval and everything.”

You gawp at him, hot all over, and bring your hand to your cheek. Though it was a quick kiss, the feeling lingers and sinks into your skin like a brand. Floyd pulls away, his hat in his hands.

“Cute,” he whispers, stoking the flames even further. “You look just like a li’l shrimp when you’re surprised. You get all small and hunched.”

“I do not.” You swat at him, but you aren’t annoyed with his observation. “Cheeky eel.”

He dodges your arm. “Aw, c’mon. Shrimpy knows she likes me.”

I do, you think. I really, really do.

“You’re delusional,” you say instead, stalking ahead. If you stay here any longer, your heart might just burst.

Floyd doesn’t follow, but his laughter floats down the tunnel hall, cloying like Cherry Crush perfume.

Jade is radiating an unusual energy when you step into the lounge kitchen. Restless is a good way to describe it, which can only mean one thing: Something’s up.

He’s wringing a rag in his hands, features alight with just barely suppressed ebullience. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet, yes?”

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

“You told me not to in your text. Why? Was I supposed to?” Skeptical, you sniff at the air and catch all kinds of savory scents. “Smells yummy!”

He nods, smiling wider than he usually does. You peer at the many pots and pans lining the stovetop, and he steps aside to obscure your view.

“Please close your eyes. I’ll guide you to the table.”

It’s then that you realize “the table” is not the island you ate at previously but an actual table set with a frilly tablecloth, utensils for two, and a vase of heliotropes. You gape at the display, wondering what in the world is happening.

“I don’t trust that. You’re gonna do something weird the minute I shut my eyes.”

“I would never. Not this time, at least.”

“You’re unbelievable. What’s all of this for anyway?”

“For you, of course.”

“I’m not following. Wait… Wait, hold on. Is this a dinner date?”

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

“Oh, I get it! You’ll play Floyd and it’ll be like I’m on a date with him. That’s actually genius! I haven’t even thought about date ideas yet, but with this I’ll be able to better prepare myself for when we—”

“You start your first shift tomorrow,” he interrupts, uncharacteristically crass. Although he smiles, his expression is tightened with turmoil. “I believe you’re due for a celebration.”

His startling abruptness aside, you smirk and rest your hands on your hips. “That’s right! I got the job and all it took was patience, persistence, and positivity.”

“Surely you mean to say impatience, annoying the ink out of Azul, and some self-deprecation, right?”

“S-Shut up. We’re not going to talk about it.”

Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Well, allow me to extend my sincerest congratulations. I look forward to seeing how you’ll fare tomorrow.”

“Do you work as well?”

“Azul tasked Floyd and me with training you. He doesn’t trust you to be alone with Floyd for more than three minutes.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself either. I mean, have you seen how he rolls his sleeves up when he’s in waiter mode? And when he’s balancing so many drinks without breaking a sweat… Ah, he’s the best!” Your sigh sticks in your throat when you register the rest of his words. “So it’s not just Floyd training me?”

“Fortunately, no.”

“So you’re just going to be a third wheel.”

“Not in the slightest. I’ll be your supervisor.”

You pull an ugly face at that. Being under Jade’s supervision sounds like a punishment pulled right from the recesses of hell, but it’s not like you have any sort of power to debate the decision. After all, in the eyes of every other employee, you’re just a new hire sitting at the bottom of the ladder. Or, if you want to be more accurate, at the bottom of the sea.

“That’s even worse. Ugh. You’re totally the villain in my love story!”

“Have I not been aiding you this entire time? Surely that warrants a title far kinder than that.”

“Okay, fine. You are…my sidekick—yeah, sidekick—and with your help I’ll get my happy ending with Floyd. Right! Speaking of, he bought me perfume and then he kissed me the other day! Kissed me, Jade! He said it was a seal of some sort. I’m ‘officially Octavinelle.’ Anyway, it’s definitely good progress!”

“Did he now?”

“Here, smell! I put some on before I came here.” You raise your wrist to his nose and he obeys, leaning down to sniff at it. “Isn’t it nice? He said it suits me because I smell sweet all the time.”

“He isn’t wrong. You wear the most delightful scents. Now, that aside, if Her Highness would allow her ever-so-faithful sidekick to serve dinner…”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m going.” You step towards the table and lower into the seat he pulls out for you. “So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“I’ve prepared a three-course meal. You do know what that is, yes?”

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” You fold your arms over your chest and scoff. “Asshole eel.”

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

The two of you stare at each other. You laugh first, the sound coming out as a snort, and Jade soon follows your lead. It’s not a particularly amusing exchange, and yet neither of you can cease chuckling.

Jade manages to settle himself before you do, but there are still traces of mirth evident on his face. It crinkles his eyes when he says, “Shall we put this conversation on hold for now? I’m not sure how partial you are to cold dinners.”

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

At your request, he serves the appetizer and entrée together. You’re too hungry to haggle him for dessert, and so you simply sit back and watch as he sets various dishes on the circular table. A large garden salad with tongs and a dozen different dressings in small bottles. A loaf of fresh, crispy sourdough bread and a tiny plate of margarine. Two bowls of a soup you can’t name, but one smell has your stomach growling like a starved beast.

Jade senses your blatant staring and looks at you with raised brows.

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not you.” You struggle to contain your giggle. “Okay, maybe you.”

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

“Mm, no. You look like Jade.” You bat your lashes at him. “And Jade looks very handsome when he’s doing something he likes.”

Jade stands there, nonplussed, his face reddening. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him fluster outright.

By the time you’ve started snickering, he’s already recovered. “You never fail to surprise. Might I ask why you’re suddenly so kind to me? It’s unlike you to think of anyone else outside of Floyd.”

“Consider it my very late revenge. For that time you compared me to the moon, remember?”

“And you claim I’m the vindictive one.”

“You’re not the only one who gets to catch others off guard like that.”

He hums, folding the rag away after setting the final dish down. It’s so wrinkled from his previous twisting and turning of it. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“Hell yeah it does.” You motion for him to sit and he does, stretching his napkin out and placing it on his lap. “Did you really make all of this from scratch?”

“Indeed. That is a wild mushroom and farro soup. It’s a recipe I recently learned. Do tell me how it tastes.”

“No fair. It’s hard to be mean when you’ve done all of this for me. And from complete scratch, too.” Pouting, you stir your spoon through the soup. It’s packed full of sliced mushrooms, carrots, celery, and onions. In short, it smells divine. You’re certain it’ll taste so when you bring a spoonful to your lips, blow gently, and indulge. After three more scrumptious spoonfuls, you conclude with an obnoxious assessment: “The broth is exquisitely…exquisite. And the vegetables taste fresh and…super good. Yeah, it’s really good! One-hundred out of ten! Kinda heavy for a soup, though, but that makes sense if you’re using it as the main course.”

Jade’s smile reaches his eyes. “Thank you for saying so.”

As if those are the magic words, he samples the dish for himself, wasting no time in eating more. You peer through the heliotropes while you reach for the bread and butter, watching him savor his meal. It’s almost…cute.

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

“How come you’ve never made any for me?”

“I wasn’t aware that the nature of our deal has strayed into domesticity. Shall we get fitted for wedding attire next? Are you fond of rings? How about pearls?”

“Shut up. You know that’s not it.” You spread margarine on your slice before dunking it in the soup. “I just wanted to ask.”

“In case you were wondering, Floyd favors takoyaki.”

“I know.”

His spoon stops at his mouth. Seconds after, he exhales through his nose, smiling behind his hand. “I would expect nothing less of his greatest fan.”

“I’d get perfect marks if Professor Crewel taught Floyd 101. But octopus carpaccio sounds delicious. Kinda awkward to think about it when Azul’s an octo-mer, though. Oh, he actually gave me something—a potion I’m meant to take as part of our contract. Do you know anything about that?”

“A potion? I’m afraid I only know as much as you do.”

“Bummer.” You munch on your bread, contemplating. “It’s not a love potion. That much he confirmed, but he said I have to add part of myself to the mixture, let it sit for a little bit, and then drink it.”

“How curious.”

“You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

“For the right price.”

“Ew, no. Forget it. You’ll just scam me.”

Jade chuckles and fixes himself a plate of salad. He drizzles a tangy vinaigrette over it next, pushing the greens around with his fork so the flavor soaks into every crisp vegetable.

“But whatever it is, I hope it’s safe. I’m sorta in the dark right now. That instruction about adding a part of myself isn’t a helpful clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“You never did tell me. How did your second attempt go?”

“My second attempt? Oh, the heliotrope! He accepted it. Told me it was pretty and that it looked even prettier in my hair. That was when he gave me the perfume. I’m just not sure why. I mean, I guess there’s probably not a real reason. He’s Floyd. He does whatever he wants when he feels like it. Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering…” You gasp when it hits you. “Do you think he gave me perfume because I smelled bad that day?”

Jade shakes his head, unfazed by your panicked conclusion-jumping, and continues to eat. “I can theorize,” he finally says, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

“Okay, so do it. Please tell me it wasn’t because of what I think it is.”

“Moray eels have a very robust sense of smell. We can tell many things apart purely by smell alone in the sea. We commit recurring scents to memory, such as that of food or family. Smell helps us return to those we cherish, so it acts as a helpful beacon.”

“I…don’t really get it. Are you saying you use smell to guide you? But you’re on land. Visibility must be easier here than down there.”

“To merfolk, one’s smell can evoke a variety of feelings. When you smell something delicious, does it not make you happy? This is much the same for us, even more so when it comes to other mers. Family smells like home and thus we feel safe and comfortable when wrapped in such a distinct scent. The smell of someone you care for will fill you with affection and tranquility. If that same someone is distressed, we can often smell it. Essentially, smell is special to us in a way that differs from humans’ understanding of it. No matter how far we may stray, we can always follow familiar scents to reach our destination. Our home. Our heart.” His hand splays across his chest to illustrate that last point.

“Wow. That’s…really romantic,” you mutter, chewing slowly. “So smell is like a type of unspoken communication?”

Accompanied by the gentle jazz notes from the radio, Jade’s voice is musical. “More or less. We don’t have to speak all the time to know what the other is saying.”

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

“Yeah, but we’re not that fascinating. Not like that.” You study your warped reflection in the soup. “So he gave me perfume to locate me?”

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. Even though he appears unbothered by this possibility, his lips are pursed in a thin line. You think he doesn’t like this admittance.

“Oh.”

“We’re rather territorial, you see. Relationships in the sea are unlike those up here.”

“Floyd—ah, no, that was you. Uh, you mentioned that once—something about morays not following monogamy. But I’m not dating Floyd. I want to, but even I’m not that delusional. So why would he do something like that? I really doubt it’s a jealousy thing. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play. See if I might take notice.”

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

Jade reaches for another slice of sourdough just as you do, the both of you seeming to need something to occupy yourselves. Your hand covers his, and for a taut minute you observe him with undivided attention. He twists his hand around to hold yours and something tells you to pull away—to run from this moment and never look back—but you remain, allowing the contact.

“Regardless of his reasons, your smell will always be identifiable to us no matter how much perfume you wear.” He squeezes your hand once and then releases you. “Shrimpy’s left her imprint on me and I ain’t gonna lose that so easily. Not ever. Not even in the middle of a feeding frenzy.”

You open and close your mouth like a beached fish, embarrassment crawling up your spine. You shove a slice of bread at him. “You forgot your bread, idiot.”

He laughs. “How kind of you to remind me.”

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

You spend the rest of dinner with heavy thoughts, your heart caught in a warring debate. If Jade’s theories hold any water, you might just have a chance with Floyd. Maybe he really does feel the same and smelling Jade on you triggered some sort of moray eel instinct. It’s all you can consider even when you attempt to distract yourself with eating.

Meanwhile, Jade regales you with exciting foraging tales and you try to feign attention, too occupied with dissecting his body language as if it’ll open a new avenue for clues. He’s so unlike Floyd—so different with his hobbies and interests and demeanor. But he masquerades as Floyd so seamlessly, reflecting that same level of capriciousness you’ve come to admire. It’s possible Jade just said something to satisfy your endless questioning. Maybe it had nothing to do with either of your scents after all. Maybe Jade’s just a liar, which isn’t news.

But to say that it was because he wanted to wash Jade’s scent off of me… That’s so embarrassing. So then he knew what we got up to in the botanical garden and he didn’t say a word about it. Does that mean he thinks we’re a thing? No, maybe not. Otherwise why else would he have been so adamant on giving me perfume? But then Jade could be lying, spinning some silly story just to trick me. Ugh, why can’t he ever be serious? My love life’s at stake here.

By the time he’s brought out dessert, a warm blackberry cobbler with scoops of vanilla ice cream situated on top, you abandon all of your conflicting thoughts and focus on enjoying your slice. As expected, it tastes like heaven and you lose yourself in the flavors, quickly forgetting about your burdensome romantic complications.

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

“There’s no need for that. It’s part of our arrangement, is it not?”

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m half-assing my part. You put in all of this work to be Floyd and you’re cooking amazing meals, and then all I’m doing is giving you useless critique.”

“It’s useless, yes.” He smiles around a bite of cobbler. “It isn’t very helpful either, but it is entertaining.”

“Way to soften the blow.” Suppressing a groan, you add, “And you’re also teaching me about moray courtship. I’m not contributing at all.”

“If you’re so desperate to do so, why not share some anecdotes about being human?”

“I doubt you’ll get anything out of it.”

“You never know.”

“Sure. All right. Um…” You stir melting ice cream with your spoon. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Floyd likes to dance, so I just sorta thought of it.” You chuckle sheepishly. “Uh, did you guys ever dance in the Coral Sea? Is that even possible?”

He nods, his lips quirking up slowly behind the convex of his spoon. “It is very possible.”

“Right. Of course it’d be. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Not at all.” He tilts his head, licking the metal. “Have you ever danced before? Ah, allow me to amend my phrasing. Can you dance, or is that not part of your skill set?”

“I can! I’ll have you know I dance best when I’m trying to impress. And when I’m alone! I’m practically a professional.”

“You’re so practically, professionally delusional. How simple a life you must lead.”

“Not true! Also, rude!” Scoffing, you scoot away from the table, the chair legs squeaking in protest. With a huff, you hold your hand out. “I’ll prove it.”

Jade’s lips split apart in a wild grin, his face tinged pink under the dim amber glow of the kitchen lights. “Oh? And have you prepared yourself for the humiliation that will soon follow when you prove inadequate?”

“I hope there’s enough appetite left in that bottomless stomach of yours because you’ll be eating those words soon enough.” You smirk, cocking your head. “And don’t look so excited. This is a competition, not courtship.”

“And yet they become one and the same under the sea…” You miss his whispered musing, so instead he rises from his seat and bows before you. “Do try to avoid stepping on my feet.”

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

You brush past him, swaying your hips. The challenging lilt in your voice is a siren’s song, tickling his ears with tantalizing tones. “Only one way to find out, no?”

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

You don’t have to wait long, for he steps through seconds after to join you in the lounge. It’s strange to admire the interior after hours, so empty and devoid of the usual bustling energy it’s known for, but it’s not particularly unsettling. It’s a serene silence, broken only by Jade’s clicking steps as he covers the distance to reach you. Backdropped by the colorful aquarium, bathed in pretty purples and beautiful blues, you really are what the moon is to merfolk: utterly, indescribably breathtaking. Every part of you, from your infectious smile to the way you stand with such confidence, is so magnetizing it leaves him mesmerized.

With a flick of his magic pen, the lights in the lounge dim, giving way to stretching shadows and aquatic phantasms, and the speakers crackle to life. The sophisticated notes of a whimsical waltz come tumbling out. Jade smiles at you, his eyes bright and warm.

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

You can feel your own smile carving at your cheeks and so you obey, your lashes fluttering. “I’m trusting you just this once.”

“I shan't let you down,” comes his suave promise.

There’s a mystical tinkle and chime, a bright flash of light that tries to sear your eyelids, and then you’re wrapped up in a soothing warmth. Silk rustles and flutters, twining itself around your body like a boa. The accessories come next, draping across you like an ocean lapping at the shore.

At Jade’s gentle command, you open your eyes. He’s conjured a mirror, which allows you to see yourself dressed in an azure gown, its train swishing with every twirl you take. The ruffles and ribbons, in white and variations of lighter to darker blues, bounce when you, overcome with childish glee, shimmy. They settle in waves, refined in a way that speaks of marble and alabaster. Even the dress’s straps, made of pearl strands and cut out at the shoulders, fascinate you. It’s masterfully crafted, all the way to the snug, form-fitting bodice adorned with more pearls and a pretty bow with a rose. Like a cherry on top, the matching choker is secured around your neck.

Lifting the gown to reveal a pair of shiny black heels, you peer at the frilly white stockings, your mouth dropping open in awe. The mirror is magicked away, and now nothing stands between you and Jade.

“It’s so… It’s amazing,” you mutter, running your fingers over the shimmering fabric.

“A transient illusion befitting my moon princess. Ah, but your attire suggests otherwise… Perhaps you’re more of a jellyfish princess.”

You gasp, flattered beyond words. “Can I be both?”

“Greedy. Greedy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Rolling your eyes, you offer your outstretched hand. The corners of your lips twitch upwards. “Well, will you have this dance, loyal sidekick of mine?”

With his hand resting over his heart, he bows. “It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

The music swells just as his hand closes around yours, fingers twining, and the two of you settle into the proper stance. His other hand rests delicately on your waist, and for a moment you struggle to place your free hand somewhere. He smirks at you, his eyes narrowed in unspoken jeer. Your glower isn’t harsh in the slightest, for your scrunched features give way to a wide, toothy grin when you tug him towards you. His delight is palpable, and he falls into the pace you set with measured finesse.

It’s easy to recount the steps crucial to a standard ballroom dance, and you execute them as if it’s as natural as breathing. The two of you glide effortlessly across the sleek floor, your reflections cast in dappled light. Swaying to and fro like a marionette, your dress billowing behind you, you lift your gaze to his. He’s smiling—truly smiling!—and the sight fills you with satisfaction. You can’t explain it, but it’s so very wonderful to behold a side of Jade that isn’t the reticent walking danger he subjects the school to. Not that that side is bad. For all of the trouble he causes you, you don’t mind it.

You thought you could dislike him, if only to make it easier to pursue Floyd, but rather you gravitate towards the companionship he provides. And not because he’s a phony Floyd, but because he’s Jade.

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

Jade twirls you with minimal effort, and you giggle, following the pace he sets alongside the magnificent tempo. You gaze into his mismatched eyes. He’s nothing like Floyd. Tonight he’s Jade, and for the first time that’s much better than any performance he could ever put on.

“I learned back home, but I never stuck with it because I didn’t have a partner to try the routines with. But then I was transported here and I found out Floyd loves to dance, so I practiced in hopes that one day I might be able to—whoa!”

He lowers you into a dip just then. Startled by the sudden change in position, you cling to him while your heart spikes up into your throat.

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Jade smiles down at you, unaffected. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“You just did.” He lifts you up, spins you gracefully, and pulls you flush against his chest. “Your body says everything your lips do not.”

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you hook your arm around his neck and turn to smirk at him. His arm wraps around your stomach, firmly holding you in place against him, while his other hand splays across your chin, guiding your gaze towards his. You hold his stare with a smoldering determination, your hearts beating as one amidst intimate proximity. And then, with his eyelids fluttering to a near-close, he tilts your head further up, leaning down to capture your waiting lips in a soft, soulful kiss.

There are no squirming tongues, clicking teeth, or bloodied maws. Just a precious press of his mouth to yours, an unvoiced declaration of desire.

“That you’re immensely proud,” he whispers, his lips now centimeters from yours, “because you’ve proven my assumptions wrong. More than that, you hoped to catch me off guard.”

“And did I?”

“Why not read my body language and find out for yourself, hm?”

“Sly eel,” you mutter, impressed with his temerity. “You know that’s not gonna work on me. Not unless you’re Floyd.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade spins you out of his hold, disentangling the both of you from your propinquity. “But it’s worth a try, no?”

“A valiant effort.” You pull him along, easing back into the waltz like well-oiled clockwork. Your feet follow the steps in time with the tinkling melody. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Can’t get enough of me?”

He flashes his teeth at you in a menacing grin. “Is honesty not the best policy?”

“It is when you follow it.”

“In that case, we share a commonality.” His fingers crawl up your shoulder to brush the ribbon around your throat. “We’re both liars seeking the comforts of dishonesty.”

“Don’t group me with you.”

“Are you not just as shameless, or am I mistaken?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeaaah? Even though I’m Shrimpy’s favorite? Ain’t I the most congenial?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “You think he’d say it like that?”

“Not in the slightest, and yet you’d still manage to fall for it.”

“Every time. Without fail.”

Exhaling a disconsolate breath, his smile thins and his eyes cloud over with despondency. “Very predictable.”

The two of you waltz until midnight, exchanging banter and recalling dance-related stories while gliding across an illuminated floor. Your gown falls away in diamond-shaped patches when you step out of the lounge and into the tunnel hall, now back in the clothes you were wearing when you first arrived. You frown when you catch sight of your plain reflection, the fast-paced, upbeat glamour of the evening withering into something slow and quiet. As if it was all but a fleeting dream.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” you say after he’s caught up to you, “but I had fun tonight.”

Jade nudges you. “Ain’t it always fun when you’re with me? You sayin’ this is the only time?”

“Oh, shush.” You return his Floyd-like prodding with some of your own antagonizing pokes. “I had fun with Jade when he’s Jade. There. I said it. You’re not so terrible to hang out with.”

“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I should return the favor. You aren’t so difficult to manage either.”

“That’s a completely different statement. And so backhanded, too!”

“Was yours not worded the same?”

You roll your eyes as the both of you exit Octavinelle via magic bubble. Pressing your palm against the smooth surface, you admire the endless sprawl of ocean, lit by deep-sea bioluminescence and the few artificial lights surrounding Octavinelle territory. Despite the creeping shadows and occasional darting of sea creatures, it’s prepossessing like a mystery. You’re so absorbed in your ogling, so transfixed by the aquatic scenery before you, that you fail to notice he’s watching you closely.

It’s so pretty… I wonder if Floyd thinks so every time he returns to Octavinelle. Or maybe it’s nothing spectacular to him because he lives this back in the Coral Sea. You spot Jade’s reflection then, your eyes zeroing in on his placid smile. Jade probably thinks the same. Actually, what even goes through his head? I can never tell.

With a contented sigh, you turn to slump against the bubble and cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to walk me back, you know. It’s out of your way.”

“No, but I insist.”

You shoot him a dubious look, wondering what it is he might possibly want in return for his act of goodwill. Unable to read his intentions, you resolve to take it as it is: a kind gesture.

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

Under a velvety sea of stars, Jade escorts you all the way to Ramshackle. You hurry to hold the gate open for him and he catches on to your scramble with pointed perception.

“In case you’re unaware, I am capable of doing good deeds without the need for compensation.”

“You’re such a liar!” you exclaim, shaking your head and ushering him through. “No Octavinelle student has ever said that and meant it.”

“Then I shall be the first.”

You swat at his arm and then skip ahead two stone steps. “Yeah, right. You’re way too opportunistic for that.”

Jade stops beside you at Ramshackle’s front door. “I’ve heard a new hire will be joining us. It would be quite convenient if she was made to do all of the work under the guise of training, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That poor new hire. I wonder who it could possibly be,” you say, your delivery flat and unamused. “It’ll be my first day. Have mercy on me.”

“I’ll consider it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I’m demoting you back to villain. No more sidekick privileges.”

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

Just then, a cacophony of chortles pierce the air. You whirl and find three transparent heads poking through the front door, their features alight with mischief.

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

“Hah! I’m surprised you can even remember that far back!”

Your eyes widen to a comical size. “G-Ghosts?! What’re you doing here? How long were you listening in?”

“Long enough,” they answer in eerie unison, all giggles. Hungry for gossip as usual.

“You finally get your kiss with the Leech boy?”

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

“Can’t really age anymore, though, but it sure did feel like an eternity. You’d think we’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

Burning with embarrassment, you swat at the three of them, seething through your teeth. Your hands pass through their frigid apparitions no matter how much you flail. They reshape themselves with ease, laughing throughout the process.

“Ew, no! Wrong twin!” you hiss, shaking your head. “That’s Jade, guys. Jade.”

They peer past you at him. He smiles and lowers into a respectful bow. “Good evening.”

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

“Greetings! Fine evening for a little smoochin’, don’tcha think?”

“Stop!” You gasp, your face hot with humiliation. “You’re making it worse! Please go back inside. I’ll be in in just a second.” Your attempt to push them through the door is made in vain, for they can’t be moved or touched. “Shouldn’t you guys be scaring Grim or something? Give me a break!”

Jade catches your wrist just as you attempt to bring your fist down against the door. The ghosts vanish into thin air, their cackles a haunting echo.

You huff, offended that they left before you could scold them. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

He squeezes your hand to soothe your bubbling temper. “There’s no need to fret. They’re merely teasing.”

You’re slow to snatch your hand back. “Yeah. Well… Still.”

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

“You’ve made so many bold declarations regarding Floyd, so I was under the impression you weren’t capable of feeling even the tiniest shred of shame. If I recall, weren’t you begging to be bitten in the botanical garden? You wanted my teeth in your shoulder, did you not? You wanted ‘Floyd’ to mark you in such a way so that everyone would know—so that they’d see physical proof of our relations.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

“S-Shut up! Stop talking!” You bound forwards, pushing him down the stairs and towards the exit. Jade allows this, covering each step without scrimmage. “Seriously, you just love to run your mouth, don’t you?”

“You’re more than welcome to remedy that. According to your friendly poltergeists, tonight is prime for kissing.”

“Kiss me and I’ll kick you in your kneecaps.”

“How cruel.” He feigns a pout, eyes glossing over. “Shrimpy’s so violent…”

You’re about to retort when you remember the kiss he snagged at the lounge during your waltz, and suddenly his crocodile tears are rendered ineffective.

You shove him through the gate, refusing to dignify his nonsense with a reply. “Goodbye! Farewell! Get out!”

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night.” You flick your hand at him in a shooing motion before latching the gate shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jade.”

Shrugging off his Floydness, he returns to himself and pauses as if reflecting. He places his hands on the fence and leans closer to you. Without thinking, you meet him halfway. Before either of you can linger, he closes the distance to kiss your cheek.

“Officially Octavinelle,” he reminds you with a wink.

You stumble away so fast you almost trip. Jade chuckles behind his fist, annoyingly kittenish.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that. Shrimpy loooves me,” he calls out in Floyd’s voice as he departs.

“As if, asshole!”

You scowl at his retreating figure until he’s a mere speck. Once he’s gone, you relax and rub at your face. The feeling of his lips is branded into both your skin and memory, and you fear it will remain like that for a long time. Not wanting to think about what that could mean, you spin on your heel, stomp the rest of the way to your dorm, and throw the door open.

“Ghosts, get back out here!” The authority in your voice morphs into uncontainable glee when you spot them peeking at you from the ceiling. You squeal and jump about the foyer, spinning and whooping all at once. “Oh my gosh! I have so much to tell you! Wake Grim—he’s gotta hear this!”

second part.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #n/sfw #tw: pregnancy #tw: baby trapping #tw: choking

786 notes · View notes

httpkaulitz · 4 months

Text

high enough

PAIRINGS: Vampire!Bill x Female reader

CONTENT: Smut

SYNOPSIS: Bill is a little addicted to you.

WARNINGS: mention of addiction, mention of blood and bite, manipulation, fingering, oral (f receiving)

You met Bill by chance, after another day of work you were coming home and literally bumped into him. Staggering and somewhat disoriented, he didn't know where he was.

Against all your thoughts of self-preservation you took him home and took care of him.

When Bill told you he was a vampire, you thought he was crazy and when he showed you what he was you strangely remained calm. Somehow you felt like he wouldn't hurt you. And he never did.

All the blood he had from you was given to him willingly. You wanted to help him and so you did.

And it was by wanting to help him that you ended up in this situation.

"What do you want?" Bill asked impatiently.

"What I want?" You repeated, looking at yourself in the mirror. "Nothing. I'm happy."

He let out a frustrated groan before taking a deep breath. You watched him straighten up, though the action was considerably less intimidating. His bleached blonde hair was disheveled and tangled with a light sweat on his forehead.

"Damn it." You observed. “you’re worse than an addicted.”

“Brilliant deduction! Do you want a fucking medal?” You raised an eyebrow.

Bill slapped his face, rubbing his stubble tiredly.

“Can’t you just help me?” He was always ready to dramatize, you already knew his tactics. You turned to him.

“We have already had this discussion. No." You said firmly.

"I can give you-." He started to speak but you interrupted him before he could even continue his speech about how good he could be and give you expensive things that you never had. You've been through this before.

"Nothing." You interrupted, crossing your arms. “I don't want anything from you, Bill. I like my life. I like my boyfriend. I like my job. There is nothing I want from you that can change my mind. Plus, I’m pretty sure I can think of a handful of humans who would be more than willing…”

“I DON’T WANT ANY IDIOTS OFF THE STREET!” His jaw was tense. If he applied more force, you'd think he might break his molars. “I want your blood. Yours. Do I need to spell this out for you?”

He approached you, brown eyes glaring at you.

"Please." His voice was almost pleading.

Inhaling silently, you studied him with half-closed eyes.

A second later and you shook your head.

“There is nothing special about my blood. You're being needy because I was there for you when no one else was. It was my mistake. I won't let that happen again.”

Before he could lift a finger, your arm flew forward. Either he was too weak to fight back or he wasn't even trying. Whatever the reasoning, you were easily able to make him fall back into a chair.

He didn't seem surprised by the gesture, nor did he try to fight it.

“I’m going to meet my boyfriend.” You said approaching him. “When I come back, you will be gone.”

“Liebe.” He whispered with furrowed brows and doe eyes.

“Bill, stop. You're better than that." You paused, grimacing. “I'm serious, control yourself.”

His head fell back and despite your better judgment, you went to his side. The last thing you needed was a drugged-out vampire in your apartment.

The moment one of your hands wrapped around the back of his head, Bill grabbed your wrist.

The pressure was gentle but sticky. His reddish brown eyes tried to mask a poorly concealed despair. Both pupils were dilated.

"You know." He drawled, bringing the back of your hand to his cheek. "You're my favorite human."

“I’m not yours.” You corrected, unable to not find his attention somewhat amusing.

“Oh, but you are.” He snapped and you rolled your eyes, the stubble rubbing against the skin of your hand like sandpaper. “It means your blood is very special. You are my special human. I don’t want anyone’s blood but yours.”

He continued stroking your hand. You found it slightly disturbing and strangely adorable.

“Quick fix.” He whimpered softly, pulling your fingers up to his lips as he blinked rapidly. “Just a taste will be enough for me. I won’t bother you again after this.”

You let out a pained gasp, your thumb thoughtlessly brushing his upper lip. He responded by kissing the tip of your thumb.

“I won't do it again. This is the last time, okay?” You always said that and you both pretended to believe it. The truth is, you couldn't say no to him even if you tried.

"Sure." He agreed, releasing your hand. "Last time."

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

“Oh, Jesus, not again.” You exclaimed impatiently.

This time, he was lying in your bed, with the sheets piled up beside him. Your comforter was thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Liebe.” He greeted you lazily. Despite knowing his name, he never used it. Always using some German word that you didn't know what it meant. “I'm glad you're here. Would you mind giving me some liquid?”

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Unless you want me to piss in your mouth, I suggest you get out of here." You responded sarcastically without patience.

“Piss in my mouth?” He repeated slowly. Without warning, he burst into laughter, fingers gripping the sheets in delight.

You made a mental note to change them after he left.

“I’m an eccentric bastard, but not that eccentric.” He said. “You said last time that you wouldn't donate again, but you don't understand. You don't understand the euphoria you give me. It’s… I imagine it’s magical.”

''I'm sure you can live without it.'' Spinning around, you quickly rid yourself of the shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair. You took a deep breath, arms reaching for the ceiling. The position was maintained until you felt the pleasant burning in your muscles.

"But I do not want." He says thoughtfully.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You mumbled, taking off your jeans.

He didn't respond to your joke. Instead, he got up from the bed. Not that you heard or noticed it.

Until you felt the unexpected pressure of two warm hands resting on your hips.

“Bill.” You warned, looking at him over your shoulder.

"Hmm?" He hummed, shamelessly pressing into you.

“Get off me.” You whispered seriously hoping he would respect your request.

"I don't want." His grip tightened. You tried to ignore his hardened length digging teasingly against your ass.

“I heard a rumor that you’re not happy with your little toy.” He whispered in your ear huskily. You were so shocked by his boldness that you ignored how your skin crawled.

"You don't have ri-."

"It is not?" Bill asked with a raised eyebrow. “I keep tabs on my favorite human.”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or bluffing.

“So, you have romance, flowers, blah, blah, etc.” He listed, two fingers slipping under the band of your panties but not going any further. “But when it comes to being naughty, he falls a little… boring.”

A calloused hand brushed against your ribcage, nails grazing the skin experimentally. Involuntarily, your breathing became shallow.

“A little sexually frustrated, aren’t you?” He continued.

You were ready to lift a heel and tap his toes when, without warning, he grabbed one of your breasts, smirking when you shivered.

“I could do anything you wanted.” He suggested, brushing the outline of your hard nipple with his thumb. “I could be a good boy for you, if you want. I could easily spend hours paying attention to your pretty pussy, you know. I spent a beautiful day or two thinking about it.”

His breath sent a wave of goosebumps across your shoulder.

“Playing with your clit. Sucking it. Making you all nervous. Always giving. I don't have to worry about my own needs. I’ll put my tongue to good use, ma’am.”

Your hips moved forward as the two previously inactive fingers slid across the opening, not penetrating but brushing the sensitive wetness with tantalizing intent.

Protesting the action would have been counterproductive. Despite Bill's irritating nature of manipulating and being a general jerk, his words were leaving you embarrassingly wet.

And that was what was confusing you.

“You are a pathetic addicted.” You tried to sound angry, but your voice came out shaky.

You felt his shrug before he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You are my conflicted and sexually frustrated supplier. I don’t think we need to point fingers” He said amused.

Biting your lip, you forced yourself not to think about the hand massaging your breast or the two fingers caressing your pussy.

It was a trickery. The word alone made an unpleasant feeling of guilt in your stomach. Your boyfriend was a nice guy. Better than you dated in a long time. He treated you with a respect that's hard to find these days.

So, the sex wasn't the best. Was it really worth throwing away months of a well-paced relationship just for a few seconds of mindless pleasure? Especially with Bill, of all people!

You may not be the best person in the world, but you tried to be good.

On the other hand, befriending him wasn't exactly a step in that direction.

“Mistress?” He was gone. There was no longer Bill in that tone.

You would have found his submission more comical if it hadn't worried you so much. And it intrigued you more than anything.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” He insisted. “Our little secret. Fair deal, I guess. In fact, I'll give you a free sample.”

Unexpectedly, he removed both of his hands and moved away from you. The disappointment you felt at the loss of contact was not something you wanted to reflect on.

You saw him kneel before you, his eyes wide but focused. More focused than you usually witnessed when he craved your blood.

"Come here." He gestured.

When you stayed still, he snorted softly. With a few quick movements, he knelt so he was eye level with your hips.

You knew what he was about to do. This, perhaps, was the worst part. You knew and you felt…excited. Relieved, even. For the first time in months, you were about to receive as much as you gave. Appropriately.

It was selfish and terrible, but equally thrilling and exciting.

“Open your legs a little for me, baby.” You did as he said, teeth firmly gripping your bottom lip.

"My God, you've been a lecherous young lady, haven't you?" Bill smiled, hands steadying himself on your hips.

"Shut up." You mumbled, ignoring his embarrassment.

"Yes ma'am." His fingers hooked into the elastic and slowly slid your panties down. The entire time, his tongue was stuck between his teeth while his eyes never left your pussy.

You took off your panties, almost shaking with excitement when he threw them over his shoulder.

“Hmm.” He marveled, tilting his head. "I was right. Beautiful."

The compliment made you not only blush but also become slightly irritated. Were your priorities really that far off?

That depressing thought spurred your next action.

Quickly, a hand grabbed Bill's hair by the roots. With a push, you pulled back, ensuring his eyes locked with yours.

“If you want my blood, you work for it. Got it?" You didn't even realize you had a dominant streak until Bill's obedient nod made you smile. “If I don't reach my high, you certainly won't reach yours.”

"Yes ma'am." He responded obediently. No sign of sarcasm or mockery.

You looked at him for a second longer and let go of his hair. Bill wasted no time.

It didn't take more than five minutes for you to cum. Whether this was a result of not having pleasure for so long or Bill's genuine talent, you weren't sure.

What you could be sure of, when a hand found his hair again and kept his tongue and lips attached to your clit, was that you were entirely willing to make that bargain again.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

This arrangement lasted a solid month. Which surprised you. You thought the moral of exchanging blood for sexual acts would disgust you. At least enough to present a bigger argument the next time Bill showed up again. But that wasn't the case.

The next meeting was certainly a little awkward. You came home from your shift and found him sitting patiently on your bed. He didn't say anything. He just watched you as you tiredly took off your clothes. His submission was strange but attractive. It wasn't until you were blessed with a quiet Bill that you realized how much you appreciated him.

"How are you doing?"

It was strange, but you couldn't help but ask. Bill may have been an addicted and willing to do anything to get what you wanted, but he was still a living creature beneath that stupid desperation. Completely degrading him brought you no pleasure and wasn't something you felt completely comfortable doing.

“You won’t hurt me.” Bill complained. “I'm a big boy. Do your worst."

“Do you want a safe word?” Yet you asked.

“Unless you have plans to kill me, I really don’t see the point.” That was the last discussion about a safe word or words in general.

Bill came three times a week, sometimes four. Always when you were alone. His snark, thankfully, wasn’t present and he did everything you requested of him.

At first, you were careful about boundaries. The first week was spent mostly in your bed, with Bill buried between your thighs. He was surprisingly energetic, licking and sucking you like a hungry animal. His fingers were excited too, starting to pinch your clit and moving in and out of you at deliciously insane speeds.

No orgasms were faked, and if you were taking a while to cum, Bill worked with impressive voracity to ensure you reached your high.

That's what made you bolder.

In the second week, you ordered him to touch himself.

"What?" He asked confused.

"I want you to touch yourself." He studied you with half-closed eyes.

"You understand this isn't about my pleasure, right?"

"Yes. It's about mine. Drop your pants, sit on the chair and touch yourself.” Your voice didn't even tremble.

His confusion was evident, but he did as you asked.

As you guessed, watching him masturbate was a deeply satisfying sight. On some level, you wanted him to feel pleasure from this arrangement, but that had more to do with fascination. Fascination with being able to make someone bigger and stronger take off his underwear, sit down, spread his legs, wrap his hand around his generously sized cock and slowly start stroking himself. In front of you. Simply because you ordered it.

The control was intoxicating.

You didn’t ask him to do anything else after he climaxed with a strangled moan. And it was one of the first times you realized that Bill had no idea what your game was. Or at least why you were enjoying watching him cum.

The rest of the month followed roughly the same schedule. You would give him an order and after a brief but curious glance in his direction, Bill would obey.

Many of the commands required you to cum. At you request, Bill got into the habit of bringing a vibrator. Which he used on you very well.

Some days the commands were to get him out. You were creative and it was never the same way. True, he always touched himself, but sometimes it was kneeling on the bed or bending over a chair so you could admire his cute ass. Once, you even deprived him of his vision with a scarf, taking advantage of the slight uncertainty his hand felt when caressing himself.

By the four week, you were comfortable enough to ride his persistent tongue into pleasure without an ounce of shame or embarrassment.

On the days Bill didn't show up, you questioned what you were doing with him. In public and surrounded by friends, you were passive and sociable. On nights when the two of you were alone, you were loose and experiencing some serious dominance kink.

For a long time, you were puzzled and faintly appalled by your actions.

Then one night, it hit you.

When would you ever get that kind of sexual freedom again? That ability to explore what made your toes curl and grip the headboard until your mind went blank and your voice hoarse.

Nights with Bill made you feel liberated. They made you feel like a woman. The vampire never judged you, although in the end he received your blood, so that was his triumph.

Regardless, the ability to delve deeper into your sexuality and learn the new ways your body responded to stimulation was one of the biggest reasons you never withheld your blood from Bill.

If there was any guilt you held onto, it was because Bill did the things you asked for your blood, nothing more. It would have been nice if his actions were genuine. But he was an addicted, you reminded yourself.

This, when you looked back on the whole fiasco, was ultimately where you made an error in judgment. Assuming Bill regarded your meetings as nothing but a necessary task in order to gain the true source of pleasure: your blood.

In fact, you were completely unaware that after only two weeks together, he’d completely kicked his blood habit.

And that he was testing you.

It wasn’t until the month was complete that you found out why.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

He wasn't sitting on the bed this time.

Instead, he was standing tall and physically looked immaculate. Hair combed, beard trimmed and he looked at you differently.

The moment you absorbed all these changes, you felt a distinct shift in power.

It was definitely not in your hands anymore.

“You look healthy.” You greeted. “Who finally got to talk you out of it?”

A part of you couldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. You sessions would probably come to an end. And the Bill before you certainly didn't look like he was taking orders.

But you weren't selfish enough to deny feeling genuine happiness that he was no longer an addicted. No one deserved to be a victim of this desire. Of course, he will always have to live with the desire to drink blood, but now in a controlled way.

“That’d be you, darling.” He revealed. “Put plenty of things in perspective for me.”

"Good." You encouraged, offering him a soft smile.

He continued watching you without blinking.

“See yourself in the mirror lately?” He asked.

Immediately, a hand patted your hair.

“Did a bird shit on my head again?” You walked over to the mirror, fingers examining you head.

Bill appeared behind you and stopped your search by grabbing your wrist.

You looked at him.

“Skin doesn’t have the vibrant glow it normally has.” He whispered calmly.

Eyebrows furrowed, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Wow. How did you miss that?

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered.” He continued. “Always giving me the amount of blood I ask for is not an easy task. Or a healthy one. But I can’t allow you to get hurt.”

You nodded absently. Your brain became more fuzzy at the consideration Bill was giving you.

"Why are you being nice?" You asked, looking at him warily.

“Like I said… I got a little perspective on things.” He replied.

“Do I need to be worried?” You asked apprehensively.

"Hardly. Not only have you fulfilled my needs, but you did so discretely. As an added bonus, you even made personal sacrifices. That right there... that's the way to a man's heart."

“I think you’re overestimating my worth.” You pulled your hand away. The conversation starting to make you uncomfortable.

“Honey, you’re underestimating yourself. Let me explain what happened last month to you. I was vulnerable, needy and weak. Instead of making a name for yourself - which I'm beginning to doubt even crossed your mind - and taking advantage of me, you quietly gave me my fix. With me so far?”

“Anyone would have done it.” You knew this was a lie the moment it passed your lips.

“Mm… I’m afraid not, liebe. I don’t find that kind of loyalty.” You weren’t sure if you should feel flattered or flustered.

“Now, this is where it gets interesting. After I got my addiction under control, I couldn't help but wonder why you were helping me. So selflessly, in fact.”

“I got off on telling you what to do.” You defended.

“No, I understand that part. But you started making small sacrifices.” Swallowing hard, you took a step back.

"Like what?" You asked confused.

"Well, like breaking up with your little toy, for example." Bill hummed in amusement.

“He didn’t deserve to be betrayed. It had nothing to do with you.” Bill smiled at that.

“If it weren't for my mouth on your pussy three times a week, you never would have let the poor guy go. I had a little input into that.” Something inside you twitched with discomfort and pleasure.

“So, as we saw, you neglected your appearance a little. You didn't even realize how much blood I was taking from you. And yet, you continued to give.” Taking a careful breath, you tried to get your thoughts in order.

"You deserved to get what came to me for." It seemed like a lame excuse, despite its veracity.

“And that’s the fun part!” Bill exclaimed. “This whole time you were under the impression that I hated it. I hated making you cum, I hated cumming while you watched, I hated the total attention you gave me. I'm not sure if you've heard, but I have a bit of an ego. And you caressed it until I was weak in the knees. You had so much control in your hands and had the courtesy to worry about my own pleasure. Not very mistressy of you, liebe.”

“If you were so confused about it, then why the hell didn’t you stop?” You retorted. “If you didn’t like me not playing my role, you should have stopped playing yours.”

“Ah, but I liked my role.” He assured, eyes slowly scanning your body. “In fact, if you knew how much I enjoyed it, you would be more worried about disappearing so I could never find you.”

"Are you-?" Your voice died in the middle of your throat.

“Ah, I left my favorite human speechless. Well, let’s see if I can remedy that.” Before you could blink everything went dark.

When you woke up you were in a huge room with incredibly expensive furniture. The place was well lit and looked very modern, you could see some paintings on the walls around it. The tables held a variety of food and drinks. Some, you noticed, were among your favorites.

Your mouth officially dropped open when you noticed it was king size and the sheets were brown. Also expensive, it seems. Above that, your eyes sharpened on the silk ties tied provocatively to the headboard. That was certainly a vision that spoke for itself.

“I will not be your mistress!” You argued, quickly getting up from the bed.

“I prefer the term girlfriend.” He didn't move from his seat once.

This gave you the confidence to try to escape. You ran towards the door but it was locked.

“Nice trick, isn’t it?” Bill mentioned, pride coloring his voice. “I blocked your exit, my dear.”

“Bill let me go.” With a tight frown, you stared at him.

“I will give you anything you want.” He promised. “In the meantime, you might consider this vacation a little more…permanent.”

“You are imprisoning me!” You screamed, anger burning through your veins.

"Keeping." He corrected. “I'm keeping you. Considerable difference in terminology.”

You tried to regain control of your breathing, but your current situation didn't allow for that.

“I like you, liebe.” Bill stated seriously. “You are charming, adventurous, and deceptively thoughtful. More than that, you are trustworthy. And has a sexual appetite that rivals mine.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that without kidnapping me?”

"Keeping." He remembered. “What would you honestly have done if I told you I was pretending to be an addicted because I was more addicted to you? Which sounds as terribly sentimental out loud as it does in my head. Shame. I thought it would translate better.”

You backed away until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Tremblingly, you sat up, palms hitting the sheets beneath you.

“I was kidnapped-.”

“-kept-,” Bill said helpfully.

“-all because I was…nice.”

Bill shrugged. "Opposites attract?"

You lost consciousness right after you finished laughing. Rest assured, you found the situation more grim than hilarious.

Sighing, Bill walked over to your unconscious form. He sat up and gently picked you up so you rested against his chest.

The urge to smile and grimace fought violently within him.

“This could have been worse.” He confessed, looking at you.

He rested his chin on your head. The desire to smile won. He was happy.

#bill kaulitz #tokio hotel #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tokio hotel smut #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer

118 notes · View notes

verysium · 7 months

Note

blue lock boys as assassins (au i guess?), i hope you could include Oli, Yuki and Barou!

anon you have me at crossroads because the very idea of an assassin AU spawns an infinite glitch of possibilities....🤔 like mafia underground syndicate assassin? or like solitary mysterious hitman type of assassin? or even better could this be ninja/shinobi stealth warrior assassin? i'm going give a general description though:

oliver is the laid-back good guy. escorts you to the bar, drinks on him. claps every passerby on the back as if he personally knows them. you think he's alright. not too handsome and just the right amount of ruggedness. he offers you a good time, so you two hit off for the night. and that's where everything starts to go downhill. one shoot-out, intense knife fight, and grueling police chase later, you pant for dear life against the side of a brick wall in some torn up alley because it turns out your one-night stand was actually an assassin for japan's largest underground syndicate.

you grip your broken heel tightly in one hand, body collapsed against the brick cornerstone as you seethe, the condensation of your gasping breath forming tendrils in the cold night. you reach up a hand to wipe the sweat off your face. it comes back red, the meticulous hours of applying your makeup wasted when you see the damning smears of lipstick. this was not the type of fun you signed up for on a friday night.

"oliver, what the fuck was that?"

he laughs sheepishly, cocking his gun back with ease before he lights up a cigarette, palm cupping the flame. he turns, then walks over two bodies without blinking, suede shoes clicking against the cobblestone. you're angry at him, but he doesn't care, wrapping an arm around your waist, nose buried in your hair.

"just a side hustle, sweetheart. come on, let's get you home."

yukimiya is the sweet, unassuming literature student. he came home from university to help his grandmother out over the summer, manning the front counter of her antique oddities shop. you like him. he's awkwardly charming, a little too zealous for the job, but still endearingly kooky. you have him pinned down as the sad poet type. the kind of person who wears the same knitted cardigan every day, complete with horn-rimmed glasses and 1940's gingham elbow patches. he can handwrite a sonnet in less than a minute, gift-wrap your purchases in record time. you let him buzz around you while you make your daily visit to his shop, listening to him talk about the collections of radioactive glassware, the vintage phonograph in the corner, and the rare edition of Gutenberg bibles sitting silently in the old book section.

"you know, you really don't have to do that."

he peers up at you owlishly, dark brow furrowed before you point out the spool of twine in his hand, the way he's carefully folding the newspaper around the edges of the new vase you purchased. he laughs, shrugging off your concerns with a wave. you catch a brief whiff of his cologne, the subtle scent of mint and toluene. maybe a hint of vanillin too.

"don't worry about it miss! gift-wrapping is a free service. i'll even add two complimentary trinkets if you'd like. we have a clearance section that's been slow to sell. you could even take a few for free."

"i'm alright. thanks for the offer though." he nods, fingers delicately tying a bow before he places your vase in a bag, fluffing up the tissue paper on top. you smile to yourself when you see the intricate lettering of the card he snuck in. must've been another one of the love poems he wrote. you know how the saying goes.

roses are red. violets are blue.

by the time you step out the shop, the door chime twinkles in the distance, a peal of bells to signal your departure. from behind the windows and glass paneling, he watches your figure trail down the sidewalk, winter coat fluttering in the wind. his eyes darken beneath the tortoiseshell frame, finger moving down the yellowed pages of his accounting book before crossing off another name. he doesn't even look up when he hears the loud honking and screams, the sound of a body hitting the pavement.

one is dead, and so are you.

barou is probably the most obvious one. very upfront about the work he does. the only caveat is that you can never trace his work back to him. he cleans up way too well. always shoots his targets through the eye because it's less of a mess that way. leaves absolutely no evidence at the murder scene. i picture you as one of the unfortunate victims caught up in the fray. collateral damage, as he likes to call it.

"you know, i've never met someone so equally stubborn and stupid."

you glare at him, throat sore and aching as you scream through your gag, cursing him out in every language in existence. he merely stares down at you, arms crossed and eyebrow arched in amusement. you struggle for a good minute, flopping around like a fish as you try to free yourself from your bonds. how the hell do you go from taking an errand trip to the grocery store to getting kidnapped and tied up in a man's trunk?

"what's that? couldn't hear you from all the noise."

god, you want to strangle him. you heave a breath, swallowing the bitter taste of your own spit when he finally unties the gag, your lungs gasping for air.

"i said...you think i'm the stupid one? you're the one who tied me up!"

"because you wouldn't stop squealing like a pig."

"you were trying to kill me!" he snorts derisively at your comment, his red eyes piercing and haughty. the loud thump of the trunk door closing reverberates throughout the parking garage before you find yourself face first on the pavement, body dumped unceremoniously on the ground. he looks down at you dismissively, wiping the dust off his hands.

"nah, i'd save myself the hassle."

your eyebrow twitches in irritation, jaw dropping at that violation. oh, it was personal now. he deserved capital punishment. strangling would be too merciful. you try to get back on your feet, a task that proves all the more difficult with your legs bound and arms twisted behind your back. he merely waits, as if knowing when you'd finally give up, sinking at his feet in defeat.

"you done?" you nod your head, slumping down into the concrete. your voice becomes small and sheepish by the time you raise your face to look at him.

"can't you just...let me go? i promise i won't say anything." he rolls his eyes, swinging you over his shoulder in one fell swoop, locking the car with a resounding beep. you start to panic when you feel him carrying you to the garage exit, vision swirling with nothing but concrete and the solid sound of his combat boots.

"wait....wait! i swear to god! please just let me go. i won't tell a soul."

"nope. can't have any witnesses." you feel a handkerchief come up at engulf your nose and mouth, the sweet smell cloying and sharp. you start to squirm in his arms.

"wait! no...please! if you touch me again, i'll scream." his grin is the last thing you see in the darkness, sharp canines brushing against the shell of your ear.

"oh, you'll do so much more than scream, darling."

#asks #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you #aiku x reader #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya x reader #bllk yukimiya #barou shouei #barou x reader #bllk barou #barou shoei x reader

147 notes · View notes

itostea · 1 year

Text

dead serious (reo x reader)

warnings: they’re academic rivals!! (i’m reading if you could see the sun right now and oh god i forgot how much i love this troupe), reo is cocky in this but it’s cute

“Good job on the essay, (Name). That was a complex analysis and I had a fun time reading it. Keep up the hard work.”

A 97%. You think that’s a score worthy enough to beam and nod enthusiastically at your teacher’s praises. Nothing feels better to score well on an assessment that was regarded as difficult–not to mention, in a class that’s considered difficult. Naturally, you don’t let the score get to you but how could you not grin as you sat down, proud and relieved that your hard work paid off.

Your eyes flit to a head of purple hair, watching as he taps his fingers on the wooden table, deep in thought but not particularly concerned about his score–as if he knew he was going to do well. His eyes glance over your paper, mumbling a congratulations at the red 97 plastered on your paper.

“You look calm. You’re not worried about your grade? You might lose our bet.” You ask, considering him with a short glance. For a moment, you feel your heart pick up as your eyes meet, irritated at yourself for feeling so fidgety around your rival. There was no way you were going to lose another bet with him, especially one that you devoted so much time to. If you lost, then in his words, you’d have to grant him a wish. Needless to say, that commitment applied to him as well.

His lips curve into a self-assured smile that’d surely make anybody swoon. “Worried? I thought that was more of your job.”

“What’s that supposed–”

“Mikage?” Your teacher’s voice suddenly interrupts and you see how she beckons him to come grab his paper. He flashes another boyish smile at you, his eyes lingering on you before he gets up to receive his score. You tilt your head in curiosity as they spare a few minutes engaging in a conversation. Not the kind of talk where the student typically cries or angrily yells at the teacher for failing them. As a matter of fact, Reo was smiling, making small talk and nodding as if he were accepting a detailed compliment.

“Thank you for your words Miss. I’ll be sure to take your insight into account,” he says in that business-man type of voice.

“What a dedicated student you are, Mikage. So humble despite making the highest mark.”

You blink until your lips part in astonishment. “No way,” you whisper, gazing at him in astonishment as he approaches his table. As if he did it on purpose, he slides the paper on the wooden surface for your eyes to see the large 98% scribbled on the top. The class bursts into discussion, with some students already going to their friends for comfort after they got their failing grades; others just satisfied that they passed; and of course the few outliers who managed to do well on such a difficult essay.

“That’s a shame,” he grinned, leaning closer to you until you could smell his cologne and minty breath. “You almost had it. You know I’m a bit disappointed as well? I didn’t get 100% as I anticipated.”

You feel your eyes twitch at his last comment, realizing that he was just rubbing salt into your wound. “Let me read it,” you pause, noticing his awaiting smile before you sighed. “Fine. Please let me read it.”

He snickers, fingers reaching over to slip the papers into your hands. You scan the perfect handwriting and the neatly crossed out words. To add fuel to the fire, you realize that he chose to argue against the easier side and it made perfect sense. You grip his papers and bite the inside of your cheek, reaching over to your own essay. As you compared them, you suddenly understood why he managed to surpass you with a single percentage: the structure was only slightly better than yours.

You perk up and frown. “We still have the math test–”

“Beat you in that already love. Did my score make you forgetful now?” He teases and you try to ignore how he called you “love.” Or howw it made your heart dance in your chest.

“Now about the bet…” he smiles, the kind of grin that makes you lean away in suspense. You’re expecting a strange one–like buy me a drink everyday or do a stupid dance. Lately, you’ve noticed he’s been hanging around that boy named Nagi and they’ve been playing soccer in the fields more often. You feel yourself growing increasingly worried as you consider one of his requests might be to become a ball girl for their practice.

“Let’s see… What should I make you do for me? Hm,” he teases, pretending to think hard.

“Just hurry up with–”

“Go on a date with me.”

You stare at him with a wide-eyed look, wonder swirling in your eyes as you grapple with his unexpected request. “What?”

It’s almost a habit for you to scrutinize his expression to see what kind of mood or emotion played at his heart. He was serious. Dead serious. You could tell with the way his eyes were lit by the flame of determination, as if an ego took over him. “Go on a–”

“I heard you the first time!” You whisper yelled, covering part of your face in both embarrassment and bewilderment. “Why me? I thought you only thought of me as a rival?”

“A rival? Oh I guess we are like that,” he says and if this were any other time, you would’ve been offended by the fact that he just confirmed your one-sided rivalry. “So? What time works for you? 7 or 8? I’m thinking of–”

“Reo!” You stare at him, flustered, the kind of expression that grounds him to reality for a second. Just a minute ago, you looked like a kicked puppy and he had to resist the urge to just ask you on a date right then and there. He grinned again, this time wider. It was hard not to smile so wide when he was around you.

“That’s the second time you interrupted me, love,” he teases light-heartedly. “So I’m guessing 8?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your head in your hands. “You’re crazy.”

“You’re right. I am crazy. Crazy for you–”

“Reo!”

“That’s the third time you did it sweetheart,” he smiled and you can’t help but feel another wave of red hit you at the sound of “sweetheart.”

“Don’t joke around with me right now…” you mumble, averting your eyes from his purple gaze.

As if a switch was flipped, you see how his face turned serious and hear his voice grow firmer. “I’m not joking. I want to take you out on a date. Truth is, I studied really hard just to win the bet with you so I could ask you…”

You gape as you see how pink dusted his cheeks. Yeah. He was serious. You don’t know how long you spent staring at him but it’s enough to make him sigh. “Look, it’s fine if you want to… Just–”

“I’ll go,” you muttered quietly against your palm. That’s makes it the fourth time you interrupted him now.

“Just–Sorry what? You’ll go?”

You can only give him a nod and this time, he’s the one who goggles at you. “For real?”

“Yes for real!”

It’s almost comical how quickly his mood shifted. With a blink of an eye, he’s already leaning closer to you, laughing in astonishment. “You’ll go?”

“I said yes–”

“You’ll go!” This time he says it as a statement and you have to shush him as a few eyes wander to the both of you. Luckily, the bell is enough to keep everyone’s attention off the two of you. He stands up, gathering his things and inching towards you again. “I’ll pick you up at 8 okay? Promise me you’ll go?”

It’s rare to see Reo like this and that makes it way harder for you to disagree. “I promise.”

He leaves with a grin, excited to tell Nagi all about how the two of you were going on a date with him. And midway through the hallways it dawns on him: he didn’t doesn’t know where you live.

That night, you roll your eyes at how he spams you for your address. Yet, there’s no denying that your fingers shake as you respond, giddy at seeing him all over again.

#reo mikage #mikage reo #reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #academic rivals #fluff

365 notes · View notes

yuna542 · 1 year

Text

Masterlist

Car Ride

Pairing: Im Jang-Do × Reader|Myeong-Gils daugther

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol & Sex, Explicit Smut, Oral (m receiving), fingering, Daddy Kink, age difference, pet names, swearing, public sex

Summary: Im Jang-Do. The strategy management director of Smile Capital and right hand of Myeong-Gil has to do his job as a personal bodyguard for the daughter of his boss once again, as she ran away and pick her up at a party. But this night something is different...

Note: Yes he‘s a villain, and yes he’s hot. So don’t blame me… Have fun with this OS and tell me if you liked it <3

"Such a pain in the ass," you muttered, though loud enough for the ex-cop behind the wheel to hear. Through the rearview mirror, you could see him raise an eyebrow, eyes fixed on the road as you sped down Soul at a hundred miles an hour.

"You know very well that your father doesn't like to see you partying wildly and indulging in pleasure..."

His deep voice literally vibrated off the walls of the black SUV. He had chosen his private car for this assignment. It was swanky, shiny, suited him.

You crossed your arms and looked out the window:

"I'm not that drunk."

He smirked and looked at your long crossed legs through the mirror, disappearing endlessly behind the seats under the black minidress.

"Oh yeah? I got you out of there just in time. You were standing on a table getting undressed."

A snort was the only response. You just wanted a night out, to clear your head and get away from all the stress your father put on you every day. He wanted you to take over Smile Capital one day, taught you all the disciplines. In addition to economics, credit business and proper behavior, there was also how to hold a gun, manipulate or intimidate people to your advantage.

You were almost an adult, still a teenager at heart. You longed for freedom, fun and passion. Jang-Do could understand that. However, you were always going overboard. When you entered a room, all eyes were on you, one or the other gasped in awe, others just stared with envy. You were intelligent, beautiful, with attentive eyes and a body that would drive any man out of his mind. He couldn't help but notice your cleavage tonight, as the dress seductively revealed a glint of your breasts. Your waist narrow, your curves soft, plush, thick. It would never occur to him to touch his boss's daughter. After all, you were so young and he had become your nanny by now. He liked to talk himself into working as a bodyguard and yet it was he who picked you up from excessive parties or criminal events. If your father knew half of what he had seen, he would be more than incensed.

Even though you'd had a long night, the car smelled like sweet honey laced with rose water since you got in, in addition to its pungent aftershave.

"It was just getting fun, you have to barge in like my babysitter and ruin everything," you opined, bobbing your foot slightly with the red highheel shimmering on your foot in the car's blue LED light.

"Better call me your bodyguard.... It's less humiliating."

You smirked and returned his gaze over the mirror for the first time that evening. Your lips gleamed from the lip gloss you'd just applied and one eyebrow lifted in amusement.

"Did you wake up because of me?" you asked, noticing his rumpled shirt, only half buttoned, and messy hair that was usually neatly styled. Others would have felt guilty, might have apologized. You just smiled, as if pleased by that fact.

"Couldn't sleep anyway," he grumbled, quickly averting his eyes as he lost track of the road for a second, caught in your eyes. That was the truth. The call from Myeong-Gil had reached him just as he was tossing and turning in bed, desperate for sleep. His boss had informed him that his only daughter, a hothead, barely tamable, much like her father, had gone off on her own. He had found your bed empty. You had once again gotten out of the window to escape the gaze of the guards Myeong-Gil had hired to keep an eye on you. But this was a job that had to be handled with discretion. Therefore, Jang-Do was given the job once again. He already suspected that you had gone to one of the three bars you preferred, and he was asked to pick you up and bring you back.

Annoyed, he slipped into his clothes, took his car keys and went to the bars. He found what he was looking for in the second one.

A bar called Pink Flamingo. He was just through the door when he spotted your long legs on the bar. All around you full of people cheering you on as you danced, drank shots and singing along loudly. The way you drew attention to yourself, enjoying it and playing with the attentiveness of the men below made him pause for a moment and watch you. Your bright laughter cut through the sweat-soaked air like a glistening light. The way you moved your hips to the beat of the music, letting your hands roam over your stomach, your sides, your breasts. He had been entranced until one of the young men who were far too normal, far too inferior to even breathe in your presence:

"Strip!"

Directly others joined in. Both girls and boys. All charmed by you and your charisma. He couldn't help but think of the old tales of sirens and nymphs who made people run smiling to their doom with just the blink of an eye or a smile.

Until now, he thought you were a pretty but headstrong girl who hadn't seen much and knew even less. But now that you were sitting in his back seat, your eyes fixed on the colorful lights of Soul, he could see a certain wisdom in you.

Before you could pull your dress up further, he had closed his hand around your ankle and looked up at you warningly. It had taken you a while to recognize your father's right hand and strategy management director of Smile Capital through the fog caused by the alcohol.

"Get down! Now!" his voice was calm, cutting, and as deep as the ocean.

The sharp jawline, the high cheekbones, the deep black eyes radiated a masculinity that made you bite your lower lip. No one, really no one dared to speak to you like that. Because of your name, your father, or your appearance.

Most trembled at your presence, despite your age. Not Jang-Do. He'd always been untouchable to your charm. At least, that's how it seemed.

Always grim-faced, he did not respond to your attempts at flirtation, nor did he succumb to your looks.

Not even there when you smiled, sat down on the bar, and pulled his hand into your lap.

"Jang-do! Why don't you come and have a drink with me?"

Unimpressed, he stared at you while the people around you eyed you curiously. Your hand was small and soft in his big strong ones.

"We're leaving. Now!" he ordered, pulling you on from the bar. You resisted, trying to fight off his hands as he pushed you through the people.

"Stop it! If you don't let go of me, I'll have you fired!" you hissed, but he only snorted what sounded very much like a laugh.

Even if you had the power, you would never do it. Jang-Do has been a confidant for too long, and there were few of those among your kind.

Outside, in front of the club, you successfully refused to go any further, clinging to a lantern. Sighing, he massaged his temples as you stubbornly glared at him:

"You can't do this! Leave me alone already!"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched you cling to the lantern like a drowning woman. It almost looked cute.

"I can't and you know it. Now come on and save us both some time."

You drew your eyebrows together and pushed your lower lip forward. Pouting, you slowly disengaged your arms from the lantern, careful, as if one wrong move could set off a shot. Jang-Do raised his eyebrows in anticipation, recognizing the flash of an idea in your eyes before you could run. Squealing, he caught you and threw you over his shoulder. Cursing, you drummed on his broad shoulders as he carried you to his huge car in front of everyone who turned to look at you. His fingers were tight on your thighs and with a red face you noticed how your dress was riding up. At the car he opened the back door, lowered you and finally you got in. But not before giving him the middle finger in the face.

"Fuck you," you whispered, tugging your dress back into place.

There was actually a smile on his lips as he slammed the door behind you and climbed into the driver's seat.

After you sighed emphatically the third time, he exhaled audibly and looked in the mirror:

"What?"

You looked at his hands, veins trailing over them, like a ripened leaf.

"I'm hungry."

His index finger tapped up and down on the steering wheel until he finally said:

"Burger?"

With a satisfied smile, you nodded quickly and he caught himself smiling too as you looked out the window again, appeased.

At a fast food joint, he pulled up. The stars shone in the cloudy sky. It was a mild night, with balmy breezes swirling the dust on the streets.

You ordered a whole menu. Burgers, fries, coke with lots of ice. The alcohol and the dancing had made you hungry. He himself took a ginger beer and paid for everything.

He drove you to the Han River so the people in the parking lot couldn't keep staring at you. The girl in the Louis Vuitton dress, with the Chanel heels, and her big muscular protector in the Gucci shirt looked strangely out of place in a cheap fast food restaurant.

He parked the car under a bridge and you sat down in the open trunk overlooking the water. It was quiet, cooler than right in the city, and he watched you kick off your heels, put them behind you, and devour your menu with dangling feet.

Right now you didn't look like the daughter of an influential loan shark and brutal gangster. You looked like a pretty girl, just coming of age, happy to have a burger and full of energy. He wondered if you only showed yourself like that around him. You were always perfect in front of the others. You never flinched. Eloquent and above it all. Even in front of your father, you never seemed relaxed or like yourself.

"Jang-do?"

He startled up from his thoughts, noticing that you had finished eating and were just sipping your drink.

"Huh?"

"If you weren't here.... Where would you like to be?" you asked, looking at him with so much curiosity in your eyes that his breath caught.

Your thighs brushed his and he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he answered:

"You mean if I didn't have to babysit you?" he asked and you lifted your gaze from his muscular forearms.

"Bodyguard."

He laughed. It was a strange sound, and yet you wanted to hear it again. You leaned against his shoulder teasingly.

"You know what I mean."

He ran his hand through his hair, looking at your silver necklace with a crescent moon on it. You'd gotten it from your mother one day. Just before she died. Since then, he had never seen you without it. It lay on your skin like liquid silver and he resisted the urge to touch the place where it touched your collarbone.

"I've heard Hawaii is beautiful," he said, and you smiled. Immediately, images of raffia skirts and hula dancers popped into your head.

"And you? If you didn't have to take over Smile Capital? What would you do?" he asked, his interest making your cheeks blush a little.

"I'd like to dance."

He frowned in wonder, feeling your body lean against his, warm and soft.

"Dancing, really?" he asked incredulously.

You felt directly silly. You had never told anyone about your hobby. Since childhood, you loved to dance. From ballet to hip-hop and standard dances, you had done it all.

"Yes. Anywhere. On stages, in the theater, or teaching it to others. It doesn't matter."

You expected him to laugh at you. Make fun of you, or even be disgusted. Instead, he looked out at the river, the way the city lights shimmered on the surface like jewelry.

"It suits you."

The smile widened and he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Now it made sense to him why you went out partying so often. There you could dance regardless of your surroundings, let off steam without the fear of being stopped by your father. Or of being dragged out by his right hand.

But that was his job and the life you were born into.

That's when his eyes fell on the time on his phone and he stood up. Almost in a panic, you looked up at him.

"I really should take you home now."

"Please don't!" it escaped you and he closed his eyes for a moment, building up all his resistance against your big pleading eyes.

"Why don't you just want to go back?" he asked, rummaging in his back pocket for the car keys.

"I hate it there. Always the same. I'm trapped, never free to do what I want," you said, realizing you were finally being honest for once.

"And yet I have to take you back."

You stood up and just as he had the car keys in his hand, you sped forward and got a hold of them. Quickly you ran around the car, afraid he might grab you again.

But he stopped, looked at you blankly and tilted his head slightly.

"What are you doing?"

You raised the key in the air and jingled it playfully.

"If you want them, you'll have to get past me first."

You grinned wildly and he laughed throatily again. Glancing at the ground, he kicked a rock away and looked back up at you.

"You don't want to do that."

You continued around the car, to the passenger side, wiggling your eyebrows defiantly.

"You don't know what I want!"

Actually, he hadn't gotten up to play catch with a rebellious girl, and yet he felt the need to bend you over his hood to see if you still had such a big mouth with his handprint on your ass. Slowly he walked around the car, keeping you in his eyes like a lynx on the lookout. Your heart leapt with excitement and before you could react, he chased you around the car. Squealing, you tried to escape, but he reached you at the hood at the latest, grabbed your wrist and pressed you against the cold metal.

You hid the key behind your back and withstood his penetrating eye contact. Defiantly you jutted your chin at him, even as his eyes roamed over your face, scrutinizing your lips, and you realized how close he was to you. His chest was pressed against yours, his hip against yours, and he pushed one knee between your legs to get to the key.

Only when his lips hovered right in front of yours did he seem to realize what had just happened. You thought he would back away, turn away and scowl. Instead, you felt his hot breath bounce against your lips and his hand find its way to your hip. He was older. Much older and yet the gleam in his eyes was young, his broad shoulders agile and his desire real. Your body heat made him increasingly lose his mind, and he whispered in a voice so low it made you shiver:

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes wandered up and down until you gently placed your free hand against his chest.

"What are you doing?" you repeated his question, barely more than a breath.

"I want my key!"

"Uh-huh."

You slowly took out the hand with the key, but right now you could only pay attention to his firm chest, his attractive face hovering in front of yours, and his tart masculine smell.

The hood was pressed tighter and tighter against your butt and he made no effort to put distance between you. Gradually, pure fire rose in his eyes and desire slammed its claws into you.

"You can have them," you whispered, unable to speak louder.

Your hand with the key hovered next to his shoulder, but he was no longer interested. Instead, he pulled your chin closer and your lips collided. The key fell onto the hood with a click as he grabbed you by the hips, lifted you onto it, and stepped between your legs. Your hands flew into his hair, pulling at it as your lips collided hard.

It was a fireworks display of passion, lust and desire. Pure heat gripped you and you hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, touching his abs, sighing into his mouth as he cupped your breasts, kneading them until you felt dizzy. Your legs were wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer

Desperately, he bit your lower lip until you opened your mouth a little. He let his tongue slip in and played with yours. His dominance made you melt like butter in his hands. His lips found their way down your neck, sucking on the crook of your neck as he pushed the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

"Shit... Jang-Do," you gasped, overwhelmed by the sudden excitement that gathered red-hot between your legs.

Your father would kill you both with his own hands. Jang-Do slowly and agonizingly, that was clear to him, and yet the idea that he was taking something that belonged to his boss fired him.

He pushed your dress down until your breasts sprang free and watched you for a moment. The cold air on your heated skin made you shiver. At your hips, the dress had ridden up so far that you sat with your bare ass on the cool hood. A red thong soaked between your legs.

"Such pretty tits... A shame I'm only seeing them now," he purred, and you gasped softly as he twirled your nipples between his fingers. Then he clasped a sensitive bud and sucked on it until you fell backward, clinging to his neck to stay even halfway upright.

He worked the soft flesh of your breasts with his mouth and kneaded the other breast until you felt dizzy and impatiently pressed your middle against his crotch.

"Jang-Do please!" you sighed, clawing into his chest. You could feel how hard he was. Even through the fabric of his pants.

"Please what? Use your words baby girl," he murmured in your ear, pulling lightly on your hair to press his mouth against your throat.

"Please fuck me. Please!"

You would have been embarrassed by the pleading otherwise, but right now, with him touching you in a way that made your body melt before him, you didn't care.

"Who would have thought? The little princess is a little whore...begging to be fucked by me," he murmured, stroking his fingers through your wet folds. Pressing his thumb on your clit, he murmured:

"Don't you think you should start by apologizing for making me work overtime tonight because of you?"

His eyes gleamed like those of a predator on the prowl. His jaw twitched and you would have done anything at that moment. He enjoyed the fact that the tough, untouchable girl looked pleadingly small with her big eyes, almost tearing up under his touch.

Quickly you nodded, gasping as he put more pressure directly on your clit and that's when he slid his index and middle fingers into your mouth. Greedily you sucked on it, circling it with your tongue as you would suck his dick and he grumbled:

"Fuck... You're way too sexy for your age."

Satisfied, you took his fingers all the way down your throat and bobbed your head until his pants were so tight it hurt.

"On your knees, princess!" he commanded, just as he commanded his employees, but with a hint of softness in his voice that immediately made you sink to the ground.

The sight made him tense as you knelt on your knees before him, tits out, lips plush and red, eyes sparkling with arousal.

He opened his pants, pushed them down along with his boxers, and sighed in relief when his hard dick finally sprung free.

You got wide-eyed, trembling at the size and doubting you could take it.

He took it in his hand, stroked himself a few times before saying with a slight grin:

"Suck my dick and maybe I'll consider fucking you senseless."

You put a hand around his base and first licked the bit of precum off his tip before licking the length of his massive dick once. He watched stunned as you wrapped your lips around his tip and began to move your head evenly. Each time you took him deeper until you were quietly gagging. The warmth and wetness of your mouth made him gasp and he buried one hand in your hair. The other landed on the hood with a loud clap as he guided your head to thrust deep into your throat. You couldn't breathe, his length teasing the back of your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as his speed increased and he thrust ruthlessly into your mouth. The little sinful noises you made, the choking, the whimpering only turned him on more until he fucked your mouth roughly, hand tugging your hair and he gasped deeply breathless.

"So good for me... Taking my cock like a slut. Fuck," he murmured, and you pressed your thighs together to soothe the moist heat a bit.

Your throat ached, as did your knees from the gravel floor, and yet there was this insatiable arousal. His curses became throatier and heavier as he was about to cum. He thrust deep into your throat a few more times until your nose bumped against the soft fuzz on his lower belly and you gagged with narrowed eyes.

Then he came and his hot cum shot into your mouth, leaving you gasping and struggling for breath as you swallowed it all.

He pulled his still rock hard dick out of your mouth with a plop and the corners of his mouth twitched as saliva and his cum made your lips glisten.

With his thumb he brushed away a few remnants and hummed animatedly as you licked them from his finger.

He offered you a hand and helped you back to your feet, where he gently brushed the sweaty hair from your forehead and removed the smeared makeup from under your eyes with his hands. The sudden caring was a strange contrast after he had just abused your face so violently.

But the heat between your legs was by now so unbearable that you whimpered softly.

He noticed how you rubbed your legs together, smiled knowingly and kissed your lips lovingly.

"For sucking my cock that well, you should be rewarded..."

Happily, you pressed against him and nodded.

"Do you want to be rewarded, baby girl?" he asked, running his thumb over your nipple.

"Yes, Daddy."

The words came over your lips without you knowing how he would react. Surprised, he raised his eyebrows and with satisfaction you felt his dick twitching uneasily against your belly. He liked the nickname.

"Don't worry, Daddy will take care of your pretty little pussy," he growled and everything inside you cried out in anticipation.

That's when he spun you around, pressing you fast and hard onto the hood so that your hands banged loudly on it. Until your butt was raised and he pushed your legs apart with one foot so he had a better view of the wet spot between them.

"You think you can take my big cock? Have you ever had one this big?" he asked, hungry and full of desire as he pulled your panties down until he finally had a view of your shiny hole. Rattling your breath, you propped yourself up on the car and shook your head.

"Never. Never been fucked by such a big cock."

He nodded slowly, stroking his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness until you gasped desperately. Then, without warning, he pushed two fingers into you from behind, began pumping them inside you, curling them so they hit your sweet spot each time. Gasping, you tried to see straight, but his long fingers were too good, too deep, for you to even think clearly.

"Fuck you're tight. I think I might be gonna break you..." he murmured, but sounded like he was looking forward to it.

You couldn't take it any longer, reaching your hips out for him to finally fill you up. You needed his dick as the air to breathe, which is why you breathlessly said:

"Please break me, Daddy! Ruin me! Have it your way."

He laughed softly, pumping his fingers inside you a few more times until you rolled your eyes with a moan. Then he put his tip to your entrance, teasing you by running it through your lips, and murmured:

"If that's what the princess wants, I can hardly refuse her wish."

Your head went blank as he sunk into you. Your body cracked in half and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he stretched you, painfully widening your walls while groaning loudly.

Your knees went weak, but he held you so tightly at the waist that you couldn't fall.

As he slowly pulled out again, and slammed into you again tears welled up in your eyes, and from your throat only ticked off sounds escaped you.

"You're crushing me.... Fuck..." he gasped, throbbing deep inside you.

"So... so big..." you moaned, and as he began thrusting fast inside you, the curses and words became an incomprehensible high-pitched mixture of sounds. Soon the pain mixed with pleasure and the night air was filled with the slap of his hips against your ass and the wet sound of your aching cunt coupled with your naughty noises and his muffled moans. Your cunt swallowed his length deeper and he never wanted to sink into another pussy again. Yours was made for him. Your body arched under him, your breasts pressed tightly against the hood of his car and his fingers so tight on your hips that imprints would be left by his hands. He thrust into you faster, harder, enjoying how your walls welcomed him and you crumbled beneath him.

Curses escaped him as you moaned his name like a mantra between the pornographic noises.

The coil in your belly ruptured with a loud pop and a wave of white pleasure swept you along. Your orgasm rolled over you like a tsunami wave, leaving you world fading and your body trembling.

Jang-Do cursed between clenched teeth as you nearly crushed him and after a few deep thrusts that made you see stars he came inside you too.

He extended his climax by thrusting sloppy into your sore pussy a few more times and then pulled his dick out of you. Strings of his white hot load pulled out of your cunt as it ran down your thigh and you remained motionless on the hood. Fucked out and cockdrunk. Your thoughts only returned in shreds. Control of your body only much later. You heard him zipping your pants and looking at his handiwork.

"So pretty... Filled up with my cum," he murmured, catching what leaked out of you with his fingers to push it back into your hole.

You moaned and your fingernails clawed into the hood as he finger fucked his cum back into your cunt.

"We don't want to waste anything," he murmured, then helped you put on your panties and dress.

You still couldn't say anything, your head was buzzing too much and your body was completely wrecked. He helped you into the car. This time into the passenger seat and only when he sat next to you, slipping the key into the ignition, did you look at him. Your makeup was ruined, as was your hair, but Jang-Do could never look away. He had never seen anything more beautiful than your swollen lips, your tear stained cheeks, and the feathery expression from the orgasm that reverberated across your face.

"My dad will kill you if he finds out."

Your voice still sounded brittle, your throat felt sore.

He let the engine rev and pulled back onto the road.

"Then I hope he won't find out. But that's your decision."

His gaze was on the road, his handsome mouth contorted contentedly into a smirk. He placed his fate in your hands, just as you had revealed your soul and body to him. In doing so, he proved that he did not take it lightly. It had meaning. And he would pay with his life if it depended on it.

You nodded slowly and leaned back in your seat. The streets were empty so late and your eyelids grew heavy.

The silence was comfortable and you reached for his hand that lay loosely between you. Surprised, he gave you a quick glance as you placed it on your thigh, but then he closed his fingers around your soft flesh.

He accompanied you to your front door and gave you a curt nod before turning to leave, but you held him back by the arm. Questioning, he turned back to you and saw you smiling warmly.

With your hands firmly on his chest, you kissed him. It was more the promise of a kiss. Your soft lips feather light on his, barely a second before you pulled back and opened the door. Before you could disappear inside, your eyes met and your cheeks grew hot again.

"See you tomorrow," he said goodbye, memorizing every detail once more before the door would slam shut.

The line of your shoulders, the shape of your cupids bows, the shape of your legs under the hem of your dress.

Tomorrow you would meet again and today would never have happened. This was important to both of your survival and yet it didn't feel final.

"See you tomorrow," you murmured. Your voice sweet as caramel. He nodded curtly, turned, and before he could walk the long stone path to the mansion's exit, you stopped him once more:

"Jang-Do?"

He turned to you again, as he had so many times before.

"Huh?"

You leaned your temple against the door and said:

"Turn your cell phone on loud tomorrow night. You might have to work overtime again."

The corners of his mouth lifted slowly and he walked backward a few steps, a knowing gleam in his eye. Respectfully, he tilted his head and you thought you could really get used to the sincere smile.

"Understood."

You waited until he was out of sight and the engine of his car died away somewhere in the distance. Then you pulled the door shut, freezing as you felt the cool tiles beneath the soles of your feet.

A giggle escaped you in the darkness of the hallway as you realized you had left your shoes in Jang-Do's trunk.

#bloodhounds #bloodhounds smut #bloodhounds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #im jang do #jang do #smut #fluff #bodyguard x reader #x y/n #Im Jang Do x reader #kdrama #bloodhoundskdrama

174 notes · View notes

em-prentiss · 7 months

Text

picture of your face in an invisible locket

-----

“You’ve got a team of master profilers,” Emily crosses her arms and leans against the counter. She shrugs casually, a smile on her lips, “It should be easy for them to figure it out, don’t you think?”

Aaron laughs. “Deceiving them on your first day?”

“It’s not deception,” she refutes. “I’m just…testing their skills.” She winks at him.

Or, Emily joins the BAU from Interpol. How long will it take for the team to realize she and Aaron are married?

Chapter 2

Word count: 6.2k

-----

1996

“You’re not supposed to smoke on the premises.”

Emily turns to find a security guard looking disapprovingly at her, his hands stiff at his sides and his brows drawn tight in annoyance.

She blows out her smoke in his face and smiles to herself when he continues glaring at her through it.

“Really?” She drawls as she takes another drag, her eyes sweeping over him. His hair is neatly parted, his dark suit just a little loose at the shoulders. Every button is perfectly done, every inch of fabric meticulously pressed and unwrinkled. It fills her with the urge to mess him up, run her fingers through his lightly gelled hair and see what he’ll do as it flops over his forehead. She feels a familiar tug in her gut when her eyes meet his.

“Who told you that, Agent?” She turns her head to blow out the smoke this time, feeling his gaze burn her skin as she does. She inhales the sticky summer air before she turns back to him lazily, her long hair spilling over one pale shoulder.

“The ambassador made it perfectly clear.” He says tightly. His voice is low and smooth, and for a delirious second Emily wonders how it would sound breathless and panting.

She really needs to get laid.

Emily smiles. “For employees, maybe.”

Aaron’s patience grows thin. He did a last sweep of the grounds out of courtesy before he leaves, but now he’s really fucking regretting it. He can hear his watch tick in the silence, time crawling closer to midnight.

“Can you put it out?” He scowls at the burning cigarette held between her fingers, the glowing tip traveling closer to her knuckles.

Emily idly taps it, sending ash fluttering to the floor. It lands next to his shiny shoes. “The ambassador has better things to worry about than people smoking on the grounds,” she muses as she puts it to her lips again.

Aaron bites back a sigh. By now he can tell she’s Emily, the ambassador’s daughter who wreaks havoc and chases away the security guards. He knows it’s not personal, she’s just rebelling against anything and everything, but he doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Or probably ever.

“I’m just trying to do my job.” He says tiredly.

“Your job doesn’t apply to me,” she says flippantly, waving him away.

It actually largely applies to her, but he’s not going to argue with her. Emily finally stubs the cigarette and tosses it into the grass, breathing out slowly, smoke coming out of her nostrils.

Aaron breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Her resounding hum tells him she didn’t do it for him, but he doesn’t particularly care. He turns on his heel and promptly heads home, his tired shoulders slumping when he gets into his car.

And that’s how it begins. From that night she’s seemingly everywhere he goes, in the kitchen and the grounds and dangling from balconies, books and more cigarettes balanced between her fingers.

He feels the pull of intrigue one night when she teeters past him on her heels. She stumbles and he quickly grabs her elbow, rightening her before she falls.

Emily blinks at him. “Thanks,” she slurs. She’s steady now but his hand is still on her elbow, large and warm. She looks down at it and he pulls away.

“Sure,” Aaron clears his throat. He returns to his perch against the wall, his brows lifting in surprise when Emily follows him. Her back thuds against the wall as she leans against it.

“What was your name again?” She asks as she digs into her purse. Her dark hair falls in front of her face, obscuring her features from him. Aaron finds he can still imagine them perfectly beneath her hair, and when she finally finds what she’s looking for and tosses her hair back, coffee dark eyes stare into his.

“Aaron. Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily hums slowly. He hears a click and looks down at her hands, sighing in dismay when she starts lighting another cigarette.

“You can’t-”

“What do you know about the stars, Aaron?” She asks as she looks up at the sky.

He can’t speak for a moment, his stomach lurching at the way she said his name. Slow, lazy, like the smoke curling languidly around her fingers. She looks back at him and he shrugs as he clears his throat, fixing his eyes on the sky above them. “They’re balls of gas, I guess,” he says the first thing that comes to mind. “The sun is a star.”

Emily smiles as she looks up. The stars are scarce here, nowhere near as bright as they are in the Alps, but the ambassador’s estate is isolated enough that she sees a little more than she normally would at the heart of DC.

“D’you know any myths?”

Aaron stuffs his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know where this conversation is going, but he’s nowhere near the end of his shift yet so he indulges her. “I only know one—Orion. The hunter,” he says, and Emily nods.

Her eyes snag on Orion’s Belt as she takes a small drag of the cigarette. “Do you see it right now?” She asks him.

Aaron nods. Emily points to the star directly under the belt. “You see that star in the corner? The one under the belt?”

He squints for a moment before following the direction of her finger, her bitten nail leading him to a bright star. “I see it,” he murmurs.

“That’s Rigel,” she tells him. “Keep lookin’ at it, don’t lose it. If you just look to the right,” she draws a vague shape with her finger, “you’ll find Eridanus.”

Aaron looks to the right. His eyes catch on a strange shape, the stars fainter in this one than in Orion. “I don’t really know what I’m looking at,” he confesses.

“It’s the river,” Emily says. She throws the cigarette on the floor and crushes it beneath her heel, grabbing Aaron’s arm by the sleeve and drawing the shape of the constellation. He’s frozen for a minute, unable to think of anything but the weight of her hand on his arm. Their skin doesn’t even touch, but his throat closes at the casualness of the gesture.

“See,” she murmurs as she moves his arm, absently feeling the strength of it beneath her fingers. The stars shine faintly, her practiced eyes catching the shape easily, but something’s different this time. “Huh,” Emily tilts her head as she looks at it, her hazy mind replacing the usual image of the river with something else.

“It looks like a worm,” she laughs suddenly, the sound gritty as it escapes the back of her throat. She drops Aaron’s hand as she doubles over, her back shaking with breathless giggles.

Aaron looks at her in bewilderment. He turns back to the constellation, vaguely able to see it now, and his lips quirk upward when his eyes trace the shape. It does kind of look like a worm.

Emily is still bent in half, clutching her stomach as her laughs break the silence of the night. She wobbles on her heels as she tries to straighten, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Okay,” Aaron grabs her elbow again as she lurches forward, unsteady. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes bright from the alcohol. Tiny giggles escape her as she looks up again, making his stomach twist. “Bedtime for you now,” he mutters under his breath.

“I promise you it’s not that funny,” Aaron says as he lightly tugs her inside the house. Emily stumbles forward and he places his other hand on her back, his fingers catching the soft tips of her hair.

“Is too,” she laughs, squinting when they walk into the bright foyer.

“You’ll think otherwise in the morning,” he says as he walks her to the stairs. “Get some sleep.”

“Y’re no fun, Agent,” she sticks her tongue out at him. “Agent Aaron,” she muses as she kicks off her heels, suddenly shrinking down. The top of her head is level with his chin and he looks down slightly, biting back a smile when she raises her head to look up at him.

“No, that’s not how these things work, is it? Agent—what was your last name? Hotchner.” She snaps her fingers in triumph before he can answer, looking awfully pleased with herself.

“Agent Hotchner,” Emily slurs as she points at him, “you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

Aaron snorts. Emily’s eyes light up when his dimples pop out, deep in his cheeks as he chuckles. “You’re not wrong about that, actually,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair and looking down at his watch, surprised to see his shift ended ten minutes ago.

“Are you fine to go up on your own?” He asks, strangely wanting to prolong their contact.

Emily scowls at him. “Perfectly.” She declares, looking at him over her shoulder as she grips the railing with one hand, the other holding her heels. She’s so focused on him she almost trips again, but she catches herself just before she face plants on the stairs.

Aaron coughs to hide a laugh. “I heard that, Hotchner!” She yells, and he chuckles outright this time. Emily finally reaches the top of the stairs and flips him off before she stalks off to her room.

“Good night, Miss Prentiss,” Aaron calls out, smiling to himself when she doesn’t respond. He hears her bedroom door thud closed and turns to leave, still smiling as he climbs into his car.

It only takes two months before he finds himself pressed against her, his lips firm on hers to taste her laugh on his tongue. He still remembers the way she bit his lip and grabbed him by his tie to keep him close, how he knew in that moment he was so deeply fucked.

****

Emily never imagined getting married young. She barely even entertained the thought of marriage at all, certain she was doomed to eventually marry a politician several years older than her just to ease her mother’s endless prodding.

That’s not quite what happened.

She’d just come home from a shitty day, her shoulders tense as she hung up her coat, not even the comfort of the home she and Aaron had built together enough to make her tight muscles relax.

It was only after she walked into the living room that she noticed the lights were strangely dimmed, the warm scent of food and—roses?—thick in the air.

“Aaron?” She had called out, her lips lifting as she walked into the dining room. “What’s—oh my god.” She gasped.

The sight of him kneeling with a velvet box in his hand, rose petals and candles scattered on the dining table behind him, was enough to make her heart stutter.

Immediately the stress of her horrible day melted off her shoulders, the fact that he could turn her mood around effortlessly making her sob before he could even speak out the words. She had knelt in front of him, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him firmly, her desperate yes lost between their lips.

2010

Emily runs to the door and opens it a little too forcefully, startling Aaron. Her eyes are rimmed red, the lines of her face tight with tension, and when she sees him propped up on the pillows, thick bandages on his arm and chest, she promptly bursts into tears.

“Hey, hey,” Aaron rasps as she leans over the handles of his bed and carefully takes his face in her hands. A choked sob escapes her as her fingers run over his temple, feeling the broken skin next to his hairline.

“I’m okay, Em.” He soothes. The pain in his whole body says otherwise, but her eyes are wild, frantic, and he finds himself lying without thinking just so she can calm down.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” She gasps, desperately pulling his head into her chest and tangling her fingers firmly in his hair. Her head falls on top of his as she holds him, her tears soaking his hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again as she closes her eyes, guilt and revulsion turning her stomach.

She wasn’t there. And this never would’ve happened if she was.

She barges into Clyde’s office the next day and demands she be pulled from undercover ops, ignoring his confused frown and his protests that she was one of their best. All she can think of is Aaron, how he had been all alone in their apartment when a psychopath attacked him. And she was miles away, deep undercover and unreachable. All for a profile.

Clyde sees the determined set to her jaw, knows there’s no arguing with her when she avoids each question he asks. So reassigns her to the local drugs unit where she works a desk job; 9 to 5, stopping shipments and shutting down labs, reports and files continually on her desk. The same cycle, the same profile.

Aaron can see how miserable she is, even though she doesn’t admit it; quite the opposite. She keeps on insisting she’s fine, she likes her job. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know she’s lying—and badly at that, but each time he tries to talk to her about it she shuts him down. Emily can’t even bear the thought of going away anymore, being unreachable whenever he needs her. The guilt eats at her as he’s dismissed from the hospital, bubbling out of her in the form of smothering, which Aaron takes with no complaint for once.

One day he can’t hold it back anymore when he sees her glum face as she sets down her purse, her lips barely lifting into a smile even for him. He walks over to her and pulls her into a hug, “You know Clyde would still take you back.” He whispers.

Emily immediately shakes her head. “I don’t want to go back,” she refutes.

“But you loved your job,” Aaron protests, his chest aching with more than the pain of the scars. It’s the second time she’s given up something for him. He suddenly finds himself thinking of years back, when they had a huge fight over an undercover operation in Tuscany, the words indefinite amount of time making his stomach roil the moment she spoke them.

He’d held her back even then, despite her insistence that it was her own choice not to go. Aaron feels the familiar guilt climb up his throat, choking him.

“I love you more,” Emily shakes her head as if it’s no big deal, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to throw away her whole job for him. “You were attacked,” her voice breaks, “in our home and I didn’t know about it until three days later.” She takes a shivering breath as tears spill down her cheeks. “All for what? For a profile? It’s not worth it, Aaron. This wouldn’t have happened if I was with you in the first place-”

“Hey.” He cups her cheek, feels his heart squeeze painfully when she desperately wraps her fingers around his wrist. “Stop it,” he whispers as his thumb slides across the wetness on her cheeks, gathering it on his skin.

“He would’ve attacked me whether you were here or not. And I’m really fucking glad you weren’t,” he breathes, his voice suddenly shaky as his mind entertains the thought. Aaron shakes his head as if to dislodge it from his brain.

“But-”

“You saved me, Emily.” He interrupts.

He always joked about how paranoid she was for stashing a spare gun in their living room, in the drawer where they kept their alcohol, no less. But he found himself reaching for it instinctively when he heard footsteps behind him, his shoulders tensing as he sensed a presence he knew wasn’t Emily’s.

He hadn’t been able to point it before Foyet knocked it from his hand and shoved him on his back, slamming him in the temple with his own gun. Aaron thought it was over as the knife glinted above him, tore through his body with little resistance.

“Where’s the missus, Aaron?” Foyet rasped. Aaron’s body tensed further at the mention of Emily, making him gasp when Foyet drove the knife into him again.

“Think she’ll like these new scars? They’ll be just like mine.” He mused, lifting his shirt to show him the shiny silver scars on his abdomen.

Aaron closed his eyes, trapping his sudden tears beneath his closed lids as panic raced through him. His fingers twitched and he dug them into the carpet to stop them from shaking. He gripped the fibers of the carpet desperately, trying to hold on when he felt the edge of the gun.

Foyet was still talking above him, Emily’s name on his lips as Aaron grappled for her weapon, weakly pawing at it until it slid into his hand. It almost fell from his grip, his hands shaking and his vision blurred from the pain, but he was somehow able to fire off a shot, somewhere in Foyet’s chest, then again in his neck until his body had slumped half on top of Aaron’s. He’d weakly kicked him off, finally blacking out to the sound of the neighbors pounding on his door.

Emily’s shaky breaths pull him out of the memory.

Aaron tries to wipe away her endless tears, his heart hurting at the wetness on both their skin. “I didn’t shoot him with my gun, I’d taken it off already. It was yours. The one in the drawer,” he tells her, his eyes pleading on hers, trying to convince her that she was the reason he was still breathing.

“You saved me, baby.” His voice cracks as he presses his lips to her forehead, his tears falling on her skin. Aaron leans forward so she can fit her face in his neck, the warm space between his shoulder and his jaw where she so often sought comfort. “You saved me,” he whispers, running his hands over her shaking back.

Emily only sniffles in return. She buries her face in his neck and presses her lips to his pulse, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him as tightly as she dared.

****

She looks up at the sound of papers slapping on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Application form,” Aaron says and she picks it up with a frown. “We’re down an agent in the BAU.”

Emily’s eyes snap to his. The BAU. “I—” She shakes her head as her pulse gallops suddenly. Her soul perks up at the prospect, but she squashes her hope as quickly as it rises. “We’re married,” she crosses her arms. “Surely they won’t allow that.”

“Contrary to popular belief, fraternization isn’t forbidden in the FBI,” Aaron shrugs. “Just highly discouraged. There have been married couples on the same teams before.”

Emily chews on her lip as her eyes skim the form. It’s like a carrot being dangled in front of her and she wants so badly to take it, but something tells her it won’t be that easy. Anxiety churns in her stomach as she thumbs the form, her fingers tracing the words.

“Why are you hesitating?” Aaron asks.

“I don’t know,” she sighs and leans forward on her elbows, her hands reaching for his. He takes them immediately, rubs his thumbs over her soft skin. “I mean, you’d be my boss, for starters. How’s that gonna work? And you hardly have a stable schedule, how are we going to take care of our kids if we’re both gone? And your team, surely-”

“Hey, hey,” Aaron cuts off her rambling. “It’s just a suggestion,” he soothes, squeezing her hands. She looks at him with uncertain eyes as she worries at her lip, and he feels his heart twist.

“You’re miserable at your job, honey. Just think about this,” he says softly, watching as her tense shoulders slump at his words. She doesn’t even try to correct him this time, both of them aware it’s futile by now. “It’s an out if you need it. You obviously don’t need to make any decisions now, just think this over. We can figure out the problems later.”

Emily sighs as she looks down at the form again. “Okay,” she whispers, something in her loosening when Aaron leans across the counter and presses his lips to her forehead.

She quietly opens the door to his office a few days later, smiling at the sight of his overly concentrated face as he works on his laptop. The hinges creak and he looks up, his frown melting off his face when he sees her. “Hey,” he leans back in his chair and beckons her over.

Emily doesn’t hesitate to sit on his lap. She curls into him, her feet going through the handles of the chair and her arm pressing against his chest. Aaron rubs her back as she settles onto him properly. She finally gets comfortable and stops shifting, leaning her head in the space between his neck and his shoulder. She’s quiet for a while, placing a hand on his forearm and idly playing with the soft hair she finds there, stalling as she tries to find the words.

Aaron waits. He settles his other hand on her hip, securing her on him and rubbing warmth into her skin through her pajama pants. Emily takes in a slow breath.

“I don’t like my job.” She says quietly into his neck, her voice small.

He mentally breathes out a sigh of relief. “I know, baby,” Aaron squeezes her waist.

“I thought about the BAU,” she tells him as she draws mindless patterns on his shirt, “but I have some concerns.”

“Tell me,” he says.

And she does. They spend most of the night discussing it, Aaron smoothing over her concerns and patiently answering her questions. He lays out a plan for their future children and she hums slightly, still tentative.

“It’s late, sweetheart,” he says when his thighs have gone numb from the weight of her on top of him. The inky night presses against his office window, the only light in the room coming from the small lamp on his desk, his laptop long since dead. “Let’s sleep on it.”

They sleep on it and talk about it again—and sleep on it and talk about it again—until Emily is confident in her decision, Aaron’s solid reassurance that either one of them could switch to another department calming her down. She hands him the signed papers and he takes them with a kiss to her forehead, trying to press comfort into her skin.

Her CV is impressive, even to Strauss, who raises a manicured brow when Aaron admits she’s his wife. She twists her face in displeasure, well aware of the challenges a married couple could bring into her team. But Emily’s skills call out to her like a siren, and when she sighs heavily as her eyes skip over her files, Aaron suppresses a smile. They’re understaffed, overworked, and all of the previous potential hires were underwhelming, fresh-eyed straight from the academy or barely exceeding the qualifications.

Emily surpassed them easily.

He speaks up when she closes Emily’s file. “You asked me if I knew anyone. She’s the best agent I know.”

Strauss leans back in her chair, her brows arching slightly. “And you’re saying that because she’s your wife?”

Aaron almost laughs. “No. How many agents do you know are fluent in six languages and already have experience working as profilers?” None, he knows, because he’s gone through the candidates with her. He takes her silence as a reason to continue. “She’s intelligent and empathetic, she works well with others. Her skills in the field and in profiling will be a great asset to us.”

Strauss steeples her fingers together. “How do I know this isn’t just a whirl? You were attacked a few months ago-”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. He cuts her off, “This isn’t a whirl, Foyet has nothing to do with this.”

At least not in the way she’s thinking.

He feels defensiveness for Emily rush through him, hot and burning in his gut. The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “I’m not taking advantage of my position by recommending her to you. Agent Prentiss is a good fit for the team, and she just so happens to be my wife. I don’t think our relationship should be enough reason to dismiss her.” He says, more firmly than he means to.

He hears his watch tick in the silence as Strauss looks at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assesses him, the situation. She nods after a beat. “I’ll think it through.”

In her book, that’s a yes.

Relief washes over him like a wave, abruptly distinguishing the burning fire in his veins. Aaron bites the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. “Of course,” he nods and leaves her office.

Five days later, Emily is officially a member of the bureau.

2011

“I still need wedding pics,” Penelope says as she folds her napkin into a crane.

Emily pulls out her phone with a small eye roll; her newest friend is still not entirely convinced of their marriage, despite the matching rings on both their fingers.

“We didn’t really have a wedding,” she says, smiling anyway as she pulls up the pictures of her and Aaron at the courthouse. They were so young, she thinks as she looks at the pictures again, her brows plucked thin and Aaron’s face carefree, his posture relaxed, the responsibilities of Unit Chief not yet on his shoulders.

She turns the phone to her friends and smiles as JJ gushes over her billowing white sundress and Aaron’s messy hair, fluffed up by the wind that day. In her hand is a small bouquet of spring flowers; daffodils and tulips and magnolias, a daisy tucked into her hair and a matching one peeking out of Aaron’s breast pocket. Their hands are firmly around each other’s waists, new rings glinting proudly in the sun.

“You look like spring fairies,” Penelope whispers reverently and touches her fingers to the screen.

Emily laughs loudly, the sound spilling out of her as Aaron’s face twists at being called a spring fairy. He grimaces as Emily squeezes his hand, her eyes bright with humor.

“Not you, sir,” Penelope looks up hurriedly, her horrified eyes meeting Aaron’s. “I meant Emily. She looked like a spring fairy,” she clarifies. Her eyes widen minutely when she hears Dave and Derek snicker. “N-Not that you didn’t look absolutely dashing-”

Penelope cuts off, eyes bugging out of her head, when Aaron starts to laugh. It’s deep and rich, making Emily grin wider as his dimples dig into his cheeks. The table grows silent as they gape at him, Reid’s subtle eyebrow raise and Morgan’s stunned grin a little more discreet than Penelope’s wide open mouth and JJ’s tiny squeak of surprise.

“I appreciate that, Garcia,” he smiles at her warmly, making her briefly freeze in place.

She regains herself after a few moments and beams back at him brightly. “Only ever the truth, sir.”

Emily can tell they’re trying hard not to physically react when Aaron wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair as he listens to her talk. By the time they’re halfway through dinner they’ve finished telling their story, and for the most part the attention is off them. Penelope and Morgan take over storytelling, though Aaron couldn’t care less.

His other hand on her thigh is hidden beneath the table, his finger running distractingly over the seam of her jeans. Emily’s body heats at his touch, a flush crawling up her cheeks, and she tunes out Morgan’s voice and turns to him.

“Is it always all or nothing with you?” She whispers to him, slightly exasperated as she links their fingers together, firmly putting a stop to his wandering touches.

Aaron grins at her brightly, not noticing the way JJ swoons at the sight of his dimples. “I see no reason to hold back,” he murmurs, laughing lightly when Emily rolls her eyes. “You’re my wife, my pregnant wife, and they know that now,” he kisses her forehead. “You can’t expect me not to be all over you, you know that, honey.”

Emily melts at his words. She knows this outward affection won’t last long in front of the team, Aaron still drunk on her news and softened by the glass of wine he had with dinner. He grows a little more relaxed as the night goes on and they have dessert, his self control crumbling and his palm occasionally drifting to her stomach beneath the table.

Even without the added proof of the wedding photos Penelope would’ve believed it, the love between them palpable in their soft glances, their comfortable touches. He moves when she does, following her effortlessly and adjusting his arm on the back of her chair when she shifts, rests a knee on his under the table.

Some part of it still feels unreal as he hands her his spoon and shares his portion of dessert with her, meeting her sheepish smile with a soft one of his own and a little nudge of the plate toward her. She turns to Morgan, finding him already smiling at her as he mimes to zip his lips shut. Penelope nods vigorously, not wanting to scare them away with her excitement and let them clam up, aware even with her short time with Emily how private of a person she is.

Aaron mindlessly taps out a pattern on Emily’s thigh, tuning out the conversations around him, just thinking of when he’d go home already and cuddle with his wife like he’d been wanting to do all damn day—or rather, ever since she came into his office.

Emily turns to smile at him, her giddiness overflowing. Her nose nuzzles against his cheek with how close they are, but for once they’re both unconcerned about prying eyes, too wrapped up in their happiness to care. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, hm?” She murmurs. Aaron nods, feeling his chest grow warm with how well she knows him, “Sure.”

Dave watches through the restaurant window as they walk outside, Aaron’s arm around Emily’s shoulders as they walk, matching each other step for step. There’s an effortlessness to them that comes with years and years of knowing each other, existing around one another and becoming intimately familiar with the way their bodies move, separately and together. Her shoulder knocks into his, his into hers until the separate lines of their bodies blur together and he can’t even tell where Aaron ends and Emily begins.

He smiles as they stop beneath a lamppost, warm golden light shining down on them as they kiss, clearly unaware they’re still in sight. Dave turns his gaze back to the team and knocks his knuckles against the table when he finds them all looking out the window too.

“Okay you nosy people,” he says, willfully ignoring their protests, “let’s leave them alone.”

2012

Aaron walks out of the kitchenette with his coffee mug, his head snapping up when he hears Emily’s voice, the familiar sound of his daughter’s garbling.

He walks over to them on Emily’s old desk, still awaiting her replacement, and bends down to lightly kiss Emily’s forehead. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey,” she smiles up at him as he sits down next to her on the desk and leans over to kiss his baby’s hair.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asks as Emily takes the coffee mug from his hands, smiling down at Olivia as she flails her fists excitedly at the sight of him.

“Hi princess,” he chuckles and takes a tiny fist in his hand, pressing a kiss to it as his daughter coos at him.

Emily smiles and sets the mug down. “Somebody missed you.” She strokes a gentle thumb over Olivia’s cheek.

“I’m guessing it’s you,” Aaron murmurs.

Emily laughs and shakes her head, “Nope, it’s this little one,” she presses a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. She turns to look at Aaron, her hands secure on her baby’s back as she narrows her eyes at him. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr Hotchner.”

Aaron’s soft chuckle carries across the bullpen. His hand goes to the dip of her waist, his palm warm through her clothes as he squeezes lightly. “Considering we’ve been together over a decade, I think I’d have reason to be, Mrs Hotchner.”

Emily clears her throat and throws her head back haughtily, trying to distract him from the slight heat in her cheeks. “It’s Agent Prentiss to you when we’re on government property,” she arches her brow.

“If this is your way of flirting, I don’t wanna hear it.” Morgan’s voice reaches them, making Emily roll her eyes. He walks over to them and completely ignores Emily, bending down and focusing all his attention on the baby on her chest.

“I don’t know how you deal with it, princess,” he coos to Olivia, lightly pinching her cheeks and grinning when she giggles.

“Your mommy and daddy make me wanna throw up sometimes,” he twists his face dramatically to make Olivia laugh. Her sweet giggles echo through the bullpen, catching JJ’s attention as she walks down from her desk.

Olivia places her tiny palm on Morgan’s cheek, squealing as her hands run over the coarse hair of his goatee. He chuckles as she buries her fingers in it, not sensing the danger until Olivia closes her fist and pulls tightly.

“Mother-”

“Morgan.” Aaron barks.

“-fudger,” he ends lamely, smiling weakly at Olivia with watering eyes.

JJ and Emily burst into laughter as Emily untangles her baby’s fist from Morgan’s goatee. “You show him, baby,” she chuckles as Olivia finally lets go of his face. Her daughter gurgles happily at her as Morgan rubs his chin and straightens, shoving off JJ’s sympathetic palm on his shoulder.

“You’re such a good girl,” Emily coos as she smothers her face in kisses and blows raspberries on her cheeks, her lips turning up into a grin as her daughter squeals. Aaron smiles at the sound too, his dimples popping out.

“Give her to me,” he demands lightly, smiling when Olivia holds out her hands for him as Emily lifts her from the carrier on her chest.

“Hi baby,” he kisses her soft cheek, his heart melting when she cuddles into the space between his neck and shoulder, a spot both she and Emily have developed a liking for. She babbles into his neck, her tiny shoes digging into his ribs, but Aaron doesn’t care.

JJ pulls out a chair and sits down in front of Emily, both of them talking as Morgan goes back to annoy Reid and Aaron cuddles with his little girl, enjoying the brief, rare moment of quiet in the office. His coffee mug lay forgotten as Emily sips from it, halfway into it and in no way eager to give it back, but he doesn’t mind.

Olivia pulls on his tie and he looks down to find it in her mouth, one tiny hand fisted in his jacket and the other feeding more of the fabric into her mouth.

Aaron chuckles as he pulls it from her mouth. “Sweetheart, we talked about this,” he frowns at her playfully and unwraps her fingers from the tie. “I know daddy’s ties are delicious but you can’t keep eating them,” he chides softly as she grabs his finger in her fist. She looks up at him with her deep brown eyes—Emily’s eyes—and babbles something to him, her tone vaguely telling him she’s upset with him.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s mean,” he grins as he brings her hand to his lips, kissing it repeatedly until she giggles.

He hears the click of heels and looks up, abruptly pulled from his own universe with his daughter. Emily grins as she knocks her shoulders with his. “Brace yourself,” she warns him, looking down at Olivia and smiling at her, “you too, sweet girl.”

Penelope walks into the bullpen, heading towards Aaron with her arms outstretched, one goal on her mind. “My senses told me baby Hotchner was here,” she says as she stands in front of him, wiggling her fingers impatiently until Aaron sighs and relinquishes his baby to her.

Emily chuckles as she leans into him, her hand reaching for his. “It’s so hard, isn’t it?” She whispers to him teasingly, her eyes bright with humor at his downturned lips.

“Torture,” he grumbles, linking their fingers together and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, her closeness somewhat making up for the distance between himself and his baby girl.

“You’ll get her back soon.” Emily soothes.

They both know that’s a lie.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss #criminal minds #aaron x emily

20 notes · View notes