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fayes-fics · 3 months ago

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The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition.

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later.

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games.

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears.

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by.

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister, arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…” You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests.

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens.

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden. “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air.

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’.

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.”

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud.

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own.

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned.

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms…. Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?”

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing.

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow.

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss.

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase.

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece.

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...”

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.”

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?”

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

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xshadowdelta · 4 months ago

Text

Former Manager

Part One: Back in town.

Jo Yuri x Male Reader (2.9K Length)

The abrupt movements and the deceleration sensation alerted you, waking you up. Automatically you took a quick look out through the window of your seat, the clouds gave way to a landscape that brought back many memories, it wasn’t your first time landing at the Incheon Airport.

You got off the plane, taking your suitcase ready to leave the terminal. Breathing the air of that place in an attempt to calm you down, but you failed when all your memories flooded into your brain in a succession of images.

You started to walk thinking about it thoroughly, that nerves invade your body was kind of stupid being honest, you had done this before and with a lot more pressure according to yourself, after all not everyone could boast of have been a manager for the popular girl group Iz*One.

That’s right, after committing the biggest folly of your life by deciding to move to South Korea instead of go to the college you found a miracle job, specifically being one of the Iz*One managers for 1 year and a half. That was until due to some personal reasons you were forced to return to your home country. And 4 years later here you are, back in the Asian country to resume your job as a manager.

You were surprised when Wake One Entertainment contacted you offering a new job. Apparently they didn’t have enough managers in the company due to the arrival of new groups, which caused a total restructuring of the staff, leaving Kep1er in search of a new manager. That’s where you and your good work done with Iz*One years ago came in, knowing that the new head of the staff was one of your coworkers at that time.

It was a really complicated decision to make for several reasons: 1. You hadn't spoken the language for a long period of time. 2. Take care of a group full of teenage divas wasn’t an easy job. 3. And you were comfortable in your current job. Seen this way, only a crazy person would accept that offer. Exactly what you did 5 minutes later.

You came back down to earth as the cab stopped, and you were able to see right in front of you the Wake One building. You walked inside the building and introduced yourself to the front desk indicating that you were coming for the manager vacancy, one of the receptionists guided you to the conference room where your interview would take place.

The interview was nothing more than a formality, obviously the vacancy was yours, but certain guideline had to be met.

They told you that the Kep1er girls were currently in the USA for the KCON, so you would not start working with them until the next week, once they returned.

You returned to the main lobby, the keys of your new house were given to you alongside your company car with some more documents to sign.

It was at that moment meanwhile you were signing the documents that you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. “Manager oppa!”

You turned yourself to face the former Iz*One member and now soloist, Jo Yuri. “It is really you, manager oppa!?” She shouted in surprise, covering her mouth with her hands.

Your heart almost skipped a beat as you looked her up and down. She was no longer that little girl she used to be when you were spending your days with her. Even though she had grown up, she still had that youthful look.

“Excuse me, but…” You left the pen over the desk. “Do i know you?”

Her facial expression faded as soon as you said that, turning from surprise to annoyance.

“Do you really forgot about me, oppa!?” Her louder and offended voice made you laugh and making her even angrier.

“I couldn’t forget you so easy, Yuri.” You told her showing a smile and she sigh annoyed. “You still like teasing me. But it’s been a long time, what are you doing here?” Her tone sounded cheerful again.

“Woah, so now you’ll be managing Kep1er, they are so lucky to have you I envy them, but now I have to record my new song, hope to see you often around the company, oppa!” You said goodbye to her as you watched her to disappear when the elevator closed its doors, didn’t expect to meet one of your former members so soon.

You walked out the building to take the car and drive right to your new home, making a quick stop in a convenience store to buy some fast food for dinner accompanied by a drink.

Finally, you arrived at home, left the food bag and some papers on a nearby table and plopped down on the sofa visibly tired, jet lag was taking its toll.

Even so, you found the strength to browse through some things and investigate more about your new members while you had dinner. You were relieved to know that they were fewer than the last time, although from what you could see in some videos they seemed louder, especially that little girl named Hikaru.

You finished for today, noticing that it was already dark outside and decided to take a long relaxing shower before getting into bed, whereas you tried to fall asleep your memories of years ago with the Iz*One girls came flooding back.

After your step down you had been following from the distance the evolution of every member career, and you couldn't be more proud of each one of them, but seeing them now in real life would be a different feeling.

Then you remembered the brief encounter with Yuri in the company, you began to think about how much she changed in these years, she was one of the younger members back then, but now she seemed so much mature.

You couldn’t help but think how much her body had changed this time, she was all grown up and transform into a real woman. You even noticed how good she fit in those jeans she was wearing today that enhanced her hips and showed off her ass.

BUT WHAT THE HELL I AM EVEN THINKING! You shouted in your mind sitting up in the bed breathing heavily, how you could be thinking about her in that way, about one of the girls you took care for almost two years, the one you practically treated like a younger sister.

You lay back down in bed again, looking at the ceiling and then looked down at your pelvic area, noticing the big erection that had formed under your pants. “I must be sick.” You whispered, slipping your hand under your clothes, trying to stimulate yourself before falling asleep.

The next morning you made your way to the company, but first you took a shower and had breakfast that only consists of a coffee cup and a couple of cookies. The biggest part of the day happened in the office, you had so much work to do before Kep1er returned from their activities.

Around lunchtime someone knocked to your door, you stretched out on the chair giving way to the person who has knocked. “Oppa, let’s have lunch together!” Yuri exclaimed showing her head out the door.

She burst into your office carrying a heavy bag that lifted it to your eyes level.

“Yuri…”

“I assumed that you'll have a lot of work in your first day, and you always insisted me on not skipping meals, so it’s my time to pay you back.” she said with a big smile. She had touched you there.

“I really missed tteokbokki.” You said eating the food. Yuri was sitting in the chair in front of you, she wasn’t eating but admiring you. “Do I have to remind you that you also have to eat?” You scolded her, but she just laughed at it. “Don’t worry about me, I want to eat other type of food…” “Which one?” You asked, taking one more fried chicken piece. “You.” Hearing that made the piece of chicken slip on your chopsticks and roll off the desk, you couldn’t say anything, you were petrified.

“You spend a lot of time with Yena, now you also replicate her stupid jokes.”

“It’s not a joke, oppa.” For the first time ever you could see an unusual expression on her face, one you have never seen before, what was going on with her?

“Yuri, stop this joke now, it’s not funny…” “I’ve already told you, it’s not a joke…” She said standing up from her chair and crawled under your desk, reaching you.

“Yuri! What are you doing?”

“You are so tense, oppa, you should relax.” At this point she was fully under your desk reaching your legs and touching between them, why was this happening to you?

“I always thought that the first one to do something like this with you would be Eunbi unnie, years ago I found out she was talking about it together with Hyewon unnie and Chaeyeon unnie.” Hear that made you open wide your eyes, it couldn’t be true. “It’s kind of normal, a young women group with raging hormones and such a young manager, kind and attractive, it’s every girl’s dream.”

But she was right, back then you were too much young to managing a group, actually you still are today, even Eunbi was older than you. That’s why you considered all of them as your sisters, and that’s why this situation was so complicated.

“Yuri…we both knows this is so wrong.” You tried to reason with her.

“You are not my manager anymore and we both are adults, but mostly important…” She touched the huge bulge that had already formed under your pants. “You really desire it, don’t you?”

“Yuri, please, anyone could come in at any moment.” Your words were useless, she was already unbuckling the belt of your pants, and you couldn’t or rather didn’t want to do anything to stop her. A few seconds later you could felt how your penis was set free.

“IT’S SO BIG!” She exclaimed, amazed by the size of your dick, making you shift restlessly in your seat.

“Lower your voice, someone could hear you.” You scold her and became more and more anxious as you looked towards the door of your office.

“Sorry, it’s just…it’s incredible oppa.”

Her eyes couldn't be apart from your dick, she was totally hypnotized looking at it, but suddenly she started to massage your penis with her hands, making you moan.

She ran her tongue all over your length, from the tip to your balls and repeated this for a while, at each repeat your cock was more and more wet and your knuckles were turning white due to the strength you were grappling to the chair armrest.

She looked at your face still kneeling down ad if she was asking for permission to continue, you succumbed to the temptation, you had already fallen time ago, and nodded your head. Then she opened her mouth and put every inch of your cock she could inside her. She was struggling to make you be fully inside her mouth, but you were so much huge to her, so she decided to move her tongue around the part of your dick that was already inside.

You couldn’t describe what you were feeling at that moment, it was the nearest to being in pleasure paradise you never experienced. Yuri’s tongue didn’t stop moving over your penis, constants moves that went in unison with your moans.

She made an effort to make you fit completely in her mouth, you looked at her, noticing her cheeks filled with your cock. You let out a loud moan as the tip of your cock brushed against her throat.

She peeled herself off you for air, gasping visibly and with a large thread of saliva coming out of her mouth, masturbating you meanwhile she tried to recover.

“How the hell are you so good at this?” She smiled, taking that as a compliment. “I’ve dreamed a lot of times with this moment, I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s certainly better than masturbating by myself like last night.” You mentioned out loud as if you were talking to yourself. It took you a second to realize your mistake.

“Wait, what I wanted to say was…”

“I see.” She cut you off. “Manager oppa is a dirty man who has always thought about having me like this with him.”

“NO!” You quickly denied provoking her loud laughs.

“But it makes me happy, because you were always good and kind to me, so it’s my time to make oppa’s fantasies come true” She said bringing your cock closing to her mouth once again.

“What you mean?” You asked when a sinister smiled was formed on her face.

“Fuck my mouth, oppa.”

And there you lost the last shred of self-control you had, if you still had any.

As soon as she resumed the blowjob, you put one of your hands behind her head, making her swallow the entire of your length. Yuri supported her hands on your chair, trying to follow with her head the pace that you were now setting.

You could hear how she was choking on your cock every time your hands down her head into it. A bit worried, you tried to be less rude and give her a rest, but her hands stopped you, telling you that she was enjoying this as much as you.

“My god, Yuri...just like that…” You kept moaning, grabbing her hair that was falling into her forehead at the same time you started to move your hips making you go deeper on her mouth, fucking her throat.

She looked at you with fire in her eyes, telling you with her gaze that she wanted even more, you didn’t hesitate and kept fucking her mouth more aggressively.

You let her go, giving her time to catch her breath, her eyes were watering, and her makeup was totally ruined. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen in your life.

You bent down to lift her chin and kiss her passionate for a while until you separated from her and leaned back in your seat. You took your own penis in your hands, offering it to her.

“Finish the job.”

She immediately went back to sucking you desperately, her mouth was already habituated perfectly to your size, so you could notice how she was improved by the time pass.

You took her hands, forcing her to satisfy you using only her head. Sometimes it would slip out of her mouth and she would struggle to suck it back in, completely possessed by lust.

Her face was between your hands now, you couldn’t stop admiring the way she was sucking you, she placed your penis into her right cheek then you touched the resultant bulge, she stopped then and let your dick rest in her mouth closing her eyes enjoying your caresses.

If it were up to you, you would have stayed like this forever, but unfortunately it was time to end.

“Make sure to swallow it all.” You warned moving your hips faster feeling your load concentrating on your tip letting you know you were ready for the shot.

“YURI!” You screamed, unable to hold back any longer, reaching the orgasm and shooting your cum straight down her throat.

She did her best to hold it all in, but at the end a bit of cum dripped out of her mouth and ran down her chin to finally fall to the office floor.

The rest of your cum was still inside her mouth, she stepped back and opened her mouth to show you the amount of cum you gave to her. You watched her swallow all your cum at once, and that made you feel hornier than ever.

“Good girl.” You smiled at her.

She smiled you back and stood up, grabbing her bag to pull out a small makeup set, and trying to fix the mess you both made on her.

“Good as new.” She said, looking at herself in the small mirror. “Thanks for the meal oppa, hope we can repeat.” And she winked at you, making you come back to reality.

“Yuri, this was amazing, believe me, but it can’t happen again, or I will be in problems.”

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll make sure no one would discover us and…” Her cheeks turned red for a second.

“And?”

“I was thinking, maybe oppa can teach me a lot of things…” Oh, she was talking on that sense.

Your cheeks went also full red color and your brain started to malfunction, trying hard to formalize an excuse, a reason to refuse while she headed towards the door.

“Oh, I almost forget about it.” She stopped in the doorway.

“I told the girls about you, and they want to see you, Eunbi unnie will host a dinner party for us tonight in her house, you can’t miss it!” She said cheerful before leaving the office.

“Great, just what I needed.” You mumbled to yourself in an ironic way, throwing yourself back in the chair, noticing that you still had your member free, and hurried to get dressed again.

You slammed your face against the desk causing a louder sound and let it out a big sigh. “I’m going to get fired.”

#kpop smut #izone smut #yuri smut #male reader #smut #jo yuri smut

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

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A Balancing Act | Ch. 1*

Series Summary: Harry is a famous, rich, handsome, pop star and he’s been in therapy since his boy band days. When he meets Y/n, a beautiful and successful artist, he cannot take no for an answer when it comes to her. He’s determined to make her his even if he has to bend the rules a little at first.

Chapter Summary: Meeting Harry Styles at the hotel she was staying at was a surprise. But to have him invite her to his room for a drink was unexpected.

Warning: smut

Word Count: 17,748

Commissioned by @cinnamonone (thank you!! xoxo)

A Balancing Act Masterlist

Harry remembers the days when he used to go into his therapist’s office for his sessions. But after fame hit the paps knew where he was going, learned his schedule, and he was constantly bombarded. And of course, the fans caught on so there’d be screaming people trying to get his attention as he hopped from his car to the back entrance.

Lately, though, she’d been coming to his house instead. She charged more for in-house visits but Harry wasn’t bothered by the extra cost. Her time and flexibility were worth it to him so he’d happily pay the added fee.

They normally sat in his office together for the sessions. It was always like chatting with a close colleague when he’d have her over. Harry would usually have pastries and green juice or matcha to share and they’d talk about their week. She’d even talk to him about hers a little. Which always made him feel so comfortable around her. It invited him to really open up and he learned to be vulnerable with her over time.

He'd been seeing her since his One Direction days which meant in-person visits weren’t always possible if he was traveling, but Pat took a lot of late-night calls and FaceTime time sessions over the years. And Harry trusted her more than he trusted most people. She’d earned his trust. She’d heard his deepest, darkest secrets and knew all the dirty details about all of his past loves and flings. She wasn’t a sex therapist but she often gave him advice that helped him in that department.

And today she was doing just that. Listening to him drone on about his last lover, the older woman with two children who left her fiancé to be with him. He felt bad about everything in their relationship – from the beginning, he knew it wasn’t going to last and it was only meant to be a quick fling. But then he did develop feelings (Harry loved to fall in love and it was usually quite messy) against his better judgment. And then when she left the father of her children it became even more complicated.

“I just felt like I owed her. She’d given up so much for me and it was crazy of me to feed into that. I should have told her then and there that we wouldn’t end up together but I think a part of me just wanted to have the stability. But instead, it just dragged on for too long.” Harry had recently seen her at an event and she ignored him, just as he ignored her, but that didn’t mean it didn’t affect him because here he was in therapy with Pat talking about her.

Pat tapped her pen on her notepad and nodded. She’d heard all this before. But the guilt he felt was continually bubbling up and pouring out in their sessions even though they’d been broken up for the better part of a year.

“Harry, let’s talk about that. The stability part. Do you feel like you still need to be in a relationship to be stable? We’ve worked on this in the past and it sounds like that’s still a constant in your romantic attitude.”

Harry knew he was someone that just loved being with someone. Long-term, a week, a night… he just enjoyed the attention and he loved giving attention. And he was good at it. Well, he gave a lot of himself even if the relationship wasn’t serious. That’s just how he was.

“I know I need to be more confident to be alone and not have someone in my bed or my life all the time. I mean, I haven’t even had sex in like, a month.”

Pat laughed and shook her head, “I know Harry. And probably the whole world too. I know how hard that is for you – to never be able to have any privacy even if it’s just something fun," she paused as nodded, "And so a month... That's not really that long, but I’m assuming you’re referring to the model you were with in Tokyo about month ago? Pictures of you two were plastered everywhere.”

Harry nodded and chuckled, “Oh yeah. That was just… we were drunk so I wasn’t careful but I had fun ya know? I just want to be able to have fun and not deal with the public knowing that we probably fucked. Or all the weird speculation. It’s not anyone’s business. Sometimes I make mistakes and get caught in public but it’s tiresome. I want to be able to go out and do normal things but I can’t.”

Again, these were all things Pat knew about and had heard verbatim. She truly felt for him, though. Was even protective of him as if he were her son. Harry was so charming and likable and just a genuinely nice person that it was hard not to feel like he needed protecting at times.

But what could she do? He was a grown man now. A grown man who enjoyed love and all the kinds of things that went with it. But more than that he loved his job. Which was where the biggest problem lie. Harry’s job was a drawback for most people he’d attempted a relationship with. Some could handle the long distance, the frequent flights and stays at hotels, eating and dressing and showering on the road, screaming fans, women and men throwing themselves at him, stalking him, feeling entitled to his attention when he was out in public eating breakfast.

And he’d never give any of it up for a relationship. But that didn’t make it easy. Harry hardly remembered what it used to be like before he became famous. He was catapulted into the limelight as a teenager and was in one of the most popular boybands the world had ever known. But when he went off on his own for a solo career, assembled a talented group for his band, cut off his long hair, and began writing songs and crooning in well-fitted suits in small venues and theaters his fame rose year by year. Every album he put out was more popular than the one before.

With fame came flocks of fans. Who were willing to do nearly anything to get a glimpse up close of the charming boy with big green eyes, sweet dimples, and a deep voice. So yeah. Relationships suffered.

“You always have the option to just stop. Finish off your contract and then forget about fame. But you don’t want that. So doing normal things in public will be hard while you’re so famous.”

“I know. I wouldn’t want to stop. I love what I do. Just wish I had more privacy.”

“But I’m proud that you’re not isolating like you did for a while there. Wouldn’t even answer my calls for some time. Remember? You’re doing okay now, though. I think you’re improving. Your fame continues to grow and you are adjusting to it.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. That was a rough go. Not being able to see family or close friends during the pandemic really got to me. I am still surprised by how I responded to that all that. Doesn’t feel like that was me, you know? Feels like such a long time ago.”

“It affected many people in ways they hadn’t realized it would. People who had never struggled with depression or drug use before had to fight for their lives to get better.”

“Yeah… I was just alone with all those thoughts. Missing… her. I even called her one night. Don’t remember the conversation because I had taken sleep pills right before but saw that I’d called her the night before when I looked through my phone. Realized it was bad then.”

“Camille?”

Harry shifted in his seat and sighed. He didn’t like to say her name. That had been the hardest breakup. Because he really loved her. It no longer stung like it used to but he thought of her often, “She had a boyfriend of course. Still does. And he’s far better for her. Can go with her whenever and wherever. And I couldn’t because I was so busy. And she couldn’t come with me either because she’s got her own acting and modeling career. Just… I’m okay with that all now. But there were nights when I was alone in that big house and I couldn’t stop picking apart all the things that went wrong between us.”

“Too much time to think. Even I dealt with overthinking and dwelling.”

Harry glanced at Pat and smiled, “We’re all so similar. Us humans. Even we can surprise ourselves at times by torturing our brains and combing over details long past.”

Pat was proud of how insightful Harry was and how far he'd come.

. . .

Harry’s next show was in Chicago. He was getting himself pumped up for stage time. His outfit was being tailored once again, his hair styled, a bit of bronzer and highlighter, moisturizer on his arms and torso, lips stained a deep berry shade, nails painted lavender…

Music and his fans and being on stage were Harry’s favorite things. Well, he had another favorite thing that he could have that very night. It was easy when he was on stage and singing his heart out. A little eye contact and a raised brow to the cute curvy girl with the big tits at the front of pit, a hand wave and a wink, a tequila ordered for the pretty blond in the balcony seats he had a good view of, or calling out the tall guy in the middle of his concert and continually flirting with him in front of thousands (millions after the videos made it to social media). It was easy. Harry just had it so he could really have his pick, for the most part. If he wanted.

And like every one of his sets, at the end he was exhausted yet pumped with adrenaline. Meeting some of his lucky fans and taking pictures backstage was par for the course. Nothing out of the ordinary for a night after a concert.

But he had another show the following evening and so Jeff was giving him the signal it was time to head out and get back to his hotel so he could call it a night. The morning of a show was always early for rehearsing, a good workout, an ice bath, meditation…

Harry was ushered into the back entrance of the posh hotel he was staying at and used the freight elevator to get to the top floor to his room without anyone seeing him. Which he hated. He hated having to hide and duck away from fans. Hated being treated like a big secret no matter where he went. But on the other side of the coin, he cherished his privacy so it was necessary.

Jeff left him alone after Harry settled into his suite. He had the TV on and was about to call his mom because she’d be up at that time, but then there was a knock at his door. It was past 12:30 am so he couldn’t imagine who it would be.

Harry slowly opened the door to see a hotel employee standing with a bouquet of flowers, “These were sent here earlier, Mr. Styles, but we forgot to put them in your room. My apologies for the mistake.”

Harry took the bouquet and smiled at the young man, slipping him a tip and telling him not to worry.

Pulling the card out of the flowers he put the lovely bouquet down on the buffet and opened it to find out who it was from.

“We miss you, H. Hope you’re well. Love XX”

It was his ex. The one he’d wasted nearly two years with. He’d gotten to know her children and this card was meant to pull at his heartstrings with the ‘we miss you’. And it worked. The guilt built up again. He didn’t miss her or their relationship, but the guilt he carried for everything that happened to them during and even after was upsetting. He just wished his life was truly private like a normal guy. And then maybe he could move on and get real closure.

And against Jeff’s advice, Harry decided to go down to the hotel bar by himself which would be open for another couple of hours. A drink would help. Maybe a chat with someone nice. He hoped there weren’t any crazy fans down there but he’d rather risk that than sitting alone in his suite for another minute.

The bar was mostly empty. There were a few couples at tables, some individuals sitting and drinking at the bar. Harry grabbed a small table near the front with a good view of the bar and was greeted quickly to get his order.

He looked around casually and realized no one seemed to notice him. It felt nice. A moment of peace in public without anyone snapping photos or taking videos.

Across from his small table was a woman he suddenly took note of. She was dressed smartly. A silky green blouse tucked into charcoal trousers. She was looking at her phone and sipping a cocktail of some sort. She was pretty with delicate features and he couldn’t help himself when he noticed her pretty round bottom taking up the stool she sat on. Harry wasn’t a pervert but he had the perfect view of her. He was just a man after all and he appreciated beautiful women and men at times.

The server brought his drink to him and grinned widely, “Enjoy your whisky neat, Mr. Styles.”

Suddenly the woman turned her head and made eye contact with Harry. Her eyes widened before she quickly looked back down at her phone. She recognized him. Harry knew right away. But he was intrigued that she looked away. He decided to get her attention.

“Wish I could do that.”

The woman lifted her head and turned to look at Harry, confusion on her face as she looked behind herself and then back to Harry, “Sorry, are you speaking to me?”

Harry chuckled, “Of course I am.”

She set her cell phone down and tilted her head as she turned toward him, “You wish you could do what?”

Harry nodded toward the cell phone she had on the table, “Scroll through social media so casually.”

She stitched her brows together as she looked down at her phone and then back to Harry, “What makes you think I was scrolling through social media?”

Harry laughed and he guessed that was a fair question, “You’re right. I guess I don’t know what you’re looking at. Sorry if I offended,” he lifted his glass up toward her and then took a sip.

She smiled and lifted her own glass and then took a sip in response.

But now Harry was very interested. He wondered what she was looking at but also found her response to be refreshing. Instead of fawning she was smart and snappy with him. Even though she clearly recognized him, she wasn’t giggling and asking for an autograph or a photo.

He stood up and took a chance to ask if he could join her. He knew it was gutsy but he was rarely turned down and the woman was intriguing.

“Mind if I sit here with you? A little company is nice.”

Now Y/n was very much feeling her nerves peak when she realized Harry Styles was sitting next to her table. And then he’d made conversation with her. She was surprised he was speaking to her at all and now here he was asking to sit with her. She had no reason to say no. So when she nodded and he pulled the stool out that was closest to hers and placed his whisky on the table she swallowed down the bubbling nerves and called on her natural self-confidence. She was a confident woman. She was successful and lived a good life that she worked hard for. She was smart and grounded. But she was also hyper-aware that she was not his type. So even if for the briefest moment she thought she caught him looking at her ass she had to have been wrong.

Their conversation was surprisingly fascinating to her. She imagined he’d have a lot of things to say but she didn’t realize he was such a deep and interesting person. His insight was very spot on and he was sensitive and a good listener.

When the server came over and told them it was last call they both ordered one more drink. Y/n wasn’t ready to call it a night and neither was Harry.

“So, what are you here for, in Chicago, exactly?”

“Oh, there is an art show this weekend. I, uh… I have a bunch of my pieces at the Carrie Secrist Gallery right now.”

Harry paused. She mentioned she was an artist but he didn’t realize she was here for work, “Wow. Really? Carrie Secrist Gallery,” he said the name of the gallery quietly as if to catalog the information, “So will you be here tomorrow night again?”

“Yes. Booked the room for the weekend. I leave Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, my work gets all sold so I don’t have to repack and ship it back home.”

Harry nodded and watched her lips as she spoke and then her eyes. He couldn’t stop from letting his gaze drop to her plush lips. And Y/n noticed it too. It had her palms sweating. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

“Would you want to come to my show tomorrow evening? I can get you some really good seats – two if you’d like to bring anyone. I’d love it if you came. Maybe after we could do this again,” he gestured around them.

She was momentarily stunned. It was so out of the blue, unexpected. But it was also only an invitation to his concert. Which… still… this was a personal invite from Harry Styles and an opening to see him afterward which was quite something.

His green eyes and the smile on his pink lips were so close to her. She felt like suddenly with the way he was eyeing her that perhaps there was more to his invite. She’d been pushing that feeling down since he asked to sit with her but now it was glaring. Obvious. It was obvious that he was seeking something else. Maybe a quick one-night thing before he left for his next destination.

“What time would I need to get there?”

“Show starts at 7 with the opener.”

“Hmm… the gallery where I'm showing my art doesn't close til 7. I’d be getting there too late-“

“Well just come after that’s over. I’d still love to see you even if you’re a little late.”

She nodded and tried to rationalize everything. Could she really do this? Perhaps it was nothing at all but this didn’t feel like nothing and her instincts were usually spot on. She had no reason to say no except that he was super famous and what would it all look like logistically? But looking back at his face she just saw a handsome, confident man. There didn’t need to be any strings attached or consequences. It could be fun, “Sure. That could work. But it would just be me. Anyone I’d want to bring wouldn’t be able to make it in time for tomorrow night.”

Harry’s grin widened and his famous dimples dug into his cheeks, “Even better.”

. . .

Y/n had a hard time sleeping that night. She was hoping to have a couple of drinks to wind down after the adrenaline of the gallery showing. Her evening had been excellent. She sold some of her most expensive pieces, had a fabulous dinner with the curator and a couple of other artists, and then met and had drinks with Harry Styles.

The following day at the gallery she was on fire as well. Her good mood was contagious and every one of her paintings sold. She was asked to dinner again after the gallery closed but this time she declined, citing a concert to get to as her reason for skipping out.

She received a text halfway through her day as promised with a link to the details of her ticket retrieval at the will-call window. Lifting her phone up to the person manning the booth she showed them the QR code and watched on as they called someone and got off the phone, “Just wait here for a moment. Someone’s coming to get you.”

Being ushered into the back of the venue and then through a hallway she followed behind the man until he finally led her to an area with balcony seating and a good view of the stage, “Mr. Styles has said anything you’d like is on him. Can I get you a drink?”

Y/n still felt like it was so surreal to be here at a Harry Styles show on personal invitation and now being offered something to drink. On. Him.

“Is chardonnay on the menu?”

The man nodded and left in the blink of an eye.

Harry wasn’t on the stage yet. The opener was just finishing up and the crowd was full of young girls dressed in brightly colored, outfits. Lots of feathers and fringe and glitter and rhinestones.

The man returned with a glass of chardonnay as Y/n looked out over the crowd and leaned over the balcony. She wasn’t sure what to expect when she arrived but her spot had a good view and she was happy she wasn’t down amongst all the pretty young things in front of the stage below.

The moment Harry came on the energy in the room was thick and everything was all about Harry. Fans with signs, lots of screaming, and most everyone sang along.

She couldn’t help but to dance and sing a little. The excitement and his enthusiasm spilled over everyone. Including her. Y/n noticed that it looked like Harry was watching her from the stage. He’d look up toward where she was with a grin often enough that it made her wonder. She thought perhaps he was smiling and looking toward someone else but it was definitely her because she watched as he mimicked her awful attempt at dancing by twirling around and shaking his hips exaggeratedly. She felt her face grow warm when some of the fans began to look up toward the balcony where she stood. Luckily there were other people where she was (who she later found out all had tickets from members of the band – a sort of VIP section for friends and family) so it wasn’t immediately obvious it was her he was grinning at.

The entire concert felt like a whirlwind. Harry’s charisma and style of entertainment were so contagious and exciting. Y/n felt like she was on adrenaline as she was being led backstage. The area was bustling as well. Lots of fans, mostly young girls, a table with small bites and beverages, and sitting areas.

She saw a couple of the band members taking photos with a group of people and then she heard shrieks and turned toward the commotion. There he was flocked by a group of fans and taking photos with one or two at a time. His smile was dazzling, genuine. She noted that he’d changed out of his stage outfit into a pair of basketball shorts and a sweater. He looked so casual in his outfit, yet there was no mistaking that this man commanded the room. That he was the star everyone wanted a piece of.

Y/n decided to keep herself occupied and look around while she waited for Harry to free up a bit. She wasn’t quite sure he’d really be seeing her afterward like he mentioned the night before. And the text she received earlier with the ticket details came from an automated six-digit number separated by a dash in between. Which made sense because he probably didn’t want her to have his number.

But she’d stick around to at least say hi.

“You came. Thank you,” Y/n turned to see the man behind her, with his handsome grin looking right at her.

“Oh, well, of course! Figured why not? It was a great concert by the way!”

They chatted for only a few minutes before they were interrupted again. Harry gave Y/n a look of apology, “Meet me at the hotel bar in like an hour?”

“Okay. I will try to be there in an hour,” she was going to just say absolutely yes, 100% she’d be there but that all sounded a little too desperate for her taste. She preferred to keep things level. And who knew if he’d even show up?

In her room, Y/n went back and forth between changing into something more comfortable or just keeping her current outfit on. She decided to keep on what she had and instead freshened up her hair and dotted on the smallest bit of undereye concealer.

It had been a while since she’d been interested in anyone. And she didn’t know what Harry wanted but the night before she was picking up certain vibes. She could be wrong. Perhaps she’d misread the whole situation. But she thought it could be fun to get out a little. Try and move on from the trauma of her last relationship. She tried not to think of it when she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Moving on had been something she’d been attempting to do for a while. A fun night with a handsome pop star could help a little. If that’s where things led. Hopefully.

At the bar, she ordered soda water to start. She didn’t want to get sloppy, just in case it turned into something more than just a friendly chat. It was around the time Harry said he’d meet her. She’d give him a little leeway since he had just gotten finished putting on a concert for thousands of adoring fans.

But when another thirty minutes had passed she checked her phone to find that there was nothing from him and no sign of his cute dimples in the bar anywhere either.

She waved at the bartender, “I’ll have a glass of house chardonnay please.”

She figured she might as well have one more glass of wine for the evening before calling it a night.

Looking at Instagram while she waited for her drink she realized she had a dm. It was from Dante. An artist she hit it off with at her last showing. They’d been messaging back and forth a bit but nothing had come of it. He lived a few hours away from her so getting together again hadn’t really been brought up. Except now.

Hey, I’ll be heading your way for an art exhibit soon. Would love to catch up in person if you’re free. Would you be interested in seeing me again? I’ll let you know when I’ll be in town when I find out more.

Smiling she began to type her response when the bartender placed her glass of wine down along with an envelope with her name written on the front.

She looked up at the young man in question

“Concierge handed this to me right after you ordered.”

“But how did you know this was for me?” She lifted the envelope up and flipped it over to open it up.

“Because I have your credit card with your name on it when you started your tab. Plus they described you. It’s from a very special guest I’m told.”

A very special guest.

She pulled her lips into her mouth to hide the grin that was about to take over as she looked around the bar, still, with no sign of Harry.

Pulling out the contents of the envelope she took a sip of her wine.

Sorry, I ran late. Take a drink in my room with me? p1900 - H

Blinking her eyes she felt her pulse pick up as she folded the note and tucked it into her purse. She gulped down another bit of chardonnay and grinned to herself, already having completely forgotten about Dante.

So she had read this right. The nerves in her belly bubbled up as she waved at the bartender, Check please!”

After making a pitstop at her room to really “freshen” up she realized that the floors stopped off at 8. After that was P.

Penthouse.

Hitting the P, she leaned her back into the wall as the elevator took her to the top floor.

The moment she stepped out of the elevator she was greeted by a man, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh!” She suddenly remembered who she was dealing with. Harry Styles, a world-famous, A-list pop star. Of course, he’d have security. “Yes, I uh… Harry invited me up-“ She reached into her purse and pulled out the note, “Here.”

The man unfolded the note and then looked at her with a smile, “Y/n?”

So he’d told them her name…

She nodded as he handed the note back to her, “Follow me.”

She figured this was something Harry had done before; had people brought to his room. The occasional one-night stand. Some fun for the weekend.

The man knocked at the door and only a handful of seconds passed before Harry was standing in the doorway, wearing the same after-concert outfit he’d been wearing when she left the venue earlier.

He smiled at her, “Come in,” and then looked at the man, “Thanks, Shamus.”

The suite was huge. That was no surprise. She’d seen a few nice suites in her days. Being an artist wasn’t always so lucrative but she was always invited to the good after parties. She had a lot of artsy fartsy friends, some very well-off.

“I’m really sorry about being so late. I just got caught up and then before I realized the time it was too late. I’m glad you were still at the bar.”

“Yeah,” she said as she walked around toward the sitting area with the large woven rug and plush couches, “about that… what if I wasn’t in the bar? I was about to go back to my room.”

“Well, then I guess we would have missed one another. That would have been a shame.”

“But you have my number. You could have reached out.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck as she sat down. She was acting far more confident than she really was. But this was part of what she did. She was constantly put into situations where she needed to be confident and sell herself. Her art was an extension of herself. So when she needed to make some sales at shows and galleries she learned just how to do that. Her art sold itself for the most part. But there were enough people who wanted her story. Sometimes, she was what sold her piece. She’d do whatever it took to not be a starving artist anymore.

“I know I could have. But… I hope you don’t take offense. I have a rule not to give out my number so easily. Not that I think you’d use it to do anything but I’ve just had some really bad experiences. People I’ve trusted have betrayed me and changing my number is something I have nightmares about,” he laughed as sat down next to her on the couch.

She laughed with him. She actually could sort of understand it. Being a woman was like that in a way. Giving out her number to someone could be risky. It was a gamble to have her information out there with someone she didn’t know well.

“I’m not offended. But I really thought you’d changed your mind. Though, in all honesty,” she stretched her arms overhead with a yawn and leaned back into the very shockingly comfortable couch, “I was sort of looking forward to my bed. I’m exhausted.”

Harry leaned back and draped his leg over his knee, “I know what you mean. If I were you I’d much prefer a comfy bed than to spend any time with me either,” he laughed and then put his arm along the back of the couch, “but really… if you’re tired, don’t feel pressure to stay. I am glad you’re here, though.”

There it was. He gave her the choice. So he could have the green light. The thumbs up. He was clever. Telling her she didn’t have to stay but also letting her know he wanted her there. The ball was in her court.

“I’m curious as to why you think I’m interesting enough to invite back to your room for a drink, of which I’ve not yet been offered,” she teased with a chuckle. She didn’t want to seem like some pushover but at the same time, she felt a little flirty. She’d had such a good night at the gallery and she hadn’t been alone with a man nearly as attractive as Harry in… well, she’d never been alone with a man as attractive as Harry. And he was very much giving off the air of flirty himself. The way he kept putting his finger up to his lip, the eye contact, his arm reaching across the couch behind her… His body language was a dead giveaway.

“You don’t think you’re interesting?”

Y/n smiled. He was good. Of course that was a good line to use on someone he didn’t know. She was wondering something very specific that he’d yet to admit. That she was there for some fun. A quick romp. He had a need that he wanted filled and so did she. The reason he’d asked her to his room was for that. Yet he insisted on playing coy.

“I know I’m interesting. But you don’t know me. So why is it that you’ve asked me here?” She raised her brows at him as he stood and walked to the buffet across the room.

“I felt comfortable with you from the start. It’s nice to have a conversation with someone new once in a while. Not someone in the industry,” Harry turned back with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in his other, “and sorry I didn’t offer you a drink. Wine?”

Nodding her head she watched as Harry sat back down next to her, a little closer this time as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses.

Clinking their glasses together Harry sat back into the couch again. The silence had been a little awkward as he poured their drinks and Y/n was feeling a bit unsettled. She wasn’t sure what to say. As confident as she normally could be, this was getting very real and her mind wouldn’t stop wandering to what would be happening in thirty minutes or an hour from then. Would he be really going all in with her? Trying to get laid? She wouldn’t mind it, not at all. She’d happily let Harry Styles fuck her if he wanted. But would he be thinking about how her thighs and her tummy were plump and soft (mushy really was the better descriptor)?

She’d looked up his past exes because what else would one do before meeting up one on one with Harry Styles? She knew it was a bad idea but once she got a peep of some of the women he’d been with in the past… well, she certainly didn’t fit that mold. She didn’t think she was ugly. Not at all. But she wasn’t a model. She wasn’t a hot body, lush-haired, perfectly put-together wealthy woman of the world.

She was an artist. She made a good living nowadays, but nothing crazy. She lived in the Midwest USA and would go six months without getting her haircut, much less even visiting for a style. She dressed cute, she thought, but not high fashion. Not with leather, and silk, and cashmere and braided linen… Her makeup style was a crapshoot. She wore a nice, tinted moisturizer (with sunscreen because she couldn’t be bothered with the extra step), cream blush, mascara, and if she was going out, red lipstick. That was her bold makeup move. Red lips. Contouring was a foreign concept to her.

“The wine is good. Thanks,” she said lifting her glass up before taking another sip.

“Oh yeah. I enjoy a little wine once in a while. Not really much of a connoisseur but this is one of my favorite red blends.”

Y/n nodded and looked down at her glass. He was obviously feeling the nerves as well. She felt him shift next to her as he put his arm back behind her on the couch again.

She thought about just putting the moves on. Getting it over with. But then he started to talk.

“Tomorrow afternoon I fly out to Brazil. Haven’t been there in a while. Feels like with the pandemic everything just stopped. Glad to have things sort of going back to normal. Ya know? But… What about you? Do you live near Chicago? You mentioned you live in the suburbs.”

They chatted a bit, revealing small things about themselves little by little. Eventually, she even wound up telling him her age and that she’d been in a long-term relationship that ended tragically but she didn’t give him all the details. She didn’t want his pity. But it felt natural to tell him a little bit more after he opened up to her about his last girlfriend and how it was his longest relationship but that he had felt stuck in it halfway through. That she had kids and how difficult that made everything.

Y/n knew who he was talking about as well. He didn’t need to say her name because she’d googled it all beforehand.

And she was aware that she wasn’t as old as his last girlfriend. She was only about a year older than Harry was but he was so sincere and mature that he felt older. Yet, there was a playful edge to him that was refreshing. And he was an excellent listener. Just as he had been the night before.

That was another reason she felt comfortable revealing small things about herself to him. He acted like what she was saying was worth being heard. He didn’t look at the clock on the wall, or let his eyes glaze over in boredom as she spoke. He asked her questions about what she’d said, remembered her sister’s name when she mentioned that she had two nieces, and even asked her about how her art show went – remembering the name of the gallery.

“And how did it go tonight at the Carrie Secrist Gallery? Did you get all your pieces sold?”

She laughed at his question – the way he said the name of the gallery. She thought he was probably showing off a little. He was naturally very charismatic and charming and she was falling for it hard. He’d bump his knee into hers every so often and his eyes never left her face which had her skin growing warm. He was flirting in the most subtle way.

“It went well! Actually, I sold all of my pieces. I did give a discount for one of them to be displayed at a restaurant because I figure that’s like advertisement, right? But yeah. It was a really good night.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and she noted how he watched as she sipped her wine and licked her lips. He wasn’t being coy anymore. His obvious gaze was his way of moving it along.

She stared back at him and felt her skin start to prickle with nerves. It was bold to look him directly in his sharp green eyes when he was sat so close to her. She watched as his lips turned up in a small smirk and he leaned in closer, “What perfume are wearing?”

She had to pause to think. It was her travel perfume. She liked nice scents and had a few back home but when she traveled she didn’t bring her usuals with her because they were too costly to risk being broken. And normally when she was traveling it was because she was participating in an exhibit or show and that meant she would wear very little of anything scented. Mostly out of respect. Like being on an airplane and wearing a beautiful spicy perfume that you’d put on before a date. You just wouldn’t.

“I think it’s like… um… I honestly don’t know the name. It’s a sample of something that I bring when I travel. Like a powdery, clean scent. Something nonoffensive. Would hate to lose out on a sale because I was wearing some wild cotton candy, musky, floral perfume or something,” she laughed.

Harry nodded with a small smile as he watched her mouth move around her words. She couldn’t help but notice how he looked from her lips and slowly brought his gaze back up to her eyes.

“What about you? You smell nice.” It was true. He did smell good. Clean and a little bit masculine. It was definitely some kind of cologne.

He looked down over his t-shirt and scrunched his brows in thought, “You think? Felt like I might be smelling a bit off.”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “No. You smell nice. Clean.”

“Well, I did shower after the show. I get so hot and sweaty on stage. Sometimes the outfits don’t breathe at all. Just like, my hot skin trapped under saran wrap is what it feels like,” he laughed as he spoke but the visual had Y/n’s mind going into dark and dirty places. Perhaps he’d said it on purpose.

She stayed quiet as she sipped the last bit of her wine and then leaned forward to place the glass on the table in front of them.

“Would you like another bottle of wine? Or… something else?”

Clenching her jaw she looked at his empty glass next to hers.

Or something else…

“Well, I don’t know about having more wine…”

“Okay. Me neither to be honest. Also not quite ready to go to bed just yet. Do you want to like…” he pulled his lips into his mouth and raised his brows as he bumped her knee with his.

He didn’t need to say it. She knew what he meant. She kept her eyes on his with a grin on her face as he leaned in so close she could smell the wine on his breath, “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She was compelled to pull him toward her and put her lips to his instead of answering him verbally. She’d been watching his pink lips wrap around his words in the unique way he moved his mouth for long enough. They looked smooth and she was curious how they’d feel against hers. But the moment she felt his tongue slip out and wet the bottom of her lip she felt her mind go blank except for the thought that she was kissing Harry Styles. Sitting in his hotel room way past her bedtime with security outside of his door and an empty bottle of wine on the coffee table at her feet.

His hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her in closer, to which she happily allowed herself to be moved toward his body. Her own fingers flitted into his thick hair, the curls winding between her fingers, just as soft as it appeared.

To her surprise (and delight) he didn’t try rushing from kissing to trying to take her clothes off. In fact, he continued kissing her and pressing his tongue into hers and lapping over her lips, squeezing the back of her neck with one hand and her soft hip with the other for longer than she might have ever kissed anyone before. His mouth against hers was erotic and wet and a bit eager even. As if he hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. But she matched that energy because she actually hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time.

He pinched her thigh a bit harder as she moved closer, her blouse-covered breasts brushing against his taut shirt-covered chest. She knew he was in good shape because she’d seen the pictures of him wearing open vests and jackets baring his well-built upper body while prancing on stage. Tonight’s outfit showcased how beefy he was with a well-fitted t-shirt and leather pants. A reminder of where she lacked.

As his hand slid upward to the curve of her waist she pulled away a little, really not feeling like he’d enjoy her extra bits once he touched them, “I… sorry…” she shook her head and sighed, feeling embarrassed.

Harry’s lips reached for hers again, brushing them softly over hers, “Sorry for what?”

But his mouth on hers was intoxicating and the way he was still grabbing at her and pulling her in made her forget what it was she was worried about.

The truth was that Harry loved what he saw and the way she felt so soft and plush under his hand. Her mouth, her hip, her waist. And she smelled pretty and her eyes were making him lose his mind. He wanted her in his bed and on his cock (if she’d allow that). Her voice was soft and feminine and she was smart and funny.

Harry had no trouble finding someone for the night. He’d been very lucky since his One Direction days but fame was like that. It also didn’t hurt that he was handsome with a deep voice and a big cock. But recently he decided to start being a little more choosy. Perhaps to find someone he could spend more than a night with. It was hard to do, though. Because he was on the road a lot and most people couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle unless they could go on the road with him. Which was usually an impossibility.

And after Y/n had left the venue a young woman was flirting heavily with him; batting her lashes and touching his arm, and giving off all the signals that she was a sure thing. Normally he’d have just stuck with that and had a good time with her for the evening. That was the easy route. A pretty girl very willing and eager whom he could send away after without feeling too bad. Did that make him a bad person? He didn’t think so. It was just sex most of the time. He was always safe and respectful and the kind of sexual tension that would build up while he was singing and dancing (and honestly that was when he was feeling his most attractive and confident) was normal after every show. It wasn’t like he had sex with someone new after each concert. But the option was always there.

But tonight he really wanted to see Y/n again. The cute girl was the easier option, but Y/n was the kind of woman he wanted to keep with him until morning. Let her sleep in his suite and have a couple of rounds with her. There was no way to know if it could ever be more but she was something different. His therapist, Pat, had told him to stop going with what was easiest. To take a step back and look for more substance. She told him he was clearly looking for something deeper and while there was nothing wrong with a bit of fun, deep down he needed more. And he knew she was right.

Harry’s hand roamed upward to the underside of her boob and even with the blouse and the bra covering her flesh he could feel how soft and heavy her breast was. He wanted to tear her shirt off and take a look but he’d let her lead the way because she seemed like she knew what she wanted when she slid her palm over his thigh and close to his crotch. Harry was solid and already thickened under his shorts, which was quite obvious from the way the fabric tented outward. He pulled her in closer again, hoping she’d grasp him over his shorts.

But instead, when Harry pulled at her she lost her balance and so the hand she was slowly moving upward as she worked up the courage to palm over his obvious erection suddenly was planted firmly over his cock, her hand trying to steady herself so as not to crush him under her palm and so she didn’t fall forward into him like she was about to.

They both parted from the kiss, Harry laughing and Y/n apologizing and quickly removing her hand, “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?”

Harry was more than okay when he looked into her pretty eyes and saw how flustered she was, how swollen her lips were from kissing, and the way her eyes were blown out.

He put his hand over hers and pulled it back to cup over his hard dick, “As you can tell, I’m just fine,” he grinned and looked down at the state of himself and her eyes followed him. She knew he was hard, she felt it when she fell into him. Which was quite exciting now that she was having her hand guided over him, he squeezed around her fingers so she had to tighten her grip around him. She panted and looked up at him. He was girthy and the way his dick was stuffed under his shorts, bent a little bit as it was constricted by the elastic. She could tell he was hung. Very much so.

“Do you want me to… can I?” She asked, licking her lips and looking back down at his big bulge and Harry leaned back, putting his arms back along the couch.

“If you want. But if you do that then be warned that I am gonna want to return the favor.”

A laugh was forced out of Y/n’s nose as she looked back into his eyes curiously, “Be warned? As if that would be a bad thing?”

Harry shrugged, “You never know.”

Y/n bit her bottom lip and slowly tugged at the elastic of the shorts he had on to reveal he was sans underwear. The shock of seeing his thick deep pink tip so quickly had her gasping unexpectedly and pausing her motion. She could tell he was big just by the way he felt, but seeing it bare before her eyes…

Looking back up at him he nodded at her to continue so she pulled at the material, pushing it down and then finally getting a full at him, long and pretty, hard as a rock. He was fully engorged and heavy in her hand when she slid her palm over him. Yes, this would do.

Getting to her knees on the floor in between his legs she kept her hand on him, not wanting to let go. It was unbelievable that she was holding Harry Styles’ thick cock in her hand and he was hard for her. She clenched her thighs just imagining what it might feel like wrecking her insides because it would.

She licked her lips and leaned over him slowly, leisurely pumping him upward. Spitting over his tip she looked up at him and pressed her mouth to his slit with a tiny peck and used her hand to coat his cock with the saliva. She spat again to give her hand more glide and on her upward stroke, her palm squeezed around his frenulum. Harry moaned and leaned his head back. His pink lips parted.

Positioning herself more comfortably she lowered her mouth again to the underside of him, licking upward until her tongue glided over his tip and she popped his bulbous crown into her mouth and sucked. He reached down to put a hand into her hair and grunted as she got lower over him.

He tasted good. Of course, he hadn’t come yet but he was clean and smelled nice. She was never a fan of the taste of come but she was certain with Harry, she’d gulp him all down with a smile on her face despite whatever he might taste like.

Harry loved getting head. He didn’t always ask for it, and he didn’t technically ask for it this time either but she wanted it and he wanted to feel her warm mouth and plump lips wrapped around him since the night before when he first met her.

He was not disappointed either. She was taking him in well. He knew he wasn’t easy to take all the way, which was part of the reason he didn’t always ask for a blowie. But Y/n was good. He tried not to tighten his fingers in her hair, wanting her to go at her own pace but he did grasp the back of the couch with his free hand and found himself letting out a pathetic whimper when she swallowed around his tip.

She was enjoying this. She was pretty good at giving head, though it had been some time, she was a bit rusty but it was like riding a bike really. After a few swallows and deep strokes, his tip hitting the back of her mouth and making her gag lightly, she began to get the hang out of it again. And he was clearly enjoying it.

She was making a bit of a mess too. Drooling and coughing… the fabric of his shorts that was pressed under his balls was wet. Which reminded her…

Using her free hand she began to roll his scrotum in her palm gently. His balls were round and full and heavy and when he gasped she could tell that was a good sign.

“Oh my god… ffffuck, Y/n!” Harry couldn’t help it when he tightened his fingers in her hair. He was going to come already. A little bit embarrassing but she was good and the noises she was making and the way she was sucking him in, wet and warm… plus… he was getting a very good view of her with her mouth wrapped around him. Drool dripping down her chin and she’d look up at him every so often and that was doing him in. The fact that she was pushing him down her throat so deeply and then looking up at him as she gurgled around him was making him lose it.

Now, Harry was a bit dominant in the bedroom. Well, a lot actually. He didn’t always show it, especially not with one-night stands or with someone he’d just met. He liked to ease them into it unless they were clearly into it. And there was something that told him she liked it a bit rough. So when he pushed her down a little further and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she moaned around him he coughed out a gasp and clenched his teeth to hold himself back. He wanted to have her on his cock like this for a while longer but she was conducting his perfect ideal for a blow job.

“Open that throat up for me, baby… gonna choke you with my come…” he panted his words and watched her closely as she hastened bobbing up and down over him. He took a risk to say what he wanted and she liked it. He had a feeling she would.

Y/n moaned at his words and the way he handled her hair and pushed her down over him. His sudden dominant display was welcomed and felt her arousal drip past her thong onto the insides of her thighs when he told her to open her throat for him. It was the hottest thing she’d heard in a long time.

And she did choke on his come. Salty and bitter, with an edge of sweetness. She swallowed and around him coughed as he flooded her throat. Tears poured from her eyes as she gulped him down the best she could and listening to his moans and grunts was satisfying to her.

Eventually, he released her hair and let his body melt into the couch as she licked him clean until his cock was softening in her mouth. He watched her when she sat back and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth with a small smile. The tears on her cheeks were mixed with streaks of black from her mascara and her mouth was puffy and wet.

“Come here,” Harry grasped the front of her neck and leaned in as he pulled her close so he could kiss her hard. She put her hands over his thighs to steady herself as he pulled her up and then moved her onto the couch under him. He pushed her down and lowered himself to her neck and licked upward toward her jawline, “Let me see you. Want to see your tits and your pussy. Can I, Y/n?”

She nodded as he pulled at her top. She sat up a little so he could pull the material off and she was quick to undo her clasp at the back. She was wearing a bra that was slightly complicated because her breasts were large and heavy so it was quite the device. She doubted he’d be able to figure it out fast enough.

“Holy fuck…” Harry groaned as he put his large hands over her tits and caressed the soft skin before lowering himself to attach his mouth to her left nipple and then her right one.

She hissed when he pulled at her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and squeezing gently at the other side. She hadn’t had anyone play with her tits in a long time. She’d really been missing intimacy. He sat back a little and pressed her boobs together before dipping back down to use his tongue all along her smooth flesh, tucking the wet muscle in between her breasts and licking upward toward her neck.

He continued kneading her tits as he settled himself onto his shins and sat back and looked at her face, “So fucking pretty.”

She arched her back, causing her hips to roll upward and Harry looked down to her hips, moving his hands down to the waistband of her skirt. He massaged her soft hips and watched as the material of her skirt lifted the slightest at the way he was squeezing her. He clenched his jaw and looked back into her eyes and raised his brows as if to ask her permission to keep lifting her skirt upward. She’d already nodded in response when he asked her moments ago but he wanted to know if she’d changed her mind or not.

Y/n brought her hands down and lifted the hem of her skirt up to just the part where her thighs were wholly exposed but her panties weren’t in view yet. Keeping her eyes on his she pushed at his hands to lower them so he could finish the job if he wanted. It was her way of giving him permission to pull her skirt up so he could see her.

And it wasn’t that Y/n was super confident in her body. In fact, if there was anything she was insecure about it was her weight and her body. She did well to push down the anxiety she felt about that and didn’t like to make it known she felt self-conscious, but she was. And here was Harry Styles between her legs and looking at her half-naked body, finally getting a view of her panties as he lifted her skirt. She knew she was wet between her legs already and watching the expression on his face she held her breath hoping he wasn’t grossed out by what he saw.

She watched him lick his lips as his brows set in a serious expression. He shot his gaze up to her eyes and then back down to her wet panties. She breathed a gasp when she felt his finger slip along the topmost part of her thigh just under the crotch of her panties, “You’re wet.”

She gulped hard. She knew there was nothing she could do to hide how wet she’d gotten from sucking him off. But when he thumbed at her thigh and collected her arousal before sticking his whole digit into his mouth and licking it clean, she dropped her mouth open in surprise.

“Mmm… do you know one of my favorite things to do is to put my face in between a woman’s thighs and make her come on my tongue?” He licked his lips again and pressed his thumbs to the elastic of her panties, pushing just under the fabric over her hips as he looked at her.

“I… no. I didn’t know,” was all she could respond with. She was anticipating what was to come and she couldn’t believe it so her brain wasn’t quite connecting with everything else at that moment.

Harry kept his eyes on hers as he began to lower her panties. He wanted access. Wanted to get his mouth on her and have her shaking and coming, getting his face all wet, dripping down to the couch below…

When Harry pulled the fabric down to her upper thighs he shifted to pull the material down and off her legs. He needed to have her spread apart for him so the panties needed to go.

When he finally allowed himself to look at the soft skin and the bit of hair she had all around her warm and wet pussy he closed his eyes and moaned when he gripped onto her hips, letting his fingers sink into her skin.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Okay? You want that, Y/n?” He yanked his shirt off over his head, revealing his well-defined chest and scattered tattoos. He must have planned on making a mess.

She nodded and looked down over her body and back into his eyes as he lowered himself over her. He went in tongue first and closed his eyes as he made the first lick upward through her slit and coated his tongue in her.

She moaned softly but then he quickly reached a hand down to the leg that was nearest the edge of the cushion and gripped onto the underpart of her thigh, making her spread out for him as he nudged into her further, lapping and sucking at her.

“OH!” She panted as his lips lowered to her entrance and his wide nose swept over her clit as he shook his head and pulled at her so he could push in further.

She grabbed onto the back of the couch with one arm and her other hand pushed into his soft hair. She rolled her hips upward and moaned at the way he felt on her, but he kept pushing her back down which was driving her nuts, in the best way. He was going in like a starved man and forcing her hips down to keep her still.

Harry wasn’t shy to eat pussy or do it his way. He found that women generally enjoyed the way he did it. His objective was always for it to feel good and for whoever was on the receiving end to come. And he really wanted to make Y/n come because of how good she’d just sucked him off. Swallowed his cock halfway down her throat and choked on his come. He wanted to give her something in return because he wanted to show her how good he could be. Hoped that he was better than anyone before him (because he liked being the best at everything he did).

“Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit!!! God! Harry, f-ffffuck!” When Harry shifted and stuffed two fingers inside and began to pump them in and out as he kept his mouth over her clit she knew she was gonna be a goner. Because this was her own go-to move when she masturbated.

She had a slim dildo she used that was curved and hit her insides nicely and loved combining that with her clit sucker[TK7] . It always got her off and Harry’s mouth and fingers were hitting all the spots she needed.

Going into this with him she figured it could be fun. Might get some pleasure, perhaps something to think back on fondly. She hoped for more than just that (if he could give her an orgasm that would have been preferred) but was prepared for just some fun but doubted an orgasm or anything like what was happening. The man was just as charming with his face between her thighs as he was talking and singing into a microphone. The humor and his charisma didn’t stop on stage. Harry was good. And sexy.

She stiffened as her muscles began to vibrate. Harry seemed to know that she was coming as he pumped his fingers into her harder and faster and continued slurping at her clit.

Only when she began to come down did she realize how loud she’d been. Her moans and cries were sure to have been heard by anyone standing near the door. Her slight embarrassment was quelled when she felt Harry’s lips still sliding over her pussy as he moaned. She was a mess and from what she could see of his face, that was too.

Pressing at his forehead as she giggled her words, “Harry! Okay… okay!” She wiggled away from him.

Harry sat up and looked down at her with a small smirk on his damp face. His eyes were hooded and he looked like he was ready for more, which she was not expecting. Figured he’d gotten what he needed and would have her on her way.

But instead, as he stood up she noticed that the strain at the front of his shorts was back with a vengeance. After pulling his shorts off, he pulled at her hand, helping her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers as he led her to the bed.

She watched him walk in front of her, tall and well-built. A tush she could bite into. Would love to sketch and paint him in bronze, pink, olive, and brown. His thick dark hair, the lean neck holding up his big, yet handsome, head. Broad shoulders and a smooth back, strong, meaty thighs atop his sinewy lower legs. She could do his frame justice on a canvas. Add in a bit of gold and red, and plenty of dark, fine strokes to delineate his muscles. She’d use her script brush for the scattered hairs…

His mouth met hers and erased her thoughts and her gawking at his naked physique. The first thing that was apparent was the way he tasted. Like her pussy. She was not quite expecting it. She’d been out of the game like this for a bit and so kissing someone was already a fairly exciting prospect. But to have it be Harry Styles and then to have him taste like he’d just eaten her out? Now that was never something she’d had on her radar for sexual conquests. This felt like a bucket list item that would always just stay there, on the list. Except it was so far out of her realm of possibility that it never would have made it to such a list. But as it were, here she was, being pulled to his bed, his cock hard and long next to her, his mouth damp with her arousal, and then what?

“Take your skirt off for me, love.”

He didn’t ask her. He told her.

She knew that once her skirt was pulled off she’d be completely naked. In front of Harry Styles. With that body. But she complied. Bringing her skirt down over her hips and thighs until it fell into the floor in a small pile. She looked down over herself but tried not to think about the way she looked naked to him. He didn’t seem to mind her extra bits. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying her as she was. But she couldn’t help the way she felt so exposed.

He bent down to kiss her again, his fingers running into her hair with one hand and his other hand moving down her back and to her bottom, squishing her flesh and rutting his hips into hers.

Harry parted with a gasp and held her out so he could look at her, “You’re so fucking hot, Y/n. Climb on the bed for me.”

Her whole body was vibrating. The way he was looking at her had her nervous and vulnerable. She sat her bottom on the bed and watched him as she scooted into the middle of the mattress. Harry stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. He wasn’t shy about where he let his eyes roam. Right between her sticky thighs, over her belly up to her big tits.

“Lay back and spread your legs.”

She wasn’t used to being told what to do during sex. Her husband was the last man she slept with (years ago) and he wasn’t commanding in bed at all. This was all a first for her but it made her feel something she hadn’t really felt before. Being bossed around this way was exciting.

So she did as he said, putting her back on the comforter and hesitantly spreading her legs apart, bending at the knees and putting her feet flat onto the blanket.

She felt the bed shift as Harry climbed up next to her and he put his hands on her shins and looked at her shiny pussy.

His small moan vibrated through his chest as he looked the pretty girl in her eyes, “Can I fuck you? Is that all right?”

Y/n nodded quickly and shot her eyes down to Harry’s cock. She couldn’t believe he was so hard again. But she felt like that was probably somewhat of a compliment, “I don’t have any condoms, um-“

Harry crawled over her, his thighs spreading between hers, causing her legs to part further, “I have some. Are you on birth control?” He grazed his mouth over hers and as he pressed his lips to hers she felt his cock against her pelvis.

Panting her words and rolling her hips upward, “Yes I am.”

Harry’s lips slotted between Y/n’s as he settled his hips against hers, slowly putting himself through her labia to feel her first. Without having to put on a condom. He knew it was necessary but to be able to feel her warm against his skin, wetting it, the hair scratching it…

Y/n gasped when his cockhead nudged at her entrance before he slid up through her crease and it bumped into her clit. It was salacious. Almost as if he were testing the waters to not put on a condom. Her body and her mind were beginning to synch up into lust and want again. He’d just given her an orgasm but she was on her way to that point of no return once again.

And Harry never went without a condom with a one-night stand or a quick weekend fling. Of course, once the relationship was established there was no need but never before had he wanted so badly to enter a woman without really knowing if he could trust her or not. She said she was on birth control but how could he know?

Reluctantly he got off the bed to grab a condom from his suitcase and paused next to the bed to roll it down from his tip to his base.

Y/n watched. He was thick and long. The hair at his base was dark and masculine. He crawled back in between her legs and kissed the insides of her thighs and lapped upward quickly over her pussy one last time for good measure before positioning himself over her with his shaft in his hand, aiming himself at her cunt.

The room was lit with only one lamp and the bed was soft underneath her body. She couldn’t quite believe that she was in that moment, with Harry Styles above her. She hadn’t had sex with anyone since her husband. But here she was, with a man’s cock pressed at her entrance, waiting for her to finally give permission so he could push into her. So he could fuck her. So Harry Styles could fuck her.

Rolling her hips upward slightly and grasping onto his lats, “Please.”

Harry panted out a breath as he fit his cock into her, the initial entry needing a bit of force to squeeze his thick head past the threshold of her tight muscle. She gasped at the widening of her opening. It felt good to have a man poking into her rather than her silicon dildo for once.

She held onto his back for dear life as he doused himself in her. She was soft and thick and tight. It was incredible and warm. His strokes were long, slowly sinking in deeper and deeper with each rock inward.

“How’s that feel?” Harry’s cock was feeling very good, he hoped the noises she was making were a good sign. He thought it was but wanted her to be more vocal.

“Oh my god, Harry… fuck that feels good.” She purred.

Harry put his hands over her tits and continued fucking into her, his thighs giving him leverage for each plunge.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me what you like, baby. What do you need?”

Her mind went blank as his long dick slicked in and out of her, spreading her, touching her deeply… What did she like? What did she need? It had been so long and never had she needed to vocalize it before.

“You, Harry,” She hissed when he bucked his hips inward, a deep thrust that sent her body surging upward from the force of his drive.

“Me? Oh baby, you have me, can’t you feel that?” His words came out pinched in ecstasy, “But talk to me. What do you like?”

Slowly moving a hand upward to her neck he wrapped his fingers around and squeezed only the slightest as he continued rolling his hips into her. He tweaked one of her nipples with his other hand and she gasped as her lips parted.

“What about this? You like when I do this?” He dug the pads of his fingers into the side of her neck before loosening but keeping his hand over her throat.

She nodded quickly, not expecting to have enjoyed it but she did, “Yes.”

“And this?” Rolling her nipple between his fingers and giving her a good hard jerk of his hips inward she grunted and nodded again.

“Good girl. You like it a little rough then. Let’s see what else we can learn…” he spoke as he gripped her neck solidly, but still giving her space to say no if she needed. He leaned over her, his face directly above, “Open your mouth.”

She complied and parted her lips.

“Tongue out.”

She jutted her pink tongue past her lips and Harry spat down into her mouth and then cooed at her as he watched his saliva drip down her tongue and into her throat, “I can tell you like that too. Is that right? Are you my dirty girl?”

Moaning and feeling her body floating away from her brain she nodded, “I’m your dirty girl.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at her words. It was just what he wanted to hear.

“You are, aren’t you? My dirty girl likes getting fucked nice and hard,” he punctuated his statement with a harsh thrust, “Choked, spit on… Fuck baby I think you might just be my favorite girl. What else do you like?”

She was officially stunned and gushing from his words. And his cock too of course. But the way he was talking to her and showing her what she liked made her feel like a new woman. It was an experience she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Aww… poor thing. Having a hard time speaking, dear? Need some help?”

She gurgled a moan and nodded. Her belly was on fire with how deep his cock was. Everything around her was fuzzy.

Suddenly Harry pulled out and grasped her hips, pushing her to roll to her front, “Hands and knees.”

She whined as she pushed herself upward, spreading her legs and pushing her knees and palms into the blanket below.

“Shh, shhh… no need to cry, baby. Daddy’s here.” It was a risk. To say it. To call himself Daddy. But it was his favorite. He loved being called Daddy when he was fucking anyone who was even just a little bit submissive. And Y/n was quite submissive but he had a feeling she didn’t even know it. Based on how confident and cheeky she was when he met her and when she got to his room earlier he knew he had the potential for a brat on his hands but for her to also be a bit submissive? And this pretty? He’d hit the jackpot.

He smacked her bottom, both sides with a solid whack causing her to jump and groan, her head lolling downward as she reared back, her pussy and ass on display for him.

“And you like that too don’t you pretty girl?”

She nodded her head and moved her hips back again, most likely searching for his cock to fit itself back into her but he needed her to start talking a little more.

“I knew you would. But I need to hear your words my lovely little thing. Can you talk to me? Do you want more spankings? Or do you want something else?” He grinned as he squished the plump flesh of her thick bottom, the view something he’d sear into his memory and bring with him on tour until he could have her again. He knew he’d want to see her again after this.

“Fffuck…” she moaned softly. She didn’t know what she wanted. She just wanted whatever he was doing to continue. She was absolutely loving it. And the Daddy thing? She had never called anyone Daddy before. Not even her own dad. It would need to grow on her.

Harry grasped the base of his shaft and dragged his tip through her folds gently, up and down, pressing himself at her center and she pushed back to make him go in but he backed away, smacking her bum again and making her jolt.

“Ah, ah, ah… Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want. I need to hear it from those pretty lips.”

Y/n swallowed as her heart raced and not just from how turned on she was. From nerves. She was surprised by the reaction he was pulling out of her. But she did want a couple of things and there was something in how dominant he was being that made her feel like she needed to comply.

“Fuck me and spank me. Please.”

Harry smiled and slid his cockhead into her folds again, “Yeah? I love it when you say please. Makes me very happy. I’ll give you what you want. But I want something from you too, Y/n.”

Harry watched as his tip parted her shiny crease as he pushed upward, spreading her arousal all around.

When she stayed silent Harry brought his free palm down to her bottom, the smack sounding in the room, “Well aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

She gasped and took a breath, “Sorry. What do you want?” Her words were coming out breathy and light.

“I need you to keep telling me if you like something. And ask me if there’s something else you want. Understood?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head and bit her lip, waiting for him to slip inside again.

Harry removed his palm from her bottom and gathered her hair between his fingers and pulled her head up gently, “Can you guess what else I want? What else makes Daddy really happy?”

Shaking her head and peeping the word no Harry leaned in to speak into her ear, “I just gave you a hint little girl. Let’s see if you can use that brain of yours to figure out what I like.”

Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his breath at the back of her ear and his fingers pulling at her hair. It wasn’t registering to her what he wanted. He gave her a hint?

“Come on… I know you can figure this one out. It’s not that hard. Or are you kind of dumb when my cock is right here, nudging into you? Hmm?” He pushed in the smallest bit, allowing his tip to tuck into her for a moment before bringing it back out.

She whined and licked her lips. It was true that it was hard to think when he was handling her the way he was.

“Sorry. I’m not sure.”

Harry’s dark baritone vibrated off her ear as he spoke, “S’okay. We’ll take our time til you figure it all out. Do you want Daddy’s cock?”

She nodded quickly and Harry chuckled as he spoke, “Yeah? Well then tell me, dear, who’s cock do you want?” He nudged in again, prodding her crease and pushing just into her opening. It was taking all of his resolve not to just hammer into her at that point.

But hearing him say that, it clicked. She knew what he wanted, “Yours, Daddy.”

It felt odd coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she liked it but the moment he stuffed her again with his large cock she keened and moaned and knew that he deserved to be called Daddy if that’s what he wanted. He gave her what she wanted so she’d give him what he wanted.

“Yes… good girl. I knew you could do it, baby,” Harry spoke through gritted teeth when he sunk in to the hilt. He pulled back and then fucked into her quickly. His pace soon became harsh as he let go of her hair and pounded her from behind. Smacking her bottom with his palm every few strokes her flesh grew red slowly and her moans grew louder.

“Oh! Yess! Ffffuck!” Her body was rocked forward at each strike of his hips into hers. The sound of skin thudding wetly and smacks of his hand to her flesh were loud in the room.

Harry held onto her hips, squeezing tightly as he gave her bottom a break from the strikes.

“My dick is coated in your cream. Ffuuck little girl. Goddamn best girl I’ve had. Can you rub your sweet little pussy for me? Put your fingers where you need them. Show Daddy you’re a good girl.”

Harry’s deep voice and the sound of his fat cock penetrating her wet hole were egging her on as she brought her hand between her legs to get herself closer to the edge as she rubbed her clit.

His engorged cock twitched when he felt her fingers brush against his balls as he thumped into her over and over again.

She began to see stars as she sputtered inarticulate words. Harry was going in hard but he felt so good inside of her. The way he was holding her hips kept her grounded as his balls whacked into her on each thrust. She could feel how wet his scrotum was from her arousal soaking him.

But then her eyes popped open and her whining and choked moans halted when he released one of her hips and put his fingers over her bum. On her anus. She hadn’t expected it.

Harry slowed his movements as he spoke, “Oh did that surprise you? How am I supposed to keep my hands off your tiny hole here,” he rubbed it as he spoke, still fucking into her deeply but slowly now, “when she’s looking directly up at me all empty and needy?”

She felt liquid drip over her bottom when Harry spit down onto her puckered hole and rub his saliva around, “Can I? Just a finger. It’s going to feel so good.”

Y/n panted and nodded, “Okay.”

Never once had she done anything sexual with her bottom. She’d never played with herself there, nor considered having anyone do it for her either. Her husband had certainly never tried.

More spit was rubbed over the hole and she felt Harry’s finger slowly push in as she continued rubbing her button and Harry continued filling her cunt with his heavy cock. It felt odd. Not like being fingered in her pussy. A very different sensation but it wasn’t bad. Well, she’d say that it was actually pretty good in combination with everything else.

“Relax for me. Let me make you feel good.” His finger fucked into her ass as he slowly began to increase the tempo of his hips.

“Ahh!” She squeaked out as he dipped into her cervix and she clenched over his cock and his finger at the ache.

“S’okay. M’cock’s getting in there deep, isn’t it? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking her head she spoke with her words coming out in punches between his thrusts, “Please! Don’t stop! Need you!”

She did need him. Needed him to keep doing what he was doing. Needed his dirty words, his big cock, and his long fingers. She was going to come if he continued.

Harry panted and groaned at what he was seeing and feeling. Not only was she making him feel so good, but watching her pussy being fucked and her ass being fingered was a dream.

He slid his finger in and out gently and he could tell that she was starting to relax a little. A good sign. He’d love to fuck her bottom one day. Get her nice and open and just wreck all of her holes.

Harry’s long, fast strokes into her pussy were devasting her insides. She knew she’d be limping the next day but that thought only excited her.

Applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit as she rubbed, feeling Harry’s finger slipping in and out of her, and with the way his cock was working into her so deep she could no longer stop her body from shaking and her lungs from gasping for air loudly.

Harry felt her walls squeeze and pulse around him as he continued rolling his hips into her steadily, fucking her through her orgasm, her moans and gasps, her fingers at her clit, and her thighs shaking… he smiled as he threw his head back to feel it. To feel her in her orgasm. Her soft insides, wet, and contracting around him.

“Fuck, baby… it’s that good is it?” Harry looked down at the scene below. Absolutely filthy. His wide cock parted her fluttering pussy as it gripped him tight. Her arousal was slathered over him.

As she began to loosen up and he could tell she was done he gently pulled out, both his cock and his finger, “Good girl. Can you lie on your back? I’m almost there. Just need a little more. Want to make you come one more time.”

Y/n gulped and adjusted herself onto her back, “I’m not sure I can come again.”

Harry climbed over her and put his palms over her tits again, “You’ll come again.”

She watched him as he allowed his gaze to look over her body. She really wished he wouldn’t look too closely like he was. She felt a bit embarrassed. Being chubby was always something she contended with for as long as she could remember. As confident as she conveyed herself in her day-to-day, the truth was that once her clothes came off she felt well below average.

Harry gently brushed his fingers along her cheekbone and slowly pushed back in, the front of his thighs pressed into the back of hers.

The feel of him re-entering her was sharp and achy. He’d already done quite a number on her. She was positive she wouldn’t have another orgasm. Impossible.

“I love how you feel. Fuck, baby.”

He angled himself so he was pushing down into her, splitting her pussy and pressing deeply.

“Ahh!” She hadn’t expected the way it would feel when he pushed her hips upward and fucked down into her. It was tight and he was long and it pinched the smallest bit but when she looked at his face she saw ecstasy. He was definitely close.

“So tight isn’t it? Taking me so good, Y/n. Wanna feel you come once more. Just squeezing the fuck out of me again so when I come I can feel you milking me, sucking my dick into your cunt, begging for my come.”

Y/n moaned at the words. It was hot. Harry’s strong body and his roughness, and the way he spoke were so hot.

He moved his hand from her cheek down to her neck and softly squeezed, “It’s so messy down there sweet girl. Just drenching me. Can you hear that?” His question was punctuated by the noises their bodies made together. His lengthy prick pushing into her and dragging back to the tip before impaling her again. Over and over. The slick sounds of his condom coated in her, spreading her open. Her body felt it all. She had been so sensitive after her orgasm and now her insides were aching in delight. The feel of him wide and thick inside and then deep as he dipped all the way in sent zips and currents through her body.

Harry enjoyed the way his body felt inside of her. It was lavish and soft and warm and she was so wet for him, so needy. Her big tits were swaying as he thrust deep and her nipples were peaked. He loved how she looked with his hand over her throat. He wanted to do so much more. Preferred it far rougher but this was their first, and perhaps only time. He didn’t generally enjoy scaring them off on night one. A few rounds on separate occasions and he’d show what he was really into. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last time. He felt like she’d enjoy what he was into. Felt like she might be too. She liked to be choked a little. She called him Daddy even which was making him lose his mind. She’d be into the idea of playing into his breeding kink too he bet.

And that thought sent him so deep into his fantasy he began to feel his orgasm swell into his balls. Just imagining her plush body and wide hips taking him like he needed. He needed to fuck a lot. He normally masturbated about twice a day when he didn’t have someone to come inside of. But when he was in a steady relationship he’d drain his cock all day long when there was time for it.

He could just see Y/n’s cunt dripping with his come and he’d make her lie flat and keep it inside of her so it would soak into her. The idea that she could get pregnant by him. Fill her with his sperm and make her body grow thicker and softer with his babies. Her tits would swell and engorge.

But that was just a fantasy. Now he was fucking so hard and so deep into the hottest woman he’d had in a long time. Her plump hips and soft pussy were begging him for more. Even though she insisted she couldn’t come again, he could already tell she was getting even slicker for him. Her body preparing for her third orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth was wide open.

“Y’gonna come for me, little girl. Come on Daddy’s cock. You can do it. I know you can. Can feel you fluttering around me already. So needy for more aren’t you?”

The words she wanted to say were yes and don’t stop, please! But instead, she gurgled and choked her moans when his pelvis rubbed over hers, offering her clit the friction needed. A few more of his harsh strokes and the way their bodies connected, rubbing and pushing into one another had her button being worked just like she wanted.

Harry coughed out a laugh but then groaned when he felt her begin to shake, “Oh, baby. Ffuck… thought you said you couldn’t come again? Hm? Look at that…” his strokes were long and deep as he felt her body give way to another orgasm. Her spasming cunt squeezed his cock deliciously and Harry pumped himself into her so she could come properly while getting railed and having her clit stimulated all at once.

And just as she was beginning to relax Harry finally released. He choked out a moan and stilled his hips, pushing in so his cockhead was pressing deep into her, wishing he was coating her insides, filling her with her sperm. But as it was, this was not bad either. In fact, even with the stupid condom, it was really good. The best. He hissed as his cock throbbed inside of her, his long dick pumping his come out to the tip and into the condom.

She felt him twitching inside of her as his orgasm shot through his cock. He was a glorious sight to behold above her. His panted breaths and mouth dropped open as ecstasy took over his features. Her pussy was doing that to him. It made her smile as he stilled his hips and let out a low rumble. She did that to him. She’d made him come twice in one night. She made Harry Styles have two orgasms and he gave her three. Unheard of. Absolutely insane.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavily as Harry opened his eyes and looked down at her. She felt it, the way he looked at her. How connected they were. This wasn’t just sex. Or maybe it was, she really wouldn’t know because she’d been out of the game for some time. Perhaps this was just how he was with everyone he fucked. Made them dreamy and drowsy and feel things deeply for him. His charm was off the charts. Perhaps it was just that. Maybe nothing more.

Harry leaned down kissed the edge of her mouth and then pressed his lips firmly over hers, his cock still half-hard inside of her. He could get used to this. She was so open with him and somehow they just worked together. And even though this was all physical, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this connection went beyond the physical. He did like her. A lot. Already. But that was how he was. He’d fall in love and then fall out of it just as quickly. He had to be careful. Not to hurt himself. Not to hurt her. He gazed down at her with a tired smile.

“Stay the night. Want you again in the morning. Would like to have you here with me in bed. Keep me warm.”

She swallowed and her heart thrashed in her chest. He was too good. This man could make anyone fall in love. She knew it. But she wasn’t going to say no. She likely would never have the chance with him again. And if the following morning was anything like what had just happened, well, she quickly found herself nodding, “Yes. Okay.”

. . .

She felt her thighs tingling and her hips were aching when she squinted her eyes open. She couldn’t read the clock on the table next to the bed. Her vision was blurry but the sun was peeking through the cracks of the curtains. It was morning. And the only reason she’d woken up was because Harry was lying behind her. He was moving the slightest with his chest pressed against her back and his breath on her neck.

She lifted her head and Harry perked up when he realized she was awake, “Good thing you’re awake. Was getting lonely here,” he spoke as he softly grazed his hand up over her tummy and then indulgently squeezed at her breast.

She swallowed and croaked out her words, “I would have slept longer I think.”

“You can go back to sleep if you really want,” he suddenly shifted and rutted into her bottom and it was then that she felt his stiff cock pressing into her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for more of him, “Um… I’m a little sore-“

“Yeah? Did I go too hard for you last night?” Harry continued pushing his cock into her cheeks. They were both naked so the sensation of his warm, big, prick pushing into her plump flesh was quite salacious.

“I actually loved it. Never thought I’d like anything like that…”

“Mmm… loved it you say? And you’re sure you’re too sore for one more? I can go in gently and make you come again. One more for the road?” He kissed her neck as he continued humping her. His cock was already leaking he was so hard for her, so needy for her pussy again.

Harry was quite convincing. And she was already getting turned on by the way he was pressing into her and kissing her neck. And he wanted her again?

“Well, if you can be gentle then I think I’d like that.”

Harry smiled into her neck and massaged her breast in gratitude before bringing his hand down to her hip and pulling at her so he could see her pussy lips peeking out between the back of her thighs when he backed up just a bit and stroked his cock through her soft labia.

“You’re already wet for me, baby. So needy for Daddy’s cock even when she’s sore. Gonna take good care of you okay?”

Pressing his tip to her entrance he groaned when he realized he needed a condom. He felt like soon enough, if she wanted to stick around, they’d forgo the safety measure. He wanted so badly to fuck her raw but it was too soon, “Fuck. I need to grab a condom. Stay right here.”

Harry was back behind her in only a handful of moments. She’d already begun rubbing her clit in preparation for him. She wanted to make sure she was fully aroused and ready for his wide cock.

“Good girl. Keep rubbing yourself like that. See how juicy you are already? Perfect…” he nearly purred as he pushed into her tight muscle. It was especially taut as he snapped forward and his wide crown finally popped into her. Once he had the swollen tip inside of her he pushed in until he was met with a bit of resistance. She was extra sensitive and snug but the sensation was incredible as her soft walls squeezed around him, the deeper he got the tighter it felt.

He was slow and gentle just like he said he’d be. He massaged her tit and kissed her neck and her jaw as he slowly rolled his hips into her.

“S’like fucking an angel. Your pussy is so goddamn perfect, baby. M’obessessed. Your body,” he pinched her nipple, “your tits, your lips,” each part he commented on he fucked inward with a slightly harder push, just to make his point as he lowered his hand down the curve of her waist to her hip, “your fine ass. All so perfect.”

Y/n breathed his words in as his cock drove into her deep, filling her so fully and perfectly. Those things had never been said to her before. Not in that way. She slipped her fingers back and forth over her clit and the tips of her fingers were grazing his cock as he fucked into her slowly, deeply. Everything was wet and perfect. He was right. This did feel perfect. Felt better than any other fucking ever. Harry was so good in bed. He hit all her spots (mentally and physically).

“I need it. Harry, I need it so bad,” she surprised herself as she moaned the words.

But suddenly Harry stopped, pushing his cock as deep as it could get and he grabbed her chin and turned her head so she could see him from her peripheral, “Call me Daddy when I’m fucking you. Be a good girl and I’ll let you come again.”

Why did she find that so hot? So fucking appealing? She had no idea. It was like something had been turned on inside of her that she had no clue was lying there beneath the surface. Maybe it was just Harry. But whatever it was she’d be fantasizing about this and needing this dominance in bed from any future partners.

“Sorry. Yes, Daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

Harry groaned and released her chin and began to pump into her plump folds and she sped up her fingers as he spoke into her ear, “Say it again. Say you need me.”

She swallowed and her face was boiling hot as Harry’s long cock pressed into her guts and then backed out, punching her walls apart with each plunge, “I… fuck… yesss! I need you, Daddy. Please…”

Harry choked out a groan and smacked her bottom, “God I’m gonna imagine those words coming from your mouth every night. Say it again. Louder. Come on baby…”

Her voice was shaky like her thighs as her brain began to unravel and her orgasm started to spring out from her center, “I need you, Daddy! I’m your good girl!” She moaned as loudly as possible and Harry smiled with his cock happily coated in her.

Just then a knock came to the door, “Mr. Styles?” Someone spoke from behind the wood.

“Fuck,” Harry spoke lowly. He never stopped rolling his hips into hers as he shouted, “I’m busy!”

“Sorry to bother you. But we’ve been trying to call you all morning. We have a package delivery for you from the Secrist Gallery. Shall we just leave it out here?”

Everything paused. Y/n craned her neck to look at Harry and when their eyes met she saw his dark pupils and wet pink lips, messy hair. He was an angel, grinning at her, “Just leave it out there. I’ll be out soon.”

“Secrist Gallery? Did you-“

Harry pushed his mouth to hers and began to thrust again, speaking against her lips, “Keep rubbing that pussy for Daddy. It’s time to come. Need you to come.”

Her half-melted brain complied and as Harry increased his pace their bodies began to slap together, wet noises coming from them on each stroke. Harry kept his tongue in her mouth and his fingers pinching her nipple as they writhed together.

She felt him slicing into her, his cock suddenly harder than steel inside of her and her fingers slippery over her clit. He was shaking, holding back his release and his kisses became sloppy, wet, wide-open-mouthed, tongue all over her lips and inside of her mouth.

She inhaled sharply when the dam broke. She moaned into his mouth and he moaned into hers as they both came at the same time, she pushed against him to get him deeper inside and he stuffed himself into the hilt, his balls thick and bursting tucked up against her as he spilled into his condom. Her vision went dark and her ears began to ring as Harry continued to kiss her, lick her, suck the life out of her.

It was insane how hard she came. She had never had a man so effortlessly work her up and make her come like Harry had. Wave after wave of electricity zipped through her body as she pulsed and sucked his cock in, gripping around him.

Eventually, they stopped moving and began to breathe again. Heavy pants and soft coos fell from their lips. The afterglow was incredible. Harry hadn’t felt it like that before. And he hated that he had to leave. That he needed to send her off and go away to his next destination.

When her brain began to fit itself back together inside of her skull she turned again to look at him as he slid out, “Did you buy a painting? Of mine?”

Harry rolled onto his back and smirked at her, “I did.”

She laughed and smacked his chest, “Which one? Why didn’t you say anything? How did you do it? I didn’t see you at the gallery.”

Harry sat up and pulled at Y/n’s arm, needing her closer, “I had one of my assistants go and take a photo of each one. I picked the one I liked the most. You named the piece The Lonely Dark. Love it. I loved a lot of them. But figured for now just one will do since I’ve got to have it shipped to LA.

The Lonely Dark. A sort of nod to her husband. What had been and the way she felt at night when she was alone with no one. She swallowed and Harry kissed her cheek, “Is it okay that I bought one? Is that weird?”

Y/n laughed and shook her head, “No. I’m flattered that Harry Styles wanted to buy a painting of mine. I’m gonna tell everyone that you own one of my pieces now.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll invite you to my house in LA when I get back to the States after the next leg of my tour so you can see where I’ve hung it.”

She pushed at him in jest, “Yeah right. Don’t tease. You don’t actually want me at your private home.”

Harry grabbed her hand and brought it up to his chest with a frown on his face, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaking her head she blinked her eyes, “Because. You’re Harry Styles. I’m some girl from the Midwest who paints. I’m just saying, don’t say things like that when you don’t mean it.”

“But I meant it. I really like you, Y/n. I want to see you again.”

It was unexpected. She didn’t imagine he’d actually be inviting her to his home or telling her he wanted to see her again. But she was so stunned by his admission that she couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Well then you’re gonna need to give me your number.”

Chapter 2

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sunnie-angel · 5 months ago

Text

Part 1: The Meeting

part 2 | series master list | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a friendship with jason todd hovers on the edge of something more but there are reasons lurking just out of sight that complicate things.

tags: fluff

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.6k

a/n: this first chapter is fairly light, but this series is intended to get much darker in tone and content. i’ve got most of the series planned out so i’m going to try and be more consistent with updates (but no promises).

The first time you see Jason Todd, he’s chewing on the end of a pen and staring off into space. He’s in your Theories of Poststructuralist Literature class, sitting two rows up and one seat to the left of you. What catches your eye is how lonely he looks. The seats around him are empty and there’s an air of loneliness to him that goes beyond first day jitters. The professor’s at the front, still unpacking her bag, so you’ve got still got a few minutes to stare as much as you’d like. Your friend, looking up from where she’s fiddling with her computer notices your interest, knocks her elbow into you.

“So who’s that,” she says in an undertone, “your new classroom crush?”

“Oh I am not that bad,” you retort, mock offence dripping from your words. “No, I just think he looks lonely.”

“Yeah, and cute.” This time you elbow her, hoping he didn’t hear Danika over the sounds of shuffling chairs and feet. Mercifully, the professor clears her throat to begin class, cutting off whatever else your friend was going to tease you with.

“All right, welcome to Theories of Poststructuralist Literature. I’m Dr. Okafor, and I’ll be…”

Throughout the rest of class, you can’t stop stealing glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye. Danika has to prod you twice to get you to take a copy of the syllabus and pass it along the stack of papers. You manage to pay attention just long enough during the self-introductions to find out that his name is Jason, and that he’s doing a degree specialization in British Literature. Class ends a half-hour early and your head’s already swimming, a list of readings and concepts already tripping up your thoughts. It means that you’re distracted, not paying attention to what your friend’s doing as you scramble to get your things situated back into your bag.

“Hey! Hey new guy!” Your head snaps up at the sound of Danika’s voice, loud and moving away from you. To your horror, she’s walking right up to Jason, and worse, he’s starting to look around for who she’s talking to. With no one else around him, it becomes evident that there’s no one else she could be addressing.

“Yes, you. Hi! I’m Danika. Me and my friend,” she gestures lazily back at you and you can already feel the mortification burning up your cheeks, “were planning to meet up with some other friends in the program for lunch after class. Want to join us?”

“Oh, um, sure? I need to talk to Dr. Okafor first, but I can meet you both right after.” He says, a little bit flustered by the invitation. He runs his fingers through his curls as he speaks, you notice.

“Great! We’ll just wait outside for you.” Satisfied, your wayward friend turns around and grins, giving you a thumbs up from where only you can see it.

“Seriously?! What was that?” You hiss at her when she finally reaches you.

“What, you said he looked lonely. Now, he’ll be less lonely. C’mon, have you texted the group chat yet that we’ve got a plus one for lunch?” Shouldering your bags, you pick your way out of the classroom, hopping over errant bag straps littering the aisle and maneuvering around people going through the motions of first day back greetings. Keeping Danika’s blonde head in sight, you pull out your phone and shoot off a message, slipping it back into your pocket before there’s time for any responses. She’s already waiting for you by the door, one hand twisting the ends of her hair in the way she only does when she’s uncertain.

“Really though, is it okay that he’s coming to lunch with us? Because I can go right back in there and tell him you suddenly came down with a stomach bug and I have to get you home.” Her concern cools the panic and annoyance knotting your stomach.

“No it’s fine.” She gives you a look, the one that says she doesn’t believe you. “Really. I’m kind of annoyed you didn’t ask me first but it’s whatever. Best case scenario, we get a new friend out of this. Worst case, he goes back to just being classroom crush.”

“I knew it!” She crows. “Wait, wait this is big. You never talk to your classroom crushes. Do you need to practice your pick up lines on me?” Faux seriousness drips off of her. Jason appears as if summoned, popping up behind Danika’s shoulder with uncanny quietness.

“Hey Jason, were you able to talk to the prof?” You ask, forcibly trying to keep your voice casual. Danika freezes, mouths sorry at you, before whirling around to face him.

“Yeah, thanks for waiting. And thanks for inviting me to lunch.”

“Anytime!” Smoothly your friend steps in to direct conversation. “We were just planning to head to the food court in the student union.” She starts walking, confident that the two of you will follow her and you do. “So Jason, how come we’ve never met before this class? Between our friend group, I think we’ve met or at least know of all,” she waits for your nod in confirmation, “of the literature and writing students in our graduating class.”

He exhales before answering, taking the moment to gather his story together. “I’m a transfer student. I started my degree a couple of years ago but had to stop for family reasons. I finally got the chance to get my records together so I could transfer to Gotham U and finish the last few credits to get my diploma.”

“But you’re from Gotham originally?” You can’t quite keep the weight of Jason’s full attention on you yet, breaking eye contact but still feeling his eyes on you. “Your accent sounds a lot like the neighbourhood I grew up in.”

“Gotham born and bred. The city called me home.”

At the entrance to the food court, Danika catches sight of your friends first, waves excitedly over at them, before heading off at a rush to the booth they’ve secured. She leaves you and Jason to trail behind in her wake.

“So you’re from Crime Alley then?” Jason takes the chance to ask you.

“Hmmm? Oh yeah, my family lived there until I was maybe 12 or 13. I moved back when I started at Gotham U because it was the only area I could afford without roommates.”

“I’m back in that neighbourhood too. D’you know that place—”

The two of you reach the table with your friends and then there’s no time for him to finish whatever he was planning to say.

“Everyone, this is Jason. Jason, this is Will, Rei, and Catalina.” As Danika introduces them, each person gives a nod or little wave. Will, as always, seems bored by everything going on around him that isn’t related to the book in his hand. Rei’s got one arm around Catalina where she’s curled into his side. He lifts his hand quickly in a sort of half wave, a genuine grin causing his cheeks to push his glasses up his face.

“Please, call me Lina,” Catalina says warmly. “Sit down, sit down, tell us all about yourself and why we haven’t seen your pretty face around here before.” If you didn’t know her any better, you’d say that Lina was flirting with him. Since you do know her, have since your Intro to Creative Writing in first year, you know that this is just what Lina’s like. Always a compliment for everyone ready on her tongue, unafraid to say a good thing no matter how it might appear. Jason, having only been introduced to her seconds before, did not know better. A tinge of red dusts the top of his cheekbones and he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Trying to ease the moment, you say, “Here, do you want to sit down first before the interrogation begins?” You gesture to one of the two open seats right next to Will, Danika having slipped into the empty spot beside Lina. She must have hurried over to say something to them, because this isn’t your usual seating configuration and it’s got you a bit wrong footed.

“No, no it’s fine. You go first. D’you need me to hold your bag or something?” He offers instead.

“I’ve got it. I’ll just tuck it under my legs so there’s enough room.” You slide into the booth, Jason close behind. It’s a bit cramped with the three of you on one bench. Jason’s pressed up along the length of your side, and you can feel Will’s knobby elbow digging into your rib. In such close quarters, you can’t help but notice just how big Jason is. Your head barely clears his shoulder and unseen below the table you can tell his knee extends far past yours.

“I was just telling these two that I’m a transfer student. Only a few more classes and then I graduate at the end of the year.”

“Any plans for the great beyond yet?” Rei asks, head cocked like a bird to rest on top of Lina’s head.

“Oh give him a break, the poor man hasn’t even had any lunch yet. Let us grab food before you continue the 20 questions, yeah?” Rei looks a little sheepish at your interruption and the reminder that the table in front of you and Jason is conspicuously bare.

“I packed too much for lunch today, first day jitters. We can split.” Jason interrupts.

“I— are you sure? It’s supposed to be yours.” You’ve known Jason less than three hours, exchanged maybe five sentences. It’s not the grandest gesture in the world, but it’s so nonchalantly thoughtful and offered freely. It sends warmth through you as he pulls out Tupperware, brushes your fingers as he hands over a fork.

“Don’t worry about it. And if you hate it, just pretend you don’t.” There’s absolutely no worry about that because it smells amazing. It’s some kind of pasta smothered in a creamy rosé sauce, chorizo and vegetables adding spice and colour. It’s the best thing you’ve eaten all month and he’s offering you half.

“You didn’t say that you were training to be a chef too.” You mumble around your second forkful. Skipping breakfast to catch the bus this morning had finally caught up with you and you’re starving. Turning as far in your seat as you can, you hunch over, left arm resting on the table to defend your excellent lunch from any thieves whose names did not start with J. Jason raises an eyebrow at your positively feral behaviour, satisfaction at your reaction filling his chest.

“That terrible, huh?”

“If you don’t give me the recipe eventually I might actually cry.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“Why don’t you give him your number, and Jason can text it to you?” Danika interjects.

“Oh yes! Add him to the group chat too,” agrees Lina. Feeling rather cornered, you fish your phone out of your pocket and pass it to Jason for him to add his number one-handed. As he types, you give Danika a look that screams what are you doing. She shrugs, then bites into the foil-lined wrap she’d pulled out of her bag. Rei says something, trying to draw Will into the conversation, but is met with the usual non-committal hum. Giving up with a sigh, he starts talking to Jason, Lina and Danika chiming in every few questions or so. It’s an easy dynamic, far easier than you thought it would be when you first laid eyes on him that morning. Focused on your food, you don’t take notice of most of the conversation going on over your head. Your phone alarm starts to chime and vibrate. Fumbling with the fork and your phone, you manage to switch it off quickly as Jason looks at you inquiringly.

“Sorry, I’ve got another class across campus in Meade Hall starting in 15 minutes. I’ll have to run in five.”

“Is it ‘From Wollstonecraft to Frankenstein’ with Baird?” He asks between bites. “I’m taking that too.”

“Funny story, that. But we’ve really got to go soon if we’re going to make it on time.” He quickly downs the last bite, the two of you gathering your things in a rush to go.

“It was nice meeting you all. Thanks for the invitation Danika.” He throws the farewell over his shoulder, then turns to keep up with you as you speed walk your way out of the building. His longer legs eat up the distance you’d accidentally managed to put between the two of you. It’s completely unfair because while you have to keep up your awkward jog-walk, he settles into a loping walk that’s stupidly attractive, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and bag slung over one broad shoulder.

Quickly, the two of you find your way to class. This time, instead of sitting alone, Jason’s right beside you sharing a table for two. His pen scratches over the pages of his notebook, handwriting spiky but neat. He takes care not to bump you with his elbow, aware of the space his body takes up. Class flies by quickly, Professor Baird an engaging speaker despite the long time block. It’s dark by the time the two of you leave the classroom, and it’ll get darker still as the days get shorter. You stretch your arms above your head, lean side to side in an attempt to work out the stiffness of your lower back.

“So what now?” Says Jason’s voice from just behind you. You turn to face him, aware of just how far you have to tilt your head back to look him in the eye.

“For me? Catching the bus home and throwing something together for dinner. What about you?”

“Something similar. You’ll be okay to get home though? Crime Alley after dark s’not the best place to be alone.”

“Yes, mom. I’ll be fine. The bus stop’s only a block from my building.” This is a conversation you’ve had with all of your friends, family, and even casual acquaintances and hearing it again has you rolling your eyes. But it was meant in kindness so you don’t take offence at the implication that you can’t look out for yourself. “But I wouldn’t mind it if we walked to the bus stop together.” Jason’s grin is so bright even in the darkening evening, lit by the campus street lamps.

The walk to the bus stop isn’t far from Meade Hall, but the two of you manage to stretch out the minutes. Feet get placed one in front of the other slowly, heels dragging behind. The night’s a wonderful cool Fall evening, not many people bothering to stay late on campus during the first week back. It’s only the two of you on the path cutting across the quad.

“What about you? Are you back in the Alley too?” you ask.

“Most of the time. Even if you leave, it doesn’t really leave you.” He responds.

“Jason Todd, are you secretly a romantic?” You tease.

“Incurably. Wouldn’t be able to survive Brit Lit otherwise.”

His grin is cheeky as he waves you off on to the bus. There’s something still lonely about him, face drained of colour by the bus stop streetlamp, a lone figure watercolour blending into the shadows at the edges. The bus pulls out with a rough jerk momentarily pulling your attention away. By the time you look back through the window he’s walking away, hands in his pocket and shoulders hunched over with that same unfairly attractive walk.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #sunnie writes 🌻#divider by benkeibear

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yujo-nishimura · 5 months ago

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"Rubber Duckies"

You are stuck with your studies and your research and you decide to use your crew members as rubber duckies to explain to them what you are doing in the hope of overcoming your writer's block.

Words: 1023

Comment: This is something I wrote while I am really stuck. I hope his helps other people who experience the same right now or need a little motivational booster for their papers/exams. The whole fic is fluff with a hint at smut (Law and Kid just always leave me feral).

Let me know in the comments if I should add any characters.

Luffy

He would listen patiently the whole time, lowering his head, his eyes covered by his straw hat. After several minutes, you realize he has fallen asleep. When you ask him a follow-up question, he jolts awake and gives you his brightest, most infectious smile. Despite your frustration, you can't stay mad at him.

"It all sounds very complicated, Y/N," Luffy says. "But I believe in you, and I'm sure you'll excel at this. Now come here, we can cuddle and snack on some of the crisps I swiped from the kitchen!"

His boundless enthusiasm and unwavering faith in you, even when he doesn't fully understand the details, leaves you feeling a little less stuck.

Robin

As you explain your research question and methodology, Robin listens with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving yours. When you finish, she pauses thoughtfully before speaking.

"I think the only thing this study lacks is your confidence, dear Y/N," Robin says, chuckling lightly. Her words strike a chord within you - she has a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Can I give you a hug?" you ask, feeling deeply grateful for her patience and wisdom. You know her insights have been invaluable, not just for this project, but for the whole crew.

Robin opens her arms widely and smiles at you. "Of course," she says, enveloping you in a warm embrace. At that moment, you feel the weight of your doubts and insecurities start to lift. Robin's faith in you is a precious gift, and it's exactly the encouragement you need to find the courage to complete your work and submit it.

Law

You decide to explain your work to Law, hoping his keen analytical mind will provide valuable feedback. As you begin speaking, however, you can see his face growing increasingly impatient. He clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hold back interrupting you.

When you finally finish, Law wastes no time in his critique. "I think the structure is off, Y/N. I don't understand why you chose this theoretical framework, and I'm lost - did you even have a research question?"

You gulp, suddenly realizing you may have forgotten to explicitly state your core research question. Law's piercing gray eyes have a way of making it difficult to maintain focus.

Seeing your flustered expression, Law sighs. "How about you give me the paper to read, and I'll go over it with a red pen?" he offers.

You nod enthusiastically, immediately moving to retrieve the document. "Not now!" Law interjects, grabbing your arm before you can turn away. A mischievous smile plays on his lips beneath his white hat.

"It may not be the best study," he admits. "But the way you've explained it, showcasing your intelligence, has left me wanting more."

Zoro

Falls asleep immediately. Despite your best efforts to engage him, Zoro remains unresponsive, his gentle snoring the only indication that he's still present. You continue talking, but it's clear you're essentially just speaking to yourself at this point.

In a way, Zoro has become the most authentic "rubber duckie" of all - the perfect listener, oblivious to the intricacies of your work, but providing a soothing presence nonetheless.

Sanji

As you dive into the details of your research, you can't help but notice the adoring way his eyes are fixed on you. It's clear that Sanji is enamored, and would likely listen with rapt attention no matter what you chose to talk about.

You continue your explanation, confident that Sanji is absorbing every word, even if he may not fully grasp the intricacies of your work. When you finally conclude, Sanji erupts into enthusiastic applause.

"That was amazing, Y/N!" he exclaims, his face alight with genuine admiration. "You've done such an incredible job with this research. I'm in awe of your brilliance!"

You can't help but sigh, knowing that Sanji's feedback, while well-intentioned, isn't exactly the critical analysis you were hoping for. But as you look into his sincere, shining eyes, you also feel a sense of pride and relief.

Even if you haven't quite overcome your writer's block yet, having someone so genuinely praise your hard work feels like a reward in itself.

Eustass Kid

As you begin explaining the details of your research to Eustass Kid, it's immediately clear that he has little patience or interest in the topic. His brows are furrowed in what can only be described as an annoyed scowl, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat.

Despite his clear disinterest, however, Kid sits through your entire presentation, never once interrupting or trying to leave. You can't help but appreciate the fact that he's making the effort to listen, even if he doesn't seem to understand or care about the intricacies of your work.

When you finally conclude, Kid simply yawns and cocks his head to the side.

"So what's the problem with all this?" he asks, his tone bordering on disinterested. "Sounds like a solid piece of work to me."

You sigh, explaining to him once again that you feel stuck and unsure if you've done a good job. You're hoping for constructive feedback, but it's clear Kid isn't the right person to provide that.

Suddenly, Kid reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you forcefully towards his chest. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as his low voice speaks calmly.

"You're asking the wrong guy about this, Y/N," he says. "I can't tell you if any of the things you did for this research make sense. But if you're struggling right now, I know a way to make you feel better..."

You blush as you realize the implication behind his words, and without further thought, you give in. Perhaps a brief break from your studies, spent in the comforting embrace of someone who cares for you, is exactly what you need to recharge and tackle the problem with a fresh perspective.

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cornyforjk · 2 months ago

Text

Drive you Crazy| Day 2 | jjk

SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language

Taglist: @tatamicc @jwnghyuns

A/note: IK IK I'm going very quick with updating but I'm just ,,,way too excited idkw. Please bear with me 🙈.

___________________♡____________________

The news was just like tripping over a rock.

Relax.

Or it was more like getting hit by a boulder.

The elegant woman introduced herself as Natalie, your new in charge. After the heavy atmosphere with intense eye contact between you and Jungkook that someone could miscalculate as a lovers' gaze, you finally snicker in triumph.

Walking towards Natalie, who held out her pen, inclined for your signature. You would be signing your admission name for the race, and Jungkook would be the one fuming with irritation that no one minded.

Now about the boulder crushing news...

"WHAT?!" You and Jungkook gasp in sync, watching Natalie wince as she hides her face behind the notepad.

"I won't share a room with him!" "Are you crazy Natalie? This swine isn't even real- she will burn me in my sleep!" Jungkook vented, intertwining his hands in front of his chest, eyes begging for sympathy.

"I'm sorry guys, Jungkook is on the waiting list whereas Y/n...we still need to talk to your sponsors, the board, and then assign you a cabin. Furthermore, you will have to hang around together for some time."

The bickering and shoving had people around staring with wide eyes, embarrassment peaked on your face in the colour red that tinted your cheeks and the tip of your ears.

"Keep it down! This is a professional arena." Natalie hushes you both down.

A random man in fancy attire flinched, his eyebrow raising in a barely questioning arch. The click of his tongue was audible enough to make out his annoyance.

You couldn't get any louder, could you?!

Jungkook audibly snorted, peeling off his leather gloves and raking his hand through his hair. His playful orbs followed the direction the man walked in. Jungkook threw him a look.

'What are you looking at, son?'

He cheekily snickered, choking on his cackle that left your tongue-tied.

It would be a dishonour to your ego if you let him have the content look on his face. "Do you know who he is!?" You crowd over his shoulder.

Jungkook blandly shook his head, a confused expression twisting his eyebrows, forehead creased in discomfort. "That's Kim Namjoon! The famous Korean racer, the first rookie to ever win his first race." You chuckled, "have fun winning him over after that look." You elbowed his guts, scampering around Natalie who picked out the room keys.

Your giggles get louder as you follow Jungkook's glossy eyes widen, a petrified look taking over his features, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. "I fucked up"

You watch him run after the elite racer Namjoon, turning around when you hear metal clanking against your ear. An eager Natalie holding out the keys to your new 'shared' cabin.

"Does that mean I get the larger bed?" You whisper, grabbing the key and eyeing your surroundings, watching out for a fuming Jungkook.

Natalie bowed, walking closer. "Only if you get there first." She winked. Her lips slightly parted as a yawn escaped her lips. "I owe you big time Natalie!" You run, feeling the marble floor vibrate at the heavy steps of your boots.

___________________♡____________________

You flung onto the couch without bothering to look around, accidentally leaving the front door a bit open, making it a teenager's nightmare.

"That was a shitty pick up line!" A crash follows the shout by Jungkook in the hallway who slides the door wide open, halting dead in tracks as he finds you sprawled on the couch.

His heavy breathing contaminates the quiet atmosphere. "Don't tell me the four-eyed nerd gave you the keys first." He referred to Natalie, huffing out chunks of air, bending over with hands on his knees.

Talk about running a marathon-

Calming down Jungkook straightens up, suddenly fumbling back into the door. He turns around abruptly, closing the door behind with a click, boring holes into the floor. His eyes never met yours as he just stood there with no movement.

"I'm not naked you know."

"Not yet-"

Shifting in your seat you stand up, watching him lean on the doorway with a lousy smirk. "I heard that!"

"Not my fault." His smirk turned into a scowl, Jungkook pushed you over and dug himself a seat at the corner of thecouch. Draping a blanket over his feet. His mood swings were worse than a girl on her periods.

The doe-eyed man sighs, tossing in turning his eyes fixated on your legs, and pretending to not care didn't help.

"What are you looking at Bethany?"

He turns your way, throwing a sharp look. "Who even wears mismatched socks?" He tried muffling his throaty chuckle. "No one would guess you are a racer." He laughs loudly, clutching his stomach.

"I just have a different style."

"Different doesn't always mean a good one."

You are about to throw your hands on him, but the doorbell interrupts those revengeful thoughts.

Suddenly you are pulled back while trying to get to the door. Jungkook resting his large hand on your petite waist, looking at his watch. His secured hold did not go unnoticed."Let me go!" You squirm in his hold. "Shhh...shut up for a minute."

Seconds pass by with no one speaking, deep breaths patting your ear, his eyes fixed on you.

The fuck are you up to?! Your eyes scream at him.

Jungkook ignores it by rolling his eyes, sliding his hand down your hip watching you freeze at his warm touch.

Your breath hitched, like a film tape rolling, your eyes rolled back as you closed them shut, throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"I see you are head over heels for my touch." He smirked.

You open your eyes, hands placed over his, trying to break free from that alluring touch.

What were you even doing in his arms?

This damn seducer-

"Ugh! Go away. Why didn't you let me open the door?" Jungkook doesn't answer, averting his gaze while climbing back on the couch trying hard to ignore your question.

"Answer me." You demand.

The authority in your voice pierced through his ear. He wrings his hands together before a wave of calmness washes over him.

"Why am I even afraid of you," he slowly mumbled, chuckling. That same expression changed into one full of arrogance and ego.

The one you hate with all your heart.

"They were calling out registration names for racers." He says, satisfied while you try your hardest to cope with the anger fuming out of your ears.

"You tried sabotaging me?!" Walking swiftly you crowd over him, clutching his collar, "what's your problem Jeon Jungkook."

"You."

"You are my problem."

Baring your teeth you shove him back,Baring your teeth you shove him back, lips quivering as you tightly press them, cheeks turning red.

Oh gosh, this isn't a great time to cry. Especially in front of this jerk!

"I hate you, Jeon." Your words fade away as you run out of the room looking for the registration team.

___________________♡____________________

Day1 | Day3

DM me or send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist.

#jeon jungkoooook #jeon jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #bts smut #bts ff #bts army #bts #bts imagine #bts jung jungkook #bts jungguk #jjk #jungkook scenarios

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theredofoctober · 3 months ago

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER NINETEEN: DUCK

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions

Read after the cut

---

“Family,” says Hannibal. “Let’s return to that subject today.”

You occupy the living room, each in a velvet armchair tilted with intent to replicate the layout of his office, the clever dressing of a theatre set. Attempts to put off this particular session had proved inefficacious, the coercion of your attendance rendering you curt and snappish in demeanor.

Truthfully you’ve been so since this morning, having rolled, coughing and vaguely feverish, from dreams of bodies hung rattling like so many clothes hangers in some subterrestrial den.

Hannibal, as expected, had still seen fit to persist with his agenda, weathering your complaints with a brisk good humour.

Will had made himself scarce sometime before you’d awoken, and has left word that you’re not to expect his return for many days. You yearn for him in all his brittle ferocity, a gabion against his friend’s subtle erosion of your mind as you know it. The early hour, the assault of unwanted conversation: such sly methods of torture will damn you to madness as quick as the murkiest secret.

“I’ve told you about my family,” you say to Hannibal, fingering a loose tuft of angora on your sweater. “Besides, you won’t even let me talk to them.”

“I don’t think that it would be to your benefit for me to do so,” he answers, and makes a gracious pretence of examining his pen.

Had you not extended a hand to Amy there would indeed have been a second call, this you’re clearly meant to understand. Hannibal is not above such trivial warfare, as he makes a continuing point to prove; you might be entertained by so comic a flaw were you not in such dire opposition.

“Maybe it’d be good for me to talk to my family,” you say, smartly. “And how can you know that it wouldn’t be when you barely know anything about them?”

Hannibal smirks, pleased to have cast such irresistible bait.

“Enlighten me, then. Begin with your mother, if you like. A predictable start, but in that simplicity rather less challenging than other avenues.”

You glance about the room as though seeking inspiration from it and find it wanting. Only the window at which the dying autumn presses its face wets the brush of conversation again, that symbol of fleeing dark brick to beyond a reminder that you must play on.

“We fight a lot,” you say. “My mom and me. She always has to be right about everything all the time. Never made a mistake in her life. Never apologises for anything. And if you criticise her— well, just don’t. Plus, she used to hit me when I was little. Nothing crazy, but still. She hit me.

“Then one day I slapped her right back and she never did it again.”

Pausing, you tug the hem of your sweater to your knees, an instinct to cover skin that today is not an inch bare.

“It’s funny,” you say. “She acts like she doesn’t remember any of it now.”

“Those in denial of their misdeeds often excise those shameful moments from the past,” says Hannibal. “It may not even be a conscious decision on her part.”

“It’d almost be better if it was. Then maybe she could own up to it, some day.”

Hannibal’s pen mars a fresh page in his notebook; even were it not upside down you suspect you’d fail to untangle his complicated hand.

“Has your mother’s behaviour caused friction surrounding your anorexia?” he asks.

“God, yeah,” you say, half laughing. “She used to yell at me. Tried to bully me into eating. Now she cries a lot and kind of makes it all about her. She loves me, but not in the ways you want in a mother. She pays for stuff. Drives me to places. Ticks all those boxes, you know? But she’s never been kind or comforting, really.

“It’s not all her fault. I guess she just doesn’t know how.”

A leaf falls against a windowpane like the hand of a dead, withered child, and you find yourself drawing back in your seat, wishing you’d the strength to push the chair against the wall.

“Why do you think your mother is unable to fulfil her role as you would like?” asks Hannibal.

“I guess my grandparents treated her the same way she treats me. They were always kind of cold with me when I knew them.”

“Generational cruelty is an infection one must wittingly sterilise. A pity so few are self-aware enough to administer that treatment. Was your father sufficiently conscious?”

Odd, this invocation of the paternal when Hannibal and Will have worked so diligently to embody it in place of your genetic relative.

Now, in a shirt the colour of thatch rolled pristinely back from the jewel of his wristwatch, the doctor could well be the wealthy father of a girl your age, the type to pour upon you his thousands, to walk you down the aisle in a venue of his choosing to marry an approved match of your class.

But you will never wed now that Hannibal has claimed you. He speaks of your family from a wreckage of his making, at ease with his distance from it.

“I love my dad the most,” you say. “But he’s a weird guy. Quiet. Never opens up about his feelings. He’ll talk about movies, or the news, but real stuff? Nope. So I've never felt all that comfortable around him. I mean, with good reason after... after everything.”

“More than good,” says Hannibal, firmly. “That you aren’t angrier with both parents for their abandonment in your time of need surprises me.”

“I don’t really blame them. Uncle Lee has this way about him. He can make people believe pretty much anything he says.”

Inevitable that you should mention Leland, who—though of other blood—is still an incestuous growth on the vine.

“What is this way of his?” asks Hannibal. “You’ve previously spoken of a power to sash the eyes of loved ones against what you perceive to be an obvious darkness. How does that ability present in him?”

You bring your legs up onto the chair, crossing them under you for comfort.

“He moved from Louisiana in his twenties,” you say, “so he still has the accent and everything. He even speaks French sometimes. Then there’s this way of holding himself he has. Kind of cocky, but funny, though. From the second he moved in on our street my parents just loved him, apparently. They never saw what I saw.”

“He’d donned the rubber mask.”

You look up at Hannibal almost shyly.

“Yeah. You remember.”

“Yes. And did you love him, in spite of what seemed to you an obvious guise?”

“I did. In some sick way I still do. So I get why my Mom and Dad believed him over me, but sometimes I think maybe part of them knows the truth, but they just shove it down deep like something dead.”

Scrubbing your face angrily with the sleeve of your sweater you snub, without noticing it, the omnipresent box of tissues on the nearby table top. Hannibal makes no remark on your unclean habit, only pours you a cup of green tea which you accept for the sake of avoiding an argument.

“To truly love someone you mustn’t bury their evils,” says Hannibal. “You must find acceptance of them in whatever form you can. Your parents do not care for this friend so much as fear the upheaval of the known. A suburban life, a sullied idyll— by sending you to me they are attempting to reverse its disunion from their image of it in memory.”

“They’re selfish,” you say. “I know. What’s new there?”

You look at the bottom of your teacup, hunting an impossible pattern in the pale ceramic.

“I don’t want to talk about my family anymore. What about yours? You had a sister, didn’t you?”

Hannibal’s eyes change like the blackening of dusk.

“Will told you this,” he says.

“Does it matter?” you ask, shrilly. “I want to know who you are, Daddy, and this is where I want to start. What happened to Mischa? What did she die of?”

It’s frightening how the man before you alters in only light adjustments: the quiet crossing of a limb, the rhomboid slant of shoulders under his jacket, each a signifier of the restless potentiality for truculence in him.

His face is not so beautiful in moments such as this. The flaws in it stand out to you: flesh racked over halberds of bone, something amphibious in the mouth, of some alien taxon. A killer’s physiognomy, little though you care for such sciences as would define it so.

“My sister was murdered when she was a little girl,” says Hannibal. “I interrupted the culprit in the midst of defiling her body, but it was too late. She was lost to me.”

The moon opal of a tear tips loose of an eyelash, its passage a kinetic artistry. What you’d taken for anger is another emotion: a raw and ancient loss.

“Oh my god,” you say. “That’s awful. Do you know who killed her?”

“A man who remains imprisoned to this day,” says Hannibal. “That is his penance for taking Mischa from me.”

You are in too great a terror and disgust of this man to embrace him, as would feel apt for a moment such as this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, weakly.

Hannibal closes the notebook in his lap and asks, almost blandly, “Are you?”

His bald disbelief flusters you.

“Yes. Of course. She was just a little girl. In fact, I feel like I get it, now. All of this. Me and you. It makes sense why you want me. Why you are what you are. It’s because of her.”

Forcing a smile, you reach over and touch a hand to Hannibal’s cheek.

He turns his face gently away from the caress.

“You’re mistaken, Little One. Whereas you were moulded by your circumstances, I was liberated by mine.”

You stare at him, endeavouring to bone his words for their meaning.

“What are you saying?”

“My philosophies and desires pre-existed Mischa’s death. My love for her restrained me, for while she lived I was never free to act as I yearned to in fear that she would be harmed. In some ways I resented that restraint, but in passing Mischa offered me the opportunity to forgive her.”

A cloud snuffs out the sun, and you sit in the dark of it, aghast.

“Forgive her for what?” you ask, in a near whisper. “Helping you? Hannibal, I—”

“We are still at an impasse, I see,” he says, coolly. “We must rectify this. Would you like to know how she received her absolution?”

You shake your head.

“But you must,” says Hannibal. “You’re a curious girl. Mischa’s remains now lie in a grave in my home country. Before I buried them there, I ate part of her. That is how I reconciled my feelings for my sister with what I am.”

Shock throttles your body in its tremor, and the empty teacup drops from your hand, prevented from breaking only by the carpet underfoot. You had, with all the delicate senses of a medium, deciphered the presage of his appetite, and still you feel the plates of the earth shudder with the magnitude of his confession.

Hannibal gets up from his seat, places the cup back into its saucer, and takes your hand in his.

“Let’s end the session there,” he says. “I’d like to involve you in preparing today’s meal, since that’s a new interest of yours.”

With a fear-stricken servility you walk with him to the kitchen, expecting him to have something—someone—preserved in the glossy coffin of the refrigerator.

Instead Hannibal kneels to unlatch an ingenious door in the floorboards, revealing a neat little staircase which runs down into a basement room. From it emanates a rolling field of cold, biting at you through your clothes.

You take a step back, near tumbling in your eagerness to escape it.

“What is that?”

“It’s an expansion of the freezer,” says Hannibal. “With all the dinner parties I host it’s natural that I found myself in need of more storage space. This is my answer to that problem. I’d like you to go down and choose a cut of meat for dinner.”

There’s no threat in the statement; he speaks, in fact, quite casually, meaning to impress upon you the mundanity of his diet in his eyes. To make supper of his sister, to dine upon lamb: there is no separation for him, being that all of it is meat.

You squeeze your eyes shut, cannot face the oblong of shadow beyond the steps which you’ve dreamt of, unknowing,

“Please don’t make me go down there, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of. Open your eyes, Little One.”

“No. No. I don’t want to.”

You try to turn away, but Hannibal arrests you by the arms, holding you as a farmer would a wriggling hare.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he says. “If that’s what you think.”

“I know!” you wail. “But it doesn’t matter. If I go down there and... see, everything’ll change forever. Because I’ll know for sure, and I’ll be part of it. And I can’t be part of it. I’ll go crazy.”

You jerk passionately in Hannibal’s grip, but his greater strength prevails.

“Wait,” you say. “When you talked about Leland—bringing him to me—you meant that I should kill him to eat.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal, simply. “I did.”

There is a softness in his eyes you recognise as hope. He is a man desperate to create others like him, for all that he believes that they are born.

“But you said with Mischa that eating her was forgiveness,” you say. “But you don’t want me to forgive Uncle Lee. So what would it mean to eat him?”

“Look to why trophy hunters keep mementos of their sport. Some as markers of achievement and dominance over the animal, and others in a subconscious humiliation of the predator they’ve slain. Man gloats to bring a tiger to kneel; a girl, having conquered man, might do the same.”

Thinking of Hannibal’s recorded killings, some of them young women, you say, “Most animals don’t deserve humiliation.”

“That’s all a matter of perspective, my dear. A seasoned hunter develops rather a discerning eye for flaws in his quarry.”

Hannibal smooths a lock of hair behind your ear, his rancid touch queerly soothing.

“What did Savannah Belmont do to deserve humiliation?” you ask, sulkily. “She wasn’t a bad person. She was just a girl, like me.”

“A cursory reading of obituaries and odes to Miss Belmont’s life denote her brief career at a rare bookshop,” says Hannibal, “for which position her personal tastes suggest she was underqualified to take. It wouldn’t be so unrealistic to assume that she left customers unhappy with her inadequate ability to serve them.”

Horror breaks over you like the falling of a chandelier. This, too, you had foreseen: no serious cause to kill was ever required for Hannibal, and that you are fucked rather than murdered by him is but a flourish of fate.

Peering into your eyes, Hannibal comes to a rapid decision and bends to close the trapdoor again.

“Duck, tonight, then,” he says. “That will suffice.”

Through terror you cling to Hannibal long into the afternoon, lurking at his elbow, a thumb in your mouth, as he prepares for the day’s appointments.

If he is he here, with you, he cannot kill, you reason, not while he thinks only of the invitation of tear-salt on your lips, the liquor of your nether mouth around him. Again and again you’ll die upon his cock as tribute, for though cold in your disorder you are not so callous as to allow others to, if you can help it.

“I’ll be gone for just a few hours, sweet girl,” he says, pausing to rock you in his lap. “No more of this. I’ve left a new book for you in your room. Please begin reading it for me. And there is the recording of an opera I’d like you to watch. That should keep you occupied until I’m home to you.”

It’s only after he’s driven away in the hearse of his car that you succumb to the awfulness of all you've heard. As in those primordial days of captivity you grasp the bars of your window and scream into the burnished day, beating your fists upon the iron until they burst across the bone.

Only a volley of coughing halts you in this fit, sending you to your bed alarmed by the weakness come over you. You lie shivering for hours, wondering if this is the nervous exhaustion you’ve read about in novels that ends in heroines consigned to the madhouse, sunny climes, or else the grave, none of which you might expect to be released to.

When Hannibal returns he feels your forehead and listens to your coughs with a mildly furrowed brow.

“Hospital,” you croak, but he only laughs and strokes your head.

“There’s no need for that. You have a chest infection. Your immune system is very poor. Nevertheless, you’ll be well again soon.”

He perfumes your damp neck with a kiss and sits down in a chair beside you.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that Will is occupied with work,” he comments, at length. “I wouldn’t like his condition to worsen again.”

#tw noncon #tw rape #tw daddy kink #tw abuse #tw cannibalism #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #hannibal fic #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #reader fic

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sleepytwilight · 8 months ago

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Can you write about the sorcerers reaction to a summoner whos sassy and demanding but actually is really soft and gives the best soft kisses

(Don't worry i ain't gonna ask preg sorcerers...unless.....🥰 kidding)

Ik that's you Mari xD

𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕦𝕤

Oh dear you did give him a surprise when you first got into relationship with him.

To be fair he's quite anxious and insecure that he can't be the man you want in relationship.

Surprisingly, when you both are alone. You gave him soft kisses and cuddles with him.

He never thought he'll fell in love with you even though he's already in love with you.

Yes it's possible.

He feels like he's the luckiest man in the world right now.

He secretly brag how good kisser you are to other sorcerers.

Why? He just want to let them know you're the only person he want.

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕒

He's always working and you demand for his attention. For once he put down his pen and wait for you to do something.. In aggressive way.

Well he did not expects soft kisses from you, he got flustered and accidentally spilled the ink.

For the first time in his life he didn't care about work and want more of your kiss.

Can you give him goodnight and good morning kisses?

You both have private study time since then.. Of course not in that kind of way-

ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕩

To be fair, he's a tsundere and he also demanding for you attention.

You both are so soft like real sweets.

Bickering is normal, the students already know you and Pollux are madly in love with each other.

Pollux kisses you softly just like the way you kiss him.

You both love each other so much, keep showering each other attentions.

So cute ♪ ♬ ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ ♬ ♪

𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕫

Why are you demanding so much from him? You know how lazy he is?

How did you both get into relationship again? Tell Me-

Okay, Alpheratz had enough and decided for you to do whatever you want. He's too tired to deal with the consequences.

Later he was the one who demand for your attention.

Why your lips are so soft? Why is he awake just for you to kiss him one more time?

He couldn't get enough, he wants more-

He regrets for being lazy when you and him first in relationship.

You sooner become his pillow because he want you to be his alarm.

What kind of alarm? The alarm that give him soft kisses at morning and gently wakes him up

Yeah, you both are so cute hehe

𝕊𝕚𝕣��𝕦𝕤

He's not a fan of public affection. You should stop being demanding when he's at meeting or working- Pls he feels embarrassed-

He can't take it seriously when you demand him to be on bed knowing you were Polaris...

Okay once he's on the bed, hell- He feels like he's in heaven. Soft kisses from you? You're so unpredictable, did you know that?

Is this what Sirrah always got when he were in relationship with Polaris?

Sirius did actually enjoy this much more than he should.

He may be a little complicated whether you're still Polaris or not.

A while later, he realized he wants you. He just wants you, that's all. Maybe he could bring you happiness like the way you bring to him.

𝕍𝕖𝕘𝕒

Vega got red as tomato whenever you demand something from him. Do you have to be sassy and embarrassed him in front of his clan??

Dw, his clan like you. They think you guys are adorable couple.

It took him months to finally let you kiss him.

Hell his heart exploded when you give him soft kiss and gently hold him.

Summoner, congratulations. He's touch starve like Sirius and he's aware of it unlike Sirius-

Vega sometimes brought you to private room or area so you could have time together.

Can you compliment him? He'll be more gentle yknow

ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕝 for @tophatmaker

(I hope you're okay- since you said you received an anon ask??)

How did you two got into relationship? They can excuse Alpheratz but Rigel? What did you see in him?

Rigel is so cold in public yet you're here demand for your needs.

Everyone thought he got annoyed because he left after you got too demanding.

Little did they know, he's waiting for you in his room.

He's a bit awkward at first but he enjoy the soft touch and your soft kisses.

He let you take the charge, he don't want to hurt you after all.

Cute yet so demanding like you is his type.

#okay let's gooo #arcana twilight #arcana twilight sirius #arcana twilight mc #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight alpheratz #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight vega #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight summoner #arcana twilight relationship headcanons #arcana twilight rigel

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1dcommunityficrecs · 7 months ago

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Exes To Lovers Rec List!

It is no longer Gonna Be May, it in fact is May, and with it another community-recommended theme list. We have, for your perusal and pleasure, 11 exes-to-lovers fics. We've got short and sweet, we've got long and complicated, we've got angsty working through their problems and we've got comfortably rediscovering the new versions each other years later.

I am so excited to dig into these, and I hope you are too! As always, show your love to these awesome authors by dropping a kudos, leaving a comment, and reblogging the fic posts. I'll be announcing the next category as soon as I decide what it is!

Empty Skies by Green_feelings (134048, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry and Louis fell in love as teenagers. Then Louis left and became a pop star...

Reccer says: Greenfeelings has a golden pen. She knows how to handle pining and emotions... And she always comes up with sublime stories...

And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom (109959, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

Reccer says: This fic had moments of such devastation that I cried, and moments of humor that had me laughing. So much emotion packed into this fic! An all time favorite and a must read!

Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by allwaswell16 (30000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore.

Reccer says: Every time I hear the song Chicago I think of this fic. They are inextricably linked forever for me. The fic is that memorable.

Pathema Proteleia by persephoneflouwers (53399, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: Graphic Despictions of Violence

A few years ago, Omega Prince Harry left his husband and mate Alpha Louis without any apparent reason. When enemies of the Royalty make an attempt on his life and threaten to hurt Omegas, Louis has to ask the Prince for help.

Reccer says: I love the author's writing, their rather baroque style, the way they set the scene for their story and build their characters.

Halfway Home by Itsmotivatingcara (100000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Blood, murder, violence, animal death, violence

Harry and Louis were childhood friends.They used to hang out at Louis' grandpa's ranch in South Dakota every summer. As they got older, their friendship turned into something more. But life happened, and they went their separate ways. Fast forward ten years, Louis now runs a wildlife refuge, and Harry comes back since louis’ grand dad included him in his will. ButThere's a mysterious hunter lurking around, making things way more intense than just old flames reigniting.

Reccer says: Not only it is basically enemies to friends to exes to lovers while it has mystery, thriller and crime theme as well. Literally everything a good fic should have

Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks) (114698, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Louis returns to New York City 5 years after leaving the love of his life behind.

Reccer says: The flashback scenes showing how their relationship originally dissolved are absolutely gut-wrenching. Beautiful writing, made me cry like twice?? There’s also art in each chapter!

i was yours (i wish you were mine) by staybeautiful (56000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: alcohol/recreational drug use, implied/referenced underage sex

Ten years ago Harry dropped his best friend and high school boyfriend off at the train station and never saw him again. A chance meeting outside a bar has them tumbling head first into a summer of music, milkshakes, and maybe each other.

Reccer says: It’s precious, so well written!!! Heartbreaking, heartwarming, heart-mending. I loved how easily they fall back into love, their past closeness is so potent upon running into each other again. it’s so clear how well they knew each other.

I Still Think About You All the Time by NoLogicOnlyStyles (47000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson ) – fic post

Eight months after their devastating breakup, a series of unfortunate events force Harry and Louis back into each other's orbit again. But can you be just friends with someone you've never not loved?

I Can Build Your Heart A Home by LiveLaughLoveLarry (10252, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Two years after (kinda) breaking up, Harry and Louis are both back in town for Christmas. Niall meddles a little, there's some awkwardness and a lot of Christmas fluff.

Reccer says: I loved the dynamic between Harry and Louis and how the context of their past relationship was explained. Also I love a good Exes to Lovers fic and a good Christmas fic and this was both combined.

Finally, You and I (Collide) by lululawrence (14455, Not Rated, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Funny how Louis could sum up everything he’d had with Zayn so easily. Ex. Or the five times Louis was accidentally wooed by cookies and the one time he was purposefully wooed by brownies.

Reccer says: It is completely self indulgent as Sus wrote it for me, but it's perfectly angsty and gooey at the same time because of all the cookie recipes

The Falling Series by we_are_the_same (4053, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis and Harry divide their belongings after their breakup

Reccer says: It's very angsty but hopeful at the same time

#exes to lovers #category 8 #rec list #one direction #louis tomlinson #harry styles #zayn malik #liam payne #niall horan #ficsfor4am #tracksintheam #trackinghome #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #1d rare pairs #hlficlibrary #hlcreators #1dficvillage #1dsource

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merakiui · 2 years ago

Text

yandere!Azul thought 4: what starts as a contract for no strings attached intimacy soon turns into something complicated when you find yourself swept up in a certain cecaelia’s charm, unaware of just how deep his love swims.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, contractual fwb, mention of blackmail, attempted sexual assault (from nameless student, not azul), obsession, pregnancy mentions, characters written as 18+)

“It’ll be easier if you stop struggling,” Floyd grumbles, his fingers digging into your arm with so much force you think he might snap the bone. “Jaaade, tell our shrimpy to stop squirming so much!”

Jade smiles at his brother’s whining, feigning blissful ignorance to your current predicament. “It would be in your best interest to relax. Broken limbs are not a pleasant experience.”

“Neither is kidnapping! I already told you I didn’t do anything. I never even signed a contract.”

“Not yet.” He peers down at you, challenging you with a single yellow eye. “Although we can’t ignore it when a precious friend fails to heed Azul’s summons. That’s not very polite, is it? And since you’ve chosen to be oh-so-cruel, we have no choice but to resort to similar treatment.”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, brows furrowed in annoyance. “You’re the worst.”

“I don’t think you qualify as the best in this scenario.”

“Azul just wants to have a simple chat with you. No need to be such a meanie,” Floyd adds, forcing you upright when you begin to drag your feet. His sharp teeth wink at you when he grins, and it’s enough of a threat to cow you into temporary submission.

As you allow yourself to be escorted through the grand, aquatic halls of Octavinelle, where you pass fellow dorm members going about their day through a magnificent glass tunnel, you know deep in your heart that this ‘simple chat’ will be anything but simple. They hardly pay you any mind; most avert their eyes as to not get caught up in whatever nonsense you’re currently bound to. The Leech twins are enough of a repellant. Stay away if you value your skeletal structure and unblemished skin, their combined presence boasts. You stare at the ocean that sprawls beyond the confines of the dorm, its depths dark and spiraling and tempting.

I wonder how much force you’d have to apply to the glass before it shatters, you think, coveting a means of acquiring superhuman strength to test your curiosity. Maybe the glass can’t be broken after all and I’d end up looking as graceful as a mer-turned-human trying to walk on land for the first time.

You’ve learned that it’s not so frightening to be approached by the Leech twins when you’re on pleasant terms and they’re not actively tugging you along like you’re nothing more than a weightless rag doll. Unfortunately, this is their usual treatment of those who try to evade payment or break the terms of their contracts. Even though you haven’t done anything of the sort, they’re still pulling you into the gilded lair that is the Mostro Lounge. Apparently—according to your most benevolent friends at Octavinelle—ghosting Azul is just as sinful as cheating your way out of a contract.

You try to stay away from the suspicious dealings that happen in Azul’s VIP room when you can, but it’s only a matter of time before it catches up to you. Perhaps this is your day of reckoning and you ought to start counting your blessings and penning a will with what little time you have left.

Aside from ignoring him, you’re not sure why he would be so insistent on meeting with you. Azul’s ire is not something you wish to toy with, lest you enjoy the coils of two dangerous eels. You surmise you’ll get your answer to every burning question once you’re seated in front of him, listening to the twins’ footsteps as they click out the door.

There’s no time to get a breath in before Azul’s own confidence fills the room like hot air, stifling any excuses you might’ve had at the ready. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and, with the lenses glinting under the dazzling light, he declares, “Let’s make a deal.”

What a greeting. He’s really something. You’d throttle him if you could, but then you’d probably find yourself at Floyd’s mercy as he returns the favor.

“Not happening.”

Azul sighs and runs a hand through his silver hair, so deceptively soft it reminds you of clouds and candy floss and cotton—gentle things that shouldn’t contain razor blades. And yet, when it comes to Azul, he’s a sea sponge full of hidden tricks and sharp objects. But right now he’s not wearing his fedora or coat, and he’s a portrait of defeat as he looks into your eyes. An inkling of sympathy bubbles up in your chest. It must be tough managing academics, a café, and everyone’s wishes in order to maintain a benevolent façade. But you know better than to feel bad for Azul Ashengrotto—someone who would trade you in an instant if it was to his benefit. So you find yourself slumping in the chair, no longer interested in the deal he’s trying to proposition or the sad image he’s carefully manufactured for your discerning eyes.

I should’ve known this was his goal. Was it really worth dragging me out of Ramshackle for?

“I ask that you hear me out.”

“If you had Jade and Floyd bring me here—against my will, might I add—just so you could get me to sign one of your scummy contracts…”

“I can assure you it will be worth your while.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “All right. Fine. But make it quick. I’m hungry.”

It can’t hurt to hear him out. Or so you think.

He grins, but there’s something lurking in his elated countenance that puts you on edge. He leans forward, hands steepled and elbows propped on the surface of his desk. Azul is in his element—a businessman profiting from shiny half-truths, and you’re the poor soul he’s ready to entrap.

“It seems you run a special sort of…trade among the student body here.”

You raise a brow. If he intends to squash your side hustle, you won’t allow it.

“Don’t tell me the services I’m offering are stealing your customers.”

“Certainly not.” He chuckles, but the amusement does not reach his eyes. “Sex sells. I couldn’t possibly compete with such a grand industry.”

“Get to the point, Azul.”

“Very well. I would like to enlist your services for myself.”

“I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. Let’s see the contract, then.”

Its golden shine nearly blinds you, so bright you could mistake it for a miniature sun. The terms have been written in neat, curling script. At the very bottom of the document that tempting line sits, empty and awaiting a signature. You scan the words, but none of them truly register within your mind.

“You had a field day writing this one,” you mutter. “If you wanted a handjob, you could’ve just asked. I shouldn’t have to sign a contract for a simple exchange.”

Octavinelle’s charitable Housewarden bristles at your forthright statement. “That is not the point! Did you even read the clauses outlined in the contract?”

“Not really. Care to elaborate?” You bat your eyelashes at him, lips turning downward in an innocent pout.

Rolling his eyes, he says, “In exchange for your services, I will grant any wish or desire you may have. Whatever it is—no matter how complicated or outrageous it seems—I’ll see to it.”

You swipe the contract from off his desk and read through it closely. This time the sentences click and you eye him with suspicion. “In other words, you want casual sex. This wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“If you consider it from both sides, it’s mutually beneficial. Sexual endeavors have been proven to reduce stress, improve one’s mental and physical health, and—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get that, but I’d only be servicing you. According to this clause, I wouldn’t be allowed to see anyone else for however long this deal lasts.”

“That’s only fair, is it not? If I dedicate my time to meeting your demands, you should dedicate your time to servicing me.”

“That’s not how this works. Besides, if I wanted to toe the line of lustful romance I’d have come to you already.”

“Oh? Are you saying I’m a prime candidate for what you humans call ‘holiday flings’? Well, (Name), I’m honored. Truly. You know you can always come to me if—”

“And now you’ve made it to the bottom of the list. Congrats.”

You glance at the contract once more and frown. There’s no denying that some of these terms are questionable. Not only are you unable to service the other students, you’d also have to keep the relationship a secret. You suppose Azul still wants to retain his current reputation without the tarnish that comes with a contractual fuck buddy. Who are you to decline, though? It would be reasonable if it weren’t for Azul’s tendency to cheat others and find tight loopholes to slip through. And he’s attractive enough. It’s a tempting exchange: sex for money, food, academic help, anything at all.

“Is there a limit to the amount of wishes you’re willing to grant?”

“We’ll do it this way—one wish for every meeting. You’re free to be as greedy as you’d like with your wishes. I suggest you make the most of this offer. It’s only available for a limited time.”

“Huh. That’s…weirdly generous of you.”

“I’m delighted you think so.” He indicates the pot of ink sitting atop his desk. “Well? Are the terms acceptable? If they are, just sign on the line and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Hold on. I never said I’d sign your contract. It’s not a bad offer, but I don’t want to subject myself to your wrath or the Leech brothers’ methods of…negotiation if I break any of the terms. I like my bones healthy and intact, thank you.” You set the contract scroll back on his desk, content with your decision. It’s better to play it safe, no matter how intrigued you are. “If you really want it, just pay me and we can—”

“That’s not enough,” he snaps. You’re not sure if you heard correctly because moments later his dark expression brightens and all traces of envy vanish like a curtain of rain parting to reveal a rainbow. “I understand your hesitance, considering my reputation has its shadows. But what is a risk without its possible reward? I can assure you these terms are honest and sincere. It’s in the writing, after all.”

“So it’s just a contract for sex? I don’t have to act like your girlfriend or anything?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Your narrowed gaze pierces him, as if to peer at the core of his soul, but you can’t dissect his angle. It’s difficult to imagine Azul’s contracts as straightforward deals with no strings attached, but then again he’s still just like the rest of the students here. He has his own cravings and you’re the only female on campus, a blessing that has come with its fair share of boons. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to go through with this. You might even be able to procure lots of premium tuna for Grim and some promising study guides for your friends, who most certainly need it after their most recent scores.

“If I sign this contract, how long would this arrangement last?”

“Two months.”

“Two months,” you parrot slowly, tasting each letter. “Two months?”

“Is that not agreeable? I’m certain I can offer you much more than whatever pocket change the others give you.”

It’s a fair point. You’re not trying to sell yourself cheap, but you’re not picky either. You’re willing to accept any form of payment, even though Madol is always preferred. After all, you need to make enough for you and Grim to be able to afford the expenses of campus life. This deal with Azul could easily solve some of the monetary issues you’re facing, especially since Grim’s bottomless stomach is the reason your budget is dwindling.

He sits there, hands clasped, and waits patiently for your reply. Awkward tension thickens in the air as the both of you stare at one another, challenging the other to speak up. Eventually, Azul decides to fill in the empty silence with his own smooth voice.

“In exactly two months, it’ll be the fourteenth of February. Or, coincidentally enough, Valentine’s Day. That is when this deal shall come to an end, regardless of where we may stand. You won’t owe anything. That’s something I can promise.”

“Not unless I violate the terms. Speaking of which, some of them are…strange.” You indicate a specific clause hidden amongst the paragraphs of swirling cursive. “Like this one. I’m not allowed to say ‘I love you’ once the contract has been signed. Why’s that?”

Azul follows your pointing finger and hums as he reviews the paragraph. “It would be troublesome if you fell for me. Using that pretty voice of yours to confess your true feelings—what a devious scandal! All of the students who lust after you would be utterly heartbroken and we can’t have that now, can we? It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity.”

“You really hold yourself high, don’t you? I’m not in love with you, so don’t flatter yourself.”

It’s difficult to make out most of the words in that clause because they’re all bunched up and connected with fancy loops and curls. Even though you consider yourself to be somewhat decent at interpreting cursive, the writing on this contract is almost foreign to your eyes. You’re not quite sure what happens if those three words are spoken, but it can’t be anything positive if it’s outlined so extensively.

“It’s all right if you refuse,” he adds. “Although it would be a shame if your private endeavors intersected with your school life. Good grades are not easy to come by if you slack, but I’m sure you’re aware of this.” His smile is sharp and wicked. You feel it’ll cut into you if you stare for too long. “Should you find yourself in the academic deep end, you’re more than welcome to come to me. I’ll always be here to assist you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It would be even more unfortunate if the fools who believe in your fake love learned of your nonexistent loyalty.” He tilts his head, amusement waltzing across his face like a ballerina on a glittering stage. “Photographic evidence is very reliable. I wonder how fast those bridges will burn once they realize you’re only with them for materialistic gain. Love is not easy to come by, but you seem to dish it out with ease. Isn’t that curious?”

“Now you’re just reaching. You don’t have any photos.”

“Perhaps you’re correct and this serves as an empty threat meant to coerce you into signing.” He pushes the pot of ink towards your reaching hand, fishbone pen within your grasp. “But that also means there’s still a chance they exist. It would be fry’s play to let something so fragile slip from my hands. I imagine every romantic who’s clung to you like seaweed won’t enjoy the sight. A scorned man is rather troublesome, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Some of them pay a lot! I need that money. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Who am I kidding? Of course he’d do that to me.

“It can be avoided, so long as you provide your signature. A small price to pay to prevent irreparable damage.”

Seconds tick between the two of you. Your gaze drifts from him to the contract.

It’s not so bad, the tiny voice in the back of your head pipes up, and you don’t have the heart to smother it. It speaks nothing but the truth. Two months can get you a lot. Expensive things, Grim’s premium tuna, yummy snacks, resources to cover rent and maintenance... And all you’d have to do is spend an hour or two with him.

“Okay. All right. Fine! Two months and that’s it.” You swipe the pen from his desk, dip its pointed tip in the ink, and scrawl your name on the line. “You’re lucky I’m desperate.”

“Desperation is a businessman’s closest ally.” He meets your fierce glower with a bright smile. The contract is snatched from your hands and rolled up, an important document that will no doubt find its home in the darkness of his vault. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to what’s to come.”

You wish you could say the same.

Two months. It’s an odd timeframe for something that shouldn’t have an exact timeframe at all, but this is purely contractual and you can’t expect this exchange with Azul to last forever. You suppose that if you accept your temporary fate and agree to the role you’re meant to play the days will pass quickly—fleeting moments that dissolve like sugar on your tongue. And it might even be enjoyable if you focus on the good things rather than the dangers lurking beneath the charming surface.

Azul calls you into his VIP room four days later. It’s quite the hassle walking to the Hall of Mirrors and excusing yourself from every conversation that springs upon you. You never realized just how many guys you’ve formed one-sided relationships with, and it’s a thought that lingers in your mind as you polish off what remains of a bag of gummy candies.

By the time you’ve arrived at the Mostro Lounge, seated before Azul and awaiting a command like a well-trained pet, you’re already reflecting on the contrition that comes with hasty decisions.

Let this be a lesson learned, you tell yourself. Think a little more before acting.

“So.” You admire the shell lamp on his desk, if only to occupy yourself. It curls into a smooth, cream-colored spiral. “What do you want? Office sex? A blowjob? Want me to hold your hand while you work through all that paperwork? I’m good at moral support, you know.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “The winter holiday is approaching. I’m assuming you have no plans.”

“None at all. You’ll probably go back to the Coral Sea, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not deal with the ice and frigid, sunless waters unless it’s absolutely necessary. Besides, I couldn’t leave you here while we’re in the midst of an arrangement. What sort of gentleman would I be?”

“How chivalrous.” You roll your eyes. “But it’s boring to stay on campus if everyone’s going home for the holidays.”

“Are you proposing we go somewhere?”

"It would be fun. I’ll bring Grim and we can go somewhere cozy. You can make that happen, right?”

“Of course I can,” he says flatly. “Must you bring that nuisance, though?”

“Grim’s my friend. You can bring Jade and Floyd if you want. I don’t care.”

His gaze shifts from you to the papers littering his desktop and you realize you’ve lost him.

“Or we could go. Just the two of us. Make it a private trip…” Every syllable is like acid in your mouth. “A resort would be nice.”

“Most resorts are booked for the holidays. It would be difficult to make a reservation now.”

“Then we’ll stay here.”

Somehow this feels more like a discussion between indecisive lovers instead of two acquaintances who are now contractual friends with benefits. Perhaps this entire act is nothing more than a circus and you’ll be destined to spend the next two months with a metaphorical clown nose and a gnawing sense of idiocy.

“If you’re truly invested in a resort trip, I could see what’s available. The timing is poor, but there’s always a way around these things.”

“It’s not a big deal. Staying here won’t be so bad either.” You fidget in your seat, not accustomed to casual talk with Azul. The both of you aren’t best friends, but you aren’t complete strangers either. You were there to witness his rise and fall firsthand and it’s something that brought the two of you slightly closer in the aftermath. But you wouldn’t say that you hang out with him as often as you do with your other friends. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

Azul glances up at you from his paperwork, pen poised in his delicate hand. “Not quite. We have yet to discuss boundaries.”

“I think I’d be okay with anything as long as it’s safe and we talk about it beforehand. What about you?”

“Anything related to my mer form is off the table.”

It sounds like he might add ‘for now’ to that sentence, but he shuts his mouth and continues to write.

“That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.” You flash him an encouraging smile. “If it makes you feel better, we can take this thing slowly. We have two whole months, after all.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a terrible idea...”

“We don’t have to rush into anything if you’re uncertain...or inexperienced.” Your compassionate grin quickly morphs into a playful smirk. “Making a fool out of yourself wouldn’t be a good look for you, would it? An inexperienced Azul must be a marvelous sight to behold.”

“I enlisted your services, not a clownfish who likes to run her mouth,” he says with a scoff. “And I’m plenty experienced, I’ll have you know.”

“With your hands and imagination, I’m sure.” He shoots you another look and you raise your arms in surrender, a laugh spilling from your lips. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be serious from now on.”

“You are so—” He shakes his head. “Honestly...”

The way in which he practically sighs the word sparks an odd sort of curiosity within you. You’ve never been privy to Azul behind closed doors—the Azul who tears his heavily guarded walls down when he has no need for masks. If you could pry him open like a clam and peer at the vulnerable pearl that lies within, you might come to understand him more than you did before. You hope that’s what you’ll glean from doing so because even though you’re bound to him via contract you want to get a better analysis of him.

“We have to start somewhere,” you say, admiring the way his hand moves effortlessly across paper. You’d like to charm him into comfort because, despite the nature of this agreement, you wish to be comfortable, too.

He risks a sideways glance at you, trapped between paperwork and persuasion. His fingers tighten around his pen ever so slightly and you don’t miss his searching eyes as they come to rest on your lips. You shed all of your apprehensions at once because this is business and you can’t let fear cloud your sensibility as you move forward in your performance, seeking his approval and satisfaction. A deal is a deal, after all, and your signature is a testament to that.

No turning back now.

“Do your kisses taste like salt, or will they be sweet like sugar?” It’s a silly question—an icebreaker, if anything—but it has him quirking a halfhearted smile. Part of you hopes he’ll divulge more details on the nature of his kisses, even if the act of kissing is something you’re well-versed in and have done enough times for it to be routine.

“You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

You rise from your seat. Each deliberate step brings you closer to Azul until, eventually, you’re standing before him like a sinner on trial. He gazes up at you and there is a hint of subdued anticipation in his expression. When his hand finds the small of your back, your fingers ghost over it and guide it to your waist. Azul squeezes your hip, almost experimentally, before he yanks you onto his lap.

You lean in until your nose is touching his, legs straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck.

“This is okay, right?”

“Of course,” he murmurs, nearly dazed as his fingers trace your hip, mapping the curvature like a painter’s expert brushstroke. “It’s more than okay.”

“Captivated so soon? I guess my charm really is irresistible.”

You wink at him and he responds by tilting his head to seal the distance between the two of you. His kisses do not taste of the briny, tumultuous ocean. Rather, they taste of tea and you envision an overgrown field of wildflowers as you savor the floral notes on his lips. His other hand comes to rest upon your back as he holds you against him, unwilling to let your bodies part, and your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers running through silvery locks with exploratory intent. Azul sighs into your mouth, melting like a glacier.

“Well?” His lips are centimeters from yours. You curl a strand of his hair around your finger, enchanted by its softness. “What’s your deduction?”

“Tea. And not the cheap kind.”

His trademark smirk tugs at his lips. “You taste of…candy.” As a cheeky afterthought, he adds, “The cheap kind.”

“You’re right on the money, but maybe the benevolent Azul Ashengrotto is okay with cheap.” You pluck his glasses from his face and gingerly place them on the desk behind you. “For today, at least.”

His sarcastic retort is swallowed in another smoldering kiss, and as your panting breaths are stolen by greedy lips that pursue your own whenever you pull away for a momentary respite, you can’t help musing how good he is. In the back of your mind, you ponder whether he’s had practice or if this is all some primal instinct that’s been embedded since birth. It’s hard to imagine Azul locking lips with his pillow as if it’s a real, tangible person, and it’s a humorous thought that spurs you onwards in your endeavors. You tug on his hair, intending to dig as deep as you can in search of every touch Azul finds pleasurable. You seem to have found the correct spot, for he grips you more forcefully, groaning against your teeth.

By the time you’ve mussed his hair and shared more than a few sloppy kisses, you separate yourself from him. His arms shoot out to hold you in place and his glazed eyes hold a strange glint of fear—as if he’s just come down from a glorious high and has fallen prey to encroaching paranoia.

“Someone likes kissing,” you tease, evading his hand as he reaches for your uniform shirt with the intent to tug you against him for the passion he so desperately yearns for.

He hums his agreement and allows his palm to find the side of your face instead, cradling it as if it’s fragile porcelain. His thumb traces your jaw in smooth circles and you lean into the warmth, unaccustomed to such a careful touch. The fabric of his glove is a welcome embrace.

“You’re soft.” The mumbling is wrapped in honeyed cumulus. “So soft…”

You’d be softer if he disposed of the gloves.

The tenderness with which he regards you spills into your cracked heart, and for a moment you’re certain this is the real Azul. Or, at the very least, a fraction of his true personality—one that has lost its barbs and deception and is deliciously honest. But it could just be wishful thinking, a mere delusion resulting from some sort of phantom decompression sickness.

Your hand travels down the expanse of his chest, feeling fine fabric rustle beneath your palm, and you stop just above the strain in his pants. Azul is broken from his lustful stupor, having returned to this plane of reality by gentle, wandering hands.

“Is this okay? Or is it too sudden?” You feel obligated to ask because it eases your nerves. You’re not sure why you’re on edge, but your conscious suspects it’s because the private sight before you should be off-limits. In this moment Azul is a portrait framed in dappled light and you are simply observing him from afar, unable to touch him without direct approval, lest you find your wrist snatched by a protective curator. “We can stop here if you don’t want—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

That’s all the confirmation you need.

So you slide off of him with the grace of a cat, catching his gaze as if it’s a luminous firefly you intend to bottle. Where there was once fright, there is now a desire spiraling in his stormy blues. It’s a look you’ve seen on many students when you admired them during your salacious exchanges, but none wear it quite like Azul. Even when his face matches the shade of cherries—even when his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his hair is tousled and clothes wrinkled—he still resembles seraphic perfection, and it’s so alluring that you practically dive into his ocean eyes, sinking deeper towards a yawning maw that houses a lurking monster.

As you lower to your knees, expert fingers working to unzip his trousers, you realize you want to meet that beast, if only to stare him in the face and ask why he chooses to cloak himself in shadows despite his radiance.

Once you’ve freed his length from the confines of his boxers, you admire its generous size and girth, smiling at the slight upwards curvature. Gazing at Azul, who’s watching with so much intensity you’d think he’s trying to ascertain whether this moment is real or fake, you press your lips against the head of his cock. It’s a delicate gesture that has him turning away from you, a hand flying up to muffle his voice.

“You can look,” you tell him, hoping it sounds like a suggestion. “There’s no need to shy away.”

You drag your tongue along it, which earns you a shudder, and lick the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip. For a second you pull back and, without ceremony, spit into your hand. That has Azul’s head snapping in your direction, a mixture of confusion and disgust crossing his countenance.

“What?” You blink at him.

“Why—” He pauses to clear his throat, rebuilding his default persona with practiced finesse. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t think you have any lube around, so saliva will have to suffice. Even though it’s not as effective...”

“You humans are so peculiar with your use of fluids,” he mutters, but there’s a spot of intrigue in his tone.

“We’re insane,” you exaggerate with a chuckle.

You’re leaning in again, wrapping your slick fingers around the base of his cock. You aren’t surprised to learn how well-groomed he is, and for half a beat envy strikes you. His life seems so whole—so put together and flawless, even down to the dick you put your lips on. You almost wish it were like that for you; you wish things weren’t a fractured puzzle with missing pieces. It’s a desire you can’t force, unfortunately, because Crowley has yet to discover a way to send you back to your world. For now you can only hold onto hope as you distract yourself with the friends you’ve made so far.

You wonder how long you’ll have to spend in Twisted Wonderland before you start to accept it. Maybe you’ll reject the notion of returning home when it’s finally presented to you in the future. If it’s ever presented.

A strangled gasp slips from Azul and it frees you from your melancholy. With dainty strokes, you take your time fitting him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway, and bob your head back and forth. The rhythm is easy to settle into, and it has Azul sucking in sharp breaths as his hands clutch helplessly at the armrests of his chair. Your other hand crawls up his leg until it reaches his thigh, and you pat it in an effort to coax him into shameless enjoyment. Just relax, you want to tell him. His hand grasps yours, fingers interlacing.

This is new, you think, looking at him through your lashes.

In all the blowjobs you’ve given whilst at this school, you’ve never once held hands during it. But if that’s what Azul wants, you’ll accept it without criticism. Bare skin meets the fabric of his glove and it reminds you that there’s still a barrier between the two of you. There are many, actually, and you’ve only crossed the first threshold.

Your hand squeezes his length in a tighter hold and that prompts a low moan from the depths of his throat. It’s a beautiful sound, and you hope to hear more of him as he unravels before you—a perfect ball of yarn fraying at temptation’s doorstep.

“For today…” His words are coated in lust and pronounced in a hiss. “For today—ah, no—for two months, you’re mine and no one else’s.”

You hum your compliance and the vibration causes him to tighten his grip on your hand just as another moan tumbles from his kissable lips. Had he not been wearing pristine gloves, his fingernails would have surely dug into your skin, but you wouldn’t have minded the rough treatment. You’ve encountered all sorts of temperaments at this school, some more hostile than others. You can handle a little bruising.

Your lips come off of him with a wet pop, and you lick a stripe up the underside of his dick before placing another gentle kiss to the tip. You open your eyes to gauge his reaction. Deep crimson has settled onto his cheeks and is climbing to his ears, and even when he seems trapped in his own haze he’s ethereal under the blue hues of his VIP room. You hold his stare as you close your mouth around him once more and resume the slow, sensual pace you’ve adopted since you started. His other hand cards through your scalp and for a moment you think he might force you to take all of him at once, so you prepare yourself for the mouthful. But then he brushes a few stray strands from your face, delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and you don’t feel the stretch as his cock is shoved to the back of your throat. Instead, he allows you to take as much of him as you’d like, opting to utilize a fistful of your hair to prevent you from detaching yourself. And if you really focus on his treatment, it’s almost as if he’s petting you. Carefully. Mindfully. Sweetly.

Oh.

You’d thank him if you could, but that’s not possible when your mouth is full. And so you opt to show your gratitude in another way—a way that’s wringing him of every delicious sound you’ve ever heard him make. It’s almost criminal you’ve yet to hear such saccharine love cries spill from his lips, as plentiful as a rushing waterfall, and it’s all due to the pretty contract you signed. You put more effort into the speed at which you savor him, letting a few moans slip through for the fun of it, and Azul hisses out a colorful word that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You feel almost lucky to experience this secret side of him.

“It’s a shame this mouth has tasted so many others…” he grumbles and you choose to ignore the complaint, only opening your ears to his breathless gasps and groans.

Azul squeezes your hand with so much force it feels as if he’s trying to tear it from your wrist. He’s caught between moaning and babbling nonsense, incoherent praises pouring from his silver tongue like raindrops on a dreary day, and all it takes are a few expert strokes and your talented, hollowed mouth and he’s crying out in ecstasy as he shoots his creamy load down your throat. You pull off of him, cum dribbling past your lips, and your tongue slips out to collect it before it can stain the floor.

“Wait, hold on! You don’t have to—” He stops mid-sentence as he watches you swallow it all in one gulp, unbothered by the consistency and taste. “Swallow… Ah, my apologies. H-Here.” He fishes through his pocket and produces a silken handkerchief from within.

You take it from him, marveling at its softness, and dab at your slick lips. “Thanks.”

“Consider it remuneration for…that.” He clears his throat and retrieves his glasses before working to clean himself with another handkerchief. “An even exchange, if you will.”

You exhale through your nose, amused. “It was like salty pudding. Kind of, but not really. I’ll know for sure next time we do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” He’s fit himself back into his boxers, trousers zipped and adjusted appropriately. He’d look presentable if it weren’t for his tousled hair and rumpled uniform, evidence of the past few minutes, but even then he’s still a pleasant sight for your eyes.

“Your semen.”

He absorbs your words and then flusters. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t compare it to pudding.”

“I think it’s fine. Your kisses are sweet and flowery and your cum is salty like the ocean. It’s a good balance between—”

He coughs, rather loudly, and you replace your words with jovial laughter. Rising to your feet, you hold his handkerchief out to him, suppressing a playful smile. He takes it from you and folds it into a neat square before placing it on his desk.

“Well, I hope today was satisfactory. You have my Magicam handle, right? Just message me on there whenever you want to do this again.”

“You’re leaving?”

You stare at him. “There’s no reason to stay. Plus, I have to make sure Grim did Professor Crewel’s homework.”

“At the very least, allow me to prepare some tea for you. I’m certain the taste in your mouth can’t be very appealing.”

“I find it’s quite the delicacy, actually,” you tease. “But what’s the catch?”

Now it’s his turn to ogle, brow furrowed as if he doesn’t quite understand the implications of your question.

“The catch. Nothing’s free here.”

“Oh. Right. Well.” He stands from his seat, smooths the wrinkles in his outfit, and adds, “Do you wish to have tea at this moment?”

“Sure, if you’re offering I don’t mind—wait. Wait!”

“And there we have it. Your first wish and it’s so simple. I hardly have to exert any energy.” He flashes his pearly whites at you in a smirk that’s more teeth than lip. “You’re too kind to me, (Name).”

You stick your tongue out at him while he grabs his coat from where it hangs limp on the leather sofa and drapes it over his shoulders. He pats his hair down in an effort to look somewhat together before placing the fedora on his head and putting his glasses on. You move to follow him through the door, but he stops you.

“There are patrons out there. Recall that we aren’t meant to be seen together, lest someone put two and two together.”

“Ah, right.” You fall back on your heel as you remember the stipulation outlined in the contract. “I’ll wait here.”

He doesn’t spare you another word and slips through the now open doorway. Left to your own devices, you could snoop through the many tomes lining the shelves, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. So you flop onto the sofa and listen to the faint chatter that drifts in from outside. Part of you wonders if anyone managed to eavesdrop, but knowing how noisy the Mostro Lounge can get it wouldn’t be surprising if your activities went unheard. At the very least, you’re certain the Leech twins might know of what occurred if they happened to linger near the door. You’d invite them in for the same treatment if they were willing to pay, but according to the contract you aren’t permitted to service anyone outside of Azul.

It’s a shame, but luckily Azul can provide you with anything and everything; so two months of time with him is more profitable than what you’d make in a week servicing the other students. It’s not exactly a loss, and as long as he doesn’t try to cheat you this arrangement will start and end smoothly.

You raise your hand towards the ceiling and flex your fingers, recalling the way his hand fit in yours so effortlessly. There’s a lot you don’t know about Azul. You don’t know what he does in his spare time. You don’t know the things he finds interesting. You don’t know why he chose to hold your hand or treat you with such caution. You’re only familiar with the businessman: the clever, scheming octopus who masquerades as a human with enough faux confidence and bravado to kill a man. And beneath that there is self-doubt—a constant, deteriorating fear that if he does not possess everything he is nothing. He’s an enigma decorated in ornate locks, and you’d like to discover every key until the chains have rusted away and you’ve worked out his complexities.

The door opens on smooth hinges and you sit up, your arm lowering to your side. In walks Azul, holding a saucer with a porcelain teacup. The fragrant scent of herbal tea fills the room and he sets it on the coffee table with an elegance that could rival Pomefiore’s. He lowers into the cushion across from you and nods towards the beverage. Steam rises from the liquid in wispy curls, aromatic tendrils that entice you to drink despite its scalding temperature.

“I sincerely hope you find it enjoyable.”

“I better because it was my wish,” you mutter, lifting the dainty cup from its accompanying saucer. You blow on it in an effort to accelerate the cooling process before glancing at Azul. “I won’t be fooled a second time, Ashengrotto. From now on I’ll choose my words wisely.”

He leans back and smirks. “A wisefish will fare better in the sea than a clownfish. You’re learning.”

Was that…a pun?

“Well, this ‘clownfish’ had you gasping like a beached mer.” Now it’s your turn to bask in amusement as you sip at the hot tea, careful not to burn your tongue. “I’d say I did a pretty good job, too.”

He rolls his eyes, but colors reminiscent of a ripened pomegranate are already climbing up his face. “It was an acceptable way to unwind. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

The flavorful tea rolls down your throat smoothly. “You liked it. I’m good at what I do. No need to skirt around the truth.”

“Sure. Fine. It was…okay. You’re…okay. Mere stress relief, if anything…”

With the way his voice trickles into a murmur of reservation, you get the impression that he’s not exactly confident in admitting the obvious. You surmise you might be the same if this was your first time getting intimate with a classmate. It’s almost invigorating to feast your eyes on his reactions. If only some of your other clients were as entertaining as Azul.

As you work to finish the tea, a single thought lingers in the back of your mind. Yeah, that was definitely a pun. A fish pun.

Your meeting with Azul is purely chance—a ‘luck of the draw’ one might say—and it’s no longer awkward to be caught up in him whenever the two of you are alone together. The past two weeks have been filled with exhausting study sessions, coercing Grim into putting paw to paper, and balancing Azul’s requests in the privacy of his VIP room. The latter feels more like work than the other two, but at the very least you’re rewarded after every exchange.

Azul really can work miracles you’ve concluded. Not that you doubted his capable nature to begin with, but something about him always seemed too good to be true—too perfectly manufactured. A lie inlaid in fool’s gold, and he was simply tipping poison disguised as a panacea into everyone’s gullible ears. Perhaps you’re just as bad as the rest because you’ve signed his contract; you’re trapped for two months, forced to walk the daunting line of staying within the terms.

But it’s an agreement that has pulled you out of your looming financial crisis and has provided you and Grim with delicious foods. And all it costs is an hour spent with Azul, catering to his whims like a doll who only knows how to obey the strings that set her elegant body in motion. You couldn’t have asked for a better deal. Of course you know to keep your wits about you when you willingly enter the too-good-to-be-true lair of a beast and you’re careful to accept the tea he prepares after your acts, ready to hear the steep price for his so-called generosity. So far he has yet to trap you in some elaborate con and you’ve done well to satisfy him with each encounter, but you remain wary of him and his plans. He’s always scheming, and there’s no telling if he intends to help or hurt you with his well-kept secrets.

And if you know anything about Azul and his knack for self-preservation, you’re certain it’s the latter.

You’ve yet to cross into any other territories regarding sex. Azul seems to be content with kissing and stuffing your mouth full of cock and those aren’t tall orders. You manage them well. But you can’t help wondering if it’s truly satisfying for him. He can have anything he wants from you, in any position and in any location, and yet he chooses to move at a snail’s pace. You aren’t faulting him for it, but falling into the same routine isn’t nearly as exciting as the dread of not knowing what comes next.

Maybe it’s safer this way. At least you know what to expect when you stride into the lounge.

“So the clownfish can study.”

“I can do tricks as well.” You gaze up at him from the thick textbook resting on your lap. Suddenly, the once peaceful air in the library’s dimly lit alcove feels colder than it actually is. With your back pressed against the chilled, snow-stamped windowpane, you view Azul from your makeshift fort of cushions as if he’s a prince standing just outside of your glass palace. He’s leaning against the bookcase in front of you, arms folding casually over his chest, and he makes no move to cross into your space. “What trick shall I perform for you today, Mr. Ashengrotto?”

“I’m not in need of your services at the moment.” Faux surprise paints itself on your face and he tuts softly. “Our paths just happened to cross, that’s all. I’m here for matters unrelated to you.”

“That’s a shame. I was here for you.” You turn the book towards him so that he can observe its cover. A panorama of the ocean has been printed on both the front and the back, and a beautiful coral reef resides in the bottom corners while a school of fish swim clustered in the deep blue. “I’m doing research on merfolk.”

“And why is that?”

“They’re interesting.”

“‘Interesting,’ you say.” He narrows his eyes at you, not quite believing or trusting the innocence in your claim.

“I’m serious! I want to learn about your species. Is that so wrong?”

“You could just consult me instead of an outdated, dust-filled textbook.” He gazes past you at the falling snow outside, each tiny flake fluttering through the gloomy sky like coconut shavings. “Although a lesson will cost you.”

“And here I thought we’d reached a point in our relationship where certain favors are free of charge...” Your gaze finds a particular passage on the page and you skim it with brewing curiosity. “Since you aren’t here for my mouth, I can only assume you’re looking for something. In that case, I won’t distract you.”

“Very well.” He peels himself off of the shelf, arms falling to his sides. “I wish you a most pleasant afternoon.”

The conversation should have ended there—you were fully prepared to bid him farewell and continue with your reading—but your hand just had to seize his wrist before the words could escape your lips. And now you’re left with a bizarre predicament, one that has Azul staring down the length of his arm at your fingers secured tightly around his wrist. There’s nothing you can say to rationalize this sudden contact. Truthfully, you have no idea why you grabbed him and you don’t really want to know the reason, wherever it may hide within the folds of your brain.

“Can I help you?” he finally asks, brows raised.

“It was…a reflex,” you admit with a sheepish laugh, but you don’t pull away. Instead you make it worse by tugging him towards you. “A clownfish reflex. No, that’s not it. A-Actually, I was practicing my grip. Y-Yeah! My grip for when I—um—hug my friends tomorrow. In the Mirror Hall! When we say goodbye! Yes, my grip.”

“Oh?” Azul flashes a cocky grin at you, head tilting as he studies your grimace. “Did you know that an octopus’s tentacles function on their own? It seems your hand isn’t connected to your brain.”

It sounds like a cruel dig. It feels like a cruel dig when it embeds itself in your heart, but it’s just the sobering wake-up call you need.

“I guess it’s not,” you mumble, fighting through the confusion in an effort to keep him entertained. Or maybe you really do want him to stay and acting like the clownfish he says you are is your clever way of distracting him from his main priority. You choose to remain perplexed instead of dwelling on that possibility. “Sorry. I’ll let go of you now.”

Once you release him, you’re overcome with a wave of relief. It’s odd that you’d reach out for him when it’s Azul who usually does that, sending terse, to-the-point messages whenever he requires your service. Azul gazes at the empty spot beside you and seats himself before you can come up with another outlandish explanation for your behavior. With this new proximity, his shoulder pressed against yours, you can smell the expensive cologne he takes great pride in wearing—can hear the rustling fabric of his uniform as he scoots closer to peer at the open textbook—and you’re swept up in the murkiest current, tugged along the rolling surf like a tiny boat with shredded sails.

You meet his stare with bemusement. “I thought you were busy.”

“If tolerating a clownfish counts as ‘busy,’ then I am, in fact, drowning in work.”

“You can’t stay away from me.”

“I’d say it’s the opposite.” His gloved fingers wrap around the book and you let him commandeer it. While he scrutinizes the paragraphs of text, you catch yourself admiring his handsome side profile. Once again, it’s almost impossible to fathom sitting beside someone like Azul, whose own fineness ought to be preserved in a museum and not in a slice of this ancient school, where dust is more prevalent than polish. “You do realize I’m an octo-mer, yes? Not a full octopus.”

“I know that,” you retort, yet his disapproving expression stabs you with a terrible shard of shame. “I was just looking at octopus facts to see whether or not any of it correlates to your behavior as a merman.”

“Should I ask why?”

“My intentions are as pure as the snow outside.” His scoff prompts a chuckle from you. “It says the octopus is an intelligent escape artist. Aah, I wish I could fit inside whatever I wanted without having to worry about getting stuck. Not literally, though. That’s not a wish. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Speaking of, you’ve yet to name your wish from our last meeting.”

“You’re right.” You hum low in your throat, ideas populating in your brain at once. Eventually, after much internal deliberation, you decide to ease into it with a simple inquiry. “What’s your opinion on lingerie?”

“Lawnger ray… I don’t believe I’ve heard of that species of ray before.” He blinks at you, glasses sitting tilted on his face.

“Lingerie isn’t a fish.” Gently, your skilled fingers adjust his glasses, a warm smile blossoming on your lips when he wrinkles his nose at you. “Humans wear it. Think of it like…pretty underwear.” Withdrawing your phone from your pocket, you tap at the screen until it’s filled with images for Azul’s viewing pleasure.

He stares at your mobile as if he’s trying to see beyond the nonexistent cataracts in his pastel hues. “Humans are fond of this? I don’t see what’s so practical about wearing scraps of fabric.”

“It’s for fun or to feel sexy. Lots of couples wear it during foreplay. Some wear it during sex. I guess it depends on preference.”

“Foreplay?”

“It’s like easing into sex, but you’re exploring each other and building up to it through things like kissing, role-playing, and touching. If we were to do it, I’d give every inch of you my attention. From your lips to your chest to down there. It’s supposed to heighten arousal by exciting both parties.”

“And this ‘lawnger ray’ somehow helps?”

“If I wear it for you, you’ll understand.” As you say that his eyes drift from the screen to you, raking over your chest and then back up to your face. “But I also found slippers that look like fish, so I’m really stuck on what to wish for right now. Do I put my needs before yours? Are fish slippers better than sex?”

Azul deadpans and the electric tension in the air dissipates like smoke crawling through an open window. “Fish slippers do not sound like a worthwhile investment.”

“Oh, but they are!”

“To think you’d proudly wish for something so foolish... And in my presence, no less.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Have you no shame?”

“But they’re cute. You wouldn’t get it.” Pocketing your phone, you level him with half-lidded eyes. “Or maybe you prefer the ‘lawnger ray.’”

A scowl darkens his features when he hears your mockery of his mispronunciation. “Perhaps you’re less of a clownfish than I initially thought.”

“Then what does that make me now?”

“A megamouth.”

“A what?”

“It’s a species of shark. You wouldn’t get it.”

Now you’re reaching for his hand of your own volition like a marionette with severed strings. “Maybe you’d be willing to enlighten me, a poor, unfortunate soul who lacks marine knowledge?”

He shrinks away for a fraction of a second, but then he reassembles his confidence so quickly that you hardly notice it was deteriorating to begin with. His palm meets yours, fingers not yet interlacing. He stares at you and the rest of the library falls away into ash and dust and the scent of weathered, crinkled pages, and it really feels like you’ve found yourself at the end of the world in this cramped alcove with Azul as your only companion.

With your heart thrumming on newfound adrenaline, you murmur in a tone that you hope is filled with enough allure to tempt the most sinister devils: “Let’s make a deal. You’ll teach me about yourself and I’ll treat you as I have these past few weeks. If you’re feeling generous, you’re more than welcome to throw in those fish slippers as a bonus. I won’t complain.”

“You’re something else entirely. If you want it, work for it,” he says, but he’s listening, considering the bait you’ve dangled before him.

“That’s the plan. So do we have a deal?”

“Allow me to amend the terms. One lesson. No fish slippers. You’ll come see me after the Mostro Lounge has closed tonight.”

“You can do better than that, Ashengrotto. Where’s the challenge you love so much? The high stakes?” You’re well aware that speaking his language isn’t enough to entice him into agreeing. If you really want to wriggle inside Azul’s hearts like a worm in an apple core, you’ll need to sell your charm and negotiation skills as if it’ll put food on the table. And it technically does, as ironic as that sounds. “Let’s make this interesting. If I cum before you, I’ll gracefully accept this lesson as my wish. I’ll even let you choose lingerie for my previous wish. But if you cum first, I’ll be awaiting a pair of fish slippers. Does that sound acceptable?”

“All right. I’ll bite.” He winks at you, and your heart does a tiny somersault inside your chest. Smirking, he finally intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s a deal.”

Not wanting to dwell any further on that internal response, you jump up from the cushion, hand parting from his, and brace yourself against the bookcase. Glancing over your shoulder at Azul, you wiggle your hips playfully. “You said it yourself. I’d be better off taking a lesson from you instead of that old textbook, so there’s no need to use it anymore.”

Azul seems to be debating the risks that come with this wager, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, and for a moment you think he might back out, cowed into a premature defeat at the thought of some nosy student stumbling upon the explicit display. But, to your delight, he shuts the book and sets it aside, rising to his feet in one fluid motion.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Since you think I’m such a megamouth, I’ll use something else instead.” You lift your pleated skirt to reveal the pudgy flesh of your thighs. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”

“Naturally.” His hands find your waist, gloved fingertips ghosting over your bare skin. “I do hope you’ve prepared yourself for defeat.”

“Like I’ll let that happen.”

Reaching into the depths of your uniform blazer, you withdraw a small jar that fits in the palm of your hand, unassuming with its clear, gel-like appearance. Azul watches as you make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down almost impatiently, before yanking the cork out of the bottle with your teeth. After spilling a generous amount into your hand, you work his flaccid cock in a loose fist. There’s something uniquely appealing about doing this in a corner of the library, where you’re pressured into silence to avoid getting caught. You wonder who’d chew you out if they discovered the both of you. Just what sort of punishment comes from fucking in the library? As intriguing of a mystery as that is, you’d prefer to keep your record clean (for the most part), lest it come back to burden you in the future.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to stiffen with your gentle ministrations, each stroke slow and deliberate. Azul hisses out a breath when you pull away, and you hardly have time to react before he’s shoving you against the bookcase, slipping his slick length between the softness of your thighs. His arms wrap around you and he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck as he moves his hips, searching for the right pace. You chew your lip and stifle a dreamy sigh at the lewd delight the friction provides.

“Let’s start with the anatomy of an octo-mer,” he murmurs against your skin, and despite how textbook it sounds you shudder involuntarily. Had it been anyone else, you’re certain that pairing this topic with your current situation would have squeezed a laugh out of you. But since it’s Azul, you listen intently, even if it feels like the beginning of a lecture. “We’re eight-limbed invertebrates with three hearts. Our blood is blue, which you humans seem to find abnormal, even though it’s not that different from your own blood. It’s only blue because of haemocyanin, which contains copper instead of the iron you humans have in your blood. If you think of it like—”

“That’s great, but tell me about you.” You crane your neck and offer him a grin. “The elusive Azul Ashengrotto... I wonder what sort of habitat he dwells in. I wonder what his favorite foods are, if he hunts for prey with his silver tongue or his bare hands, and if there’s more beneath the clever conman than he lets on. Maybe he’ll say yes to the fish slippers if I kiss him drunk. Oh, I’ll have to take notes. The Ashengrotto species is not immune to kisses and blow—ow!”

A sharp pinch to your side. And then his low warning: “You’re really pushing it, Miss Megamouth.”

Laughter trickles out of you. “My bad. I’m just curious.”

“Why?” The one-word query sounds so brittle and sad, almost as if he can’t fathom why you’d ever want to know such information, and your playful nature softens.

“Because we’re so obviously more than strangers and yet I hardly know anything about you.”

“Right... In that case...” His fingers grip your chin, a touch so benign you’d think he’s handling glassware, and he guides your head so that you’re no longer looking at him. “I...like to collect things.”

“Like?”

Something wet touches your neck, as fleeting as a sun shower. You can’t tell if it’s his lips or a tongue, but it traces its way down your skin until it’s dampened your uniform collar. Your heart recognizes the liquid well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to confront him on the matter.

“Coins, mainly. Contracts. Magic…” His intonation falters and he clears his throat. “Interesting things.”

Your fingers wrap around the shelf to steady yourself, and you inhale sharply when he makes a sudden, quick thrust that has his dick rubbing against your clothed pussy.

“I—hah—hope our contract...made it into your collection.”

“Of course. I take pride in every arrangement, no matter how personal it may be.” He squeezes your hip playfully and the melancholy gradually evaporates. “Ours is by far my favorite.”

“Even though I can’t give you any magic?”

“You’ve given your time to me. That’s incredibly valuable. Priceless, I’d say.”

“And yet it’s the price I pay in exchange for your ‘bottomless generosity.’”

“Oh, hush.”

Now you feel his lips on your neck, a sensation so wonderful and warm that you can’t help tilting your head to offer him more of your bare skin. You hum your approval, eyes fluttering shut as you resign yourself to the moment. The only sounds that permeate the crisp silence are the delicious squelches of skin on skin, Azul’s lustful whimpers, and your soft pants. He holds you against him as he fucks into your thighs and presses delicate kisses into your heated skin.

For the first time since you arrived at this school, you feel so secure and wanted—genuinely wanted and not just for secret exchanges behind alluring architecture. It’s reassuring to be held and kissed and touched, a special sort of comfort you’ve found in Azul. You wonder if this is just another sugary dream you’ve trapped yourself in and Azul is merely a performer in the play orchestrated by your mind. When his hand moves to unbutton your blouse, skillful fingers tugging your tie down, you realize this isn’t just an alternate reality constructed from the secret desires locked away in the confines of your heart. And knowing this is so very conflicting because you’ve never done anything like this with previous clients. Nothing has ever been as emotion-driven as this currently feels.

But you’re as good an actor as Azul. Perhaps the both of you realize a certain level of showmanship is required for this unique friendship.

Friendship. Since when did the two of you become friends? Was it that day in the lounge when he’d first proposed this arrangement? Or was it the minute you met him after he’d trapped so many unfortunate souls in his tricky contracts, and you, Jack, and Grim had debated whether you should sign Ramshackle away under the dimming glow of the VIP room? Or maybe it was the day you sat at his bedside in the infirmary, offering your ear while he agonized over his ruined reputation and the fact that everyone—that you—had seen his true self: a clumsy, crybaby octopus who can’t exist without gilded lies and stolen skills.

In the midst of his self-loathing, you’d placed your hand over his trembling, bandaged one and said, “Ruined reputation or not, you’re still you. And the people who really, truly care for you won’t abandon you because of everything that happened. If they’re really your friends, they’ll forgive you. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re just relieved you’re alive.” He stared at you, confined in his own silent awe, and with his defenses momentarily compromised you delivered a quick smack to his arm, to which he immediately flinched away from. “But that also doesn’t mean you can pull a stunt like this again. If you do, I’ll turn you into takoyaki and feed you to the twins!”

Azul's wry laughter had him grimacing seconds later. Despite the pain that flashed on his face, he managed his classic smirk. “I’d like to see you try.”

“There he is! Welcome back, Azul,” you said, grinning through the discomfort of your own wince-worthy bruises. If he noticed the way your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach, he didn’t verbalize it, instead choosing to peer at you with his lips pursed in a thin line. Thinking, as always, of what to say next.

“I never want to let you go.”

Your heart trips over itself and every musing promptly disintegrates. “S-Sorry?”

“Ah. It’s…nothing,” he whispers, smiling against your skin.

A shudder racks through you when he tugs your bra down to free your breasts. The cold air immediately hardens your nipples and you shiver against him. His gloved hands fit perfectly over those tender mounds and he handles them with his usual gentleness. Even though he’s murmuring about his affinity for the piano and how he’d like to play you a piece he composed, all you can focus on is the euphoric feeling of his dick sliding between your thighs, back and forth in a drag that sends electricity up your spine.

You whine pitifully, a snuffed sort of sound that only entices Azul more. With a breathy chuckle, he rolls your puffy nipples between his fingers, and more lovely moans cascade from your lips. There’s no point in hiding your obvious enjoyment from him—not that you had any intentions of being opaque with him in the first place. You want to unravel with him, fending off orgasmic highs for the sake of preserving your pride and winning a bet. And as you push back against him, clamping your thighs around his length, which has him hissing lowly, competition catches a spark and ignites.

“You can cum whenever you’d like,” he reminds you, and you bark out a chuckle that’s more gasp than laugh.

“Only if you cum first.” You wriggle your hips against his pelvis and sigh dramatically. “It’s not nice to make a lady wait.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Derisive as ever, it hardly carries an ounce of sincerity. One hand detaches itself from your breast and you observe him in your peripheral as he pulls his glove off with his teeth. It’s tucked between your breasts next, and you roll your eyes at him, a humorous grin settling on your face when his fingers dip between the cleavage, a fleeting, teasing touch. His ungloved hand travels further down, ghosting over your stomach, before finding the delightful space between your legs. “I won’t keep you any longer, Miss Megamouth.”

His hand slips into your panties and the pads of his fingers brush along your clit. You jolt against him, posture going rigidly stiff.

“Hey, no fair…” Your whine is loud in the desolate quiet of the library.

“If I recall—” accompanied with another determined thrust— “you never specified what can and cannot be done in order to achieve victory. That was your first mistake.”

You attempt a weak scoff, but his finger grinds against that sensitive nub, rolling in precise circles, and your legs tremble. “I just... J-Just made it easy for you. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that so? Your mindless generosity rivals that of the S-Sea Witch.”

“Ooh, was that a voice crack? Are you close?”

“N-Nonsense.”

“There’s no shame in cumming first. So—haah—be a good boy and cum for me, okay?”

The sweetness in your voice is enough to elicit the tiniest whimper, and so you clench your thighs tightly around him again, certain that this is enough to guarantee your well-earned win. Azul pulls you against him in a way that mirrors possessive greed. But just before you can tease him any further, you look up and find someone peering right back at you through an empty space between the many texts that line the shelf.

“My, my.” Jade tilts his head at you, a wide smile sharpening on his lips when he observes the situation laid out before him. “Pardon my intrusion. I do hope I’m not interrupting your extracurricular.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Azul rests his chin on your shoulder and replies in a voice that’s now surprisingly composed, “You’re right on time, actually. We’re just about finished here.”

“But I haven’t even—oh!” Your fingers curl around the ledge when Azul tugs on your perky nipple and squeezes your clit with his other hand, and before you can stop yourself you’re biting into your arm to muffle your keening cry as your orgasm washes over you unexpectedly, soaking your panties and leaving you shuddering in the aftermath.

“Your second mistake,” he whispers against your skin, pride encasing every syllable, “was thinking you could beat me at my own game.”

He slides his slick cock out from between your thighs and removes his hands from you, instead guiding you around to face him before forcing you to your knees. Through hazy, lust-filled eyes, you meet his victorious stare. Pulling the other glove from his dominant hand, he grips your chin, forcing your lips apart, and he pumps himself a few more times before releasing his sticky load all over your face. By pure instinct, your tongue darts out across your lips to gather the cum that’s smeared on it like pearly gloss. You don’t miss the quiver that wracks Azul’s rigid frame. He clears his throat and assumes his usual poise, though the reaction is not lost on you.

“To conclude our lesson with a final fun fact.” He retrieves the handkerchief Jade offers through the gap in the bookshelf. “Should an octopus become bored or stressed, it may resort to autophagy as a means of stimulation.”

“Is that right?” You peer up at him through your lashes, intrigue crawling across your face.

“Luckily, I have no need to feast on my limbs. You’re plenty stimulating.” After cleaning himself up and sliding his gloves back on, he passes the frilly cloth to you, gazing sidelong at Jade. “Let us be on our way. Time is of the essence.”

Jade bows his head in agreement before turning to address you, a hand over his heart. “I would suggest you stay warm on this dreadfully cold day, but it seems you’ve already found an adequate heat source.”

And then they depart, leaving you and your flustered heart on the floor.

“Damn it! I nearly had him,” you grumble, gripping the handkerchief in a tight fist. The loss doesn’t cut very deep, but it does provide you with some useful insight. You’re left to dwell on it as you button your blouse and clean your face.

The Ashengrotto species is not immune to praise.

Grim is treated to the sight of you twirling around your room at the crack of dawn. He narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed with your melodious humming or the arrhythmic ballet you’re performing.

“Yer dancin’ and singin’ like yer in love. It’s gross.” He buries his face in his paws. His next words are muffled, but they reach your ears nonetheless. “Some of us are tryin’ to sleep. Nngh...”

“You’re not going to believe this!” you exclaim, jumping from foot to foot. “Look at this!”

Despite his initial complaints, Grim still lifts his head from the bed to observe the neatly wrapped box in your hands. “Is it food? If not I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“Hold on! You have to be awake for this.” Grinning, you hold the parcel’s accompanying envelope between two fingers. “Voilà! A letter.”

“Ya lost me.”

“It’s from Azul.”

Your furry companion pulls a face at the mention of Octavinelle’s slippery Housewarden. “Not that guy… What does he want now? I’m not washin’ dishes again! No way!”

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” You set the box beside you and sit on the edge of the bed, turning the letter over to analyze the golden stamp and the sender’s name scrawled on the front in looping script, delicate letters connecting to form a pretty slant. “His handwriting’s really nice.”

“Ya might as well kiss him at this point,” Grim mutters, sticking his tongue out in disgust. Oh, Grim, if only you knew... “He’s nothin’ but a no-good, lyin,’ cheatin,’ fraud!”

“But he’s also rich. Or… Yeah, right? Isn’t the majority at this school rich?” The inquiry hangs heavy in the air while you break the wax seal and tear the envelope open to get to the letter that rests within. It’s a short message—hardly worth the fancy stationery—and you read it aloud. “‘Dearest Clownfish, enclosed you will find those vile slippers. They are not cute and I refuse to waste brainpower fathoming why humans are charmed by peculiar oddities such as these shoes. I suppose that is the nature of contrasting species and the limitless curiosity that dwells in the capacity of one’s brain. In any case, I shall await your arrival at the Mostro Lounge tonight. 9:30 p.m. Do not be late, Miss Megamouth. Otherwise I will send two of my finest escorts to retrieve you.’”

Miss Megamouth. You roll your eyes. I liked ‘Dearest Clownfish’ better.

“I don’t get it. Why’s he want you to come down at night?” Grim snatches the parchment from your hands. “Sounds suspicious…”

“I’m…washing dishes.”

“Ugh. Good luck.” He casts the paper aside and you catch it as it flutters midair. “I’m goin’ back to sleep now.”

Riddled with excitement, you wave Grim off as he yawns and curls up under the blankets and pull the package onto your lap. It’s the size of a shoebox, and the wrapping paper is an iridescent silver. When you tilt it one way, it shines purple. Another way and it’s blue. Unable to speculate on the truth in his letter, you shred the wrappings and tug the lid off. Sure enough, a pair of fish slippers rest within and your heart skips a beat.

“Weird.” You run your finger over the smooth material. “He’s so weird.”

And his generosity lingers with you for the rest of the morning.

Farewells are not so depressing when they indicate a temporary absence and an eventual return. When you throw your arms around each of your friends, laughing at the way Deuce’s cheeks burn as pink as the flamingos in Heartslabyul or the way Ace grumbles into your hair about how he won’t miss you, you realize that a few weeks without them won’t be the end of the world. If this had been the last time you’d ever hear their voices and feel their comforting warmth, you’re certain there would be more emotions. Plenty of tears to out-rain even Kalim’s Oasis Maker.

That isn’t to say you aren’t sad to see them vanish through the impressive mirror, its foggy surface devouring each student like the powerful jaws of a Great White. You wonder if it’s ever sent a student to the wrong location before. Then again, if you came here through some old mirror’s summons then you’re certain that’s not too far from the realm of possibility.

Envy tugs at your heart when you pull away from Jack, whose embrace is far too tight and tense yet endearing enough. You feel the jealousy coil around the beating muscle until it’s constricting it, and you have no choice but to force a smile as you send the rest of your friends off with hugs and, for those who are too stubborn, a cheerful fist bump/high-five—or, if you’re Riddle, a stiff handshake. Really, you’d have thought he’d be more relaxed in the time following his Overblot. But you’re not Riddle and the both of you have different feelings about the things that keep you awake at night.

Still, you wish you could leave through that mirror, if only to see your loved ones for a coveted day of holiday cheer.

You and Grim are starved after wishing everyone safe travels and happy holidays. He’s sprawled in your arms while you carry him from the Mirror Hall, groaning about how if he isn’t fed within the next few minutes he’ll shrivel into nothing. A drama queen, that Grim.

“Ya walk too slow!” he declares after a full minute of whining. “If ya ain’t gonna walk fast like a good hench-human, then I’ll just get a head start.” And with a huff, he jumps from your arms, landing perfectly on all fours, before trotting off in the direction of the cafeteria. “And I won’t be savin’ ya any food. Not even a morsel!”

You watch him go with a fond grin. Maybe this winter holiday won’t be so terrible after all. You’ve got Grim and the ghosts to keep you entertained and when it comes to bed-warming you have Azul.

“(Name)!”

You turn at the utterance of your name and spot a student you’ve dubbed the Pomefiore Pest. He’s nice, if not irritatingly insistent, and he’s been sending you message after message wondering where you’ve been and why you haven’t responded yet. Thank the Great Seven for that glorious mute button; it works wonders. You were hoping you could evade him for a little longer, but what is life without its inconveniences?

“Oh! Hey… You? What’s up?”

He falls into step beside you. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought I’d catch you at the Hall today, but you were so busy with everyone else.”

“That’s me—the busiest bee on campus.” You wink at him. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah? I think that much should be obvious.” His brows knit into the beginning of a glare, but he catches himself before he can scowl outright. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “I want to use your mouth today. You’ll let me, right? I’ll give you double from last time.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m about to eat right now. Maybe later?” You try to force as much dejection into your tone as possible, hoping it’s enough to garner his sympathy and drive him away.

“There won’t be a later, though. You’ll just keep ignoring me. I get that you’ve got stuff to do, but we had a deal. I pay you and you suck. That shouldn’t be so hard to follow.”

For a student from Pomefiore, his vocabulary sure is crude. Surely Vil has taught him better. You’d jest if you could, but he seems slightly worked up for your liking. And from observing Ace’s interactions with Riddle, you’ve learned it’s not smart to poke a seething bear.

“I really wish I could, but I can’t. I’m busy right now.”

“You’re going to see Housewarden Ashengrotto, aren’t you?”

That stops you in your pursuit of good food and even better company. You gaze at him with a frown.

“Why would I?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.” With a sigh, he folds his arms over his chest. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that guy. It’s impossible to get near you without those Leech brothers getting in the way.”

Someone’s perceptive. Or maybe you just like to watch, you stalker.

“You think so?” You rack your brain for a suitable scapegoat. It would be so easy to play it off as a fake crush or part of some elaborate plan to get closer to Azul to learn all of his secrets, but no one’s meant to know about Azul’s involvement with you. And you’re really not itching to break that term on this beautiful, albeit chilly, winter morning. “Give it time. In a month or so, we can get back to our usual routine. New year, new me, right?”

“I’m not waiting that long! Why can’t we just do it now? This was never a problem before.”

“Is it so wrong to want a break? You should put yourself in my shoes and try sucking half the school’s dicks. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“You little—”

With an offended scoff, he seizes your wrist and yanks you off the cobbled path in the opposite direction. You stumble along, glancing at him and then over your shoulder at your destination as it grows smaller and smaller. The wintry wind whips at your face, snowflakes cutting into your frosted skin like a dozen intricate blades. Your annoying acquaintance says nothing when he slams you against the nearest surface, but the frustrated expression he wears speaks volumes about his intentions. You don’t react when he pulls your blazer open and sloppily unbuttons your shirt, too dumbstruck to realize the gravity of the situation. But once it dawns on you, your heart nearly stops.

“Hey, wait a minute.” You reach out to push him away, but he snatches your hand and places it just above his crotch.

“You can take your break after I’m done using you, got that?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It’s snowing.”

“So? The weather doesn’t mean anything.”

You jerk away when his hand slips under your shirt to give your breast a squeeze that’s so rough you’re certain his fingernails will leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. Wincing, you squirm in his grasp when his knee slides between your legs.

“Stop it. This isn’t funny anymore.”

“Now you know how I felt when you ignored me, you stupid slut.”

That’s as far as he gets because he’s doused in a surge of water seconds later. Shocked, he detaches himself from you and grabs at his soaked clothes. You can’t tell if he’s feeling the chill or is just so enraged he’s started trembling, but you hope it’s the former. Standing a few meters away and tucking his magic pen back into his breast pocket is your aquatic savior.

“Oh dear. What loutish behavior and towards a lady, no less. To be devoid of common courtesy and basic manners… Were you raised by barbarians?” Azul tuts as he covers the distance with graceful strides. He shrugs his coat off and drapes it over your shuddering frame before facing the drenched student. “It’s insulting an ignoramus like you resides in Pomefiore.”

“H-Housewarden Ashengrotto!” he manages to say through chattering teeth. “I promise t-this isn’t what it looks like.”

“No? Then am I a fool to assume (Name) wanted to be treated so callously?” He narrows his eyes at him as he stands in front of you like a protective knight in finely ironed uniform. You wrap his coat around yourself, relishing in the scent of his cologne. If you really think about it, it’s almost as if Azul’s hugging you. “I’d prefer not to waste my precious time or breath on a poor creature such as yourself. Lying will only hollow your grave and further cement your guilt.”

The Pomefiore student trips over his own tongue as he attempts to keep up with Azul’s quick wit. Eventually he grinds out a halfhearted excuse about how you were just playing hard to get and that you’re not normally this cold. According to him, you just needed a push in the right direction.

Azul chuckles, and the sound is cruel and harsh. “If I recall, you said the weather wasn’t a problem. I do hope you enjoy ice sculptures. They’re popular around this time of year, are they not?”

And with that, he turns on his heel and guides you away from the student, whose feet are now frozen to the ground. You ignore his shouts and inauthentic pleas for forgiveness as you walk beside Azul, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Even his hand on your back is a comfort and you don’t quite hear his voice as you walk, focusing on his touch and presence rather than his words.

Azul’s determined gait comes to a halt in the courtyard under leafless trees with their gnarled limbs reaching towards the gloomy clouds above, and he’s looking at you with so much concern it twists your heart into knots. Your stare slides from him to the trees, and they remind you of a skeleton’s hands with their bent fingers scrabbling for a handhold in the vast, endless sky.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m…just a little shaken, but I’ll be okay.” You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you showed up when you did.” Your breath materializes before you in a puff of air that’s reminiscent of fire-breathing dragons. Your grip on his coat tightens. “Um… That student will be fine, though, right? I know he’s terrible, but freezing to death can’t be ideal or enjoyable.”

“Jade and Floyd will carve him out once the ice has reached his knees. I surmise the chill will have worked its way into the very marrow of his bones once they’re done. Hopefully this little lesson will leave him with plenty of time to reflect.”

Yikes.

“I can pay you back for saving me. I know nothing’s ever free with you, so just name your price and—”

“Is that really all you can say?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is your brain wired so foolishly that you’d sell yourself without having considered the consequences?” he snaps, glaring. “If you used a sliver of your brain… Honestly. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you didn’t throw yourself at every student like a slab of meat!”

Shock digs into you like a sharp blade and you take a step away from him, betrayal flashing across your face. Suddenly, his coat feels less like a welcome embrace and more like a heavy burden.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything sexual. I meant a favor or something…” With narrowed eyes, you meet his frosty scowl. “Is that all you see me as? Just some toy to be passed around amongst the students here?”

Azul’s expression softens for a moment. “That’s not what I—”

“No, that is what you meant, you ass!” You shrug his coat off and shove it at him, disgusted at his insinuation that you’re nothing more than a human sex toy. “I do all of this for a reason, but you wouldn’t know anything about that because you’ve never been forced into a strange world with no way out. You try making enough Madol to live in Ramshackle! You think I enjoy what I do? I don’t even know half of these guys and I definitely don’t like any of them.” You inhale a breath of icy air, hold it, and then exhale slowly. Arguing won’t accomplish anything, and throwing meaningless insults around would just add more fuel to the already flaming fire. “Now that I know what you really think of me, I’ll be leaving.”

“You misunderstood me. I only meant to say—”

You’re already walking away, gritting your teeth as you force yourself to remain composed. Hot, salty tears gather in your eyes, but you’re not quite sure why you’re on the verge of crying. It’s strange; you’ve never cared about Azul’s opinion before. So why now?

When you make it back to Ramshackle Dorm, you flop onto your bed and allow hidden emotions to seep through the cracks. Even the prepackaged sandwich Grim salvaged from the cafeteria fails to lift your spirits. Instead, he curls beside you and listens to your tearful rant. And when you’ve exhausted yourself, he lies on your pillow and falls asleep with you.

Nine-thirty rolls around, but you’re too busy playing card games with Grim and the ghosts to bother with the time.

After a week of ignoring countless summons from Azul, narrowly dodging the twins, and ranting your frustrations to Grim over tuna cans and candy, your rebellion ends at two in the morning when a slew of notifications shake you from your peaceful slumber. With a sleepy groan, you reach for your phone to shut it off when your eyes catch sight of the sender. It’s Floyd, and he’s bombarded you with one-word messages that spell out sentences when you skim through them.

He’s relentless, you think, irritated. I’m sure Azul told him to do this. The octopus doesn’t want to look desperate.

Yawning, you mute Floyd’s contact just as a final message populates: come to the lounge, shrimpyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!! :D

With so many exclamation points and an emoticon that would have been disarming had it not come from Floyd, you wonder if it’s truly worth getting out of bed for. But then you realize that it isn’t a suggestion—it’s a demand—and if Azul really wanted to see you at this very moment he’d send the twins to fetch you regardless of your willingness or the state of your consciousness.

I hate him, your brain concludes, but your heart houses covert disagreement.

Since you value Grim’s beauty sleep and are against paying for the damages that will inevitably come should the twins break into Ramshackle Dorm, you slither out of bed. Throwing a robe on over your nightwear, you slide your feet into your fish slippers and stomp out into the cold. The walk is frigid, and the chill bites fiercely, but irritation fuels you as you storm through the Hall of Mirrors and emerge at Octavinelle’s entrance, a foul tirade brewing on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can burst through the doors of the Mostro Lounge to confront Azul, someone’s hands shield your face.

“How much is Azul paying you, Floyd?”

“You’re good!” he exclaims with a breathy giggle. “I thought for sure you’d guess Jade.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s your slimy boss? I need to have a word with him.”

“Azul is waiting inside.” Jade’s voice. “Before you decide to converse with your fists, I suggest you take a moment to appreciate the view.”

“The view? What are you—hey!”

Floyd twirls you once before shoving you into the Mostro Lounge. The doors shut behind you with a resonating boom and you can hear the faint sound of footsteps as the twins depart. Frowning, you survey the dimly lit lounge. The aquarium’s luminosity dyes everything in an icy blue, an eerie hue that reminds you of submarines cutting through the deep, dark sea with a single searchlight. Someone claps and a spotlight clicks on, illuminating a table filled with drinks and finger foods in a pale yellow-green glow. Some of the dishes are recognizable—like the tower of chocolate-covered fruits and sparkling juices in champagne flutes—but some are foreign to your eyes—like the green clusters of what looks like tiny grapes and the seashells with a filling unknown to you—and you assume these originated from the Coral Sea. You gaze up at the octopus-shaped chandelier, brows furrowed.

“Humans have the most interesting terminology. What was it? Oh, right. ‘Comfort food.’” Azul stands before you with his usual debonair grin. Unlike you, he’s still dressed in his uniform and he looks presentable and perfect. As expected of a showman. “I would like to indulge in the comforts of good food with you. You’ll join me, won’t you?”

Your only response is the longest, loudest sigh you can muster.

Azul fidgets. ��It’s not exactly a resort, but it’s still something.”

“Resort? Oh. You...remembered that?”

“Of course. I have an impeccable memory, after all.” He chuckles at your unimpressed glare. “For tonight, Octavinelle shall be your resort.”

“Wow, Azul. You’re really...” You trail off and his eyes widen in anticipation, awaiting praise. Your next words are like salt to the sensitive octopus that lives within him. “The most foolish clownfish I’ve ever met. No, more than that. You’re a megamouth and an annoying, pathetic, mean-hearted octopus. All three of your hearts are mean.” You cross your arms over your chest, but your defiance soon shrivels. “But…I also signed your contract, so I guess that makes me your contractual fool.”

“For two months,” he agrees, and you roll your eyes. “I deserve your ire, and now that you’ve rattled off such endearing adjectives I would like to formally apologize. It wasn’t proper to say those things to you. You were right. I don’t know how it feels to be forced into a magical world with no way out, but I can at least relate to how helpless you must feel. I, too, felt helpless when I came to the surface for the first time.” He clears his throat, awkwardly wringing his hands. “In any case, I do hope you’ll find it in your human heart to forgive me.”

“That depends. Is this entire feast for show, or are you genuinely apologizing?”

“I am genuinely apologizing.” He huffs. “And here you are in my humble lounge, fishing with your doubt. That saddens me.”

“Keep running that mega mouth of yours and I’ll leave without an ounce of forgiveness. I don’t take kindly to being woken from a good dream, Ashengrotto.”

“And yet you remain.” He whistles as he steps around you, a playful glint in his bright hues. “In the business, that’s known as getting your tail fin in the door.”

“I only came because I didn’t want to get kidnapped.” Shaking your head in disappointment, you stride towards the buffet and plop down in the booth. “And I’m only staying for the food.”

He lowers into the seat across from you. “Then please eat to your heart’s content. Free of charge, of course. Consider this an extension of my apology.”

Forgoing hesitation, you reach for a champagne flute, which houses a liquid that’s as blue as the sky and as frothy as sea surf, and admire its shine when it catches the light. “You must want something in exchange for all of this. The Azul I know wouldn’t go out of his way for an apology.”

“Your skepticism wounds me. I’m a gentleman.”

You take a long sip from the sparkling juice, savoring its sweet effervescence. “What do you want?”

“Patience, my dear. Comfort food is meant to be enjoyed in tranquility, not suspicion.”

Your heart jumps at the words ‘my dear.’ The aquarium looks much nicer at that moment. Coral twists in an array of colors and various species of fish swim freely, undisturbed by the meal taking place right in front of them. You catch yourself wishing to join in their aquatic world, a breathtaking place where your heavy feelings turn weightless in the deep blue and you can simply float away.

“Truthfully, I had intended to share this moment with you many nights ago.”

“So that’s what you meant in your letter,” you muse, hazarding a glance at him. He’s bathed in that same dappled light from the VIP room and you reach for him, wanting so badly to run your fingers through his hair, over his chest, on top of his hand. But then your fingers pluck a chocolate-covered fruit from the silver platter and you bring it to your lips. “The fish slippers are comfortable, by the way.”

“It seems you’ve taken quite the shine to them. I’ll admit they’re unique.”

A subdued smile threatens to blossom, so you bite into the strawberry. Sweetness coats your tongue at once, and a delighted hum escapes your pursed lips. Azul’s expression softens at your obvious enjoyment.

“Why’d you get them, though? I lost our bet.”

He rubs at a nonexistent stain on the tablecloth. “You looked so enthusiastic talking about those dreadful shoes. It was hard to not want to get them after enduring your ramblings.”

You freeze in your pursuit of another bite, the half-eaten strawberry poised at your mouth. “So it was a gift?”

“It was not a gift. I do not give...gifts.”

“You so do!” You slap the table and smirk. “Maybe I should lose our next bet.”

“Perish the thought. There won’t be another bet.”

“Fine, fine. But you admit it’s a gift, right?”

“Ugh. Honestly... Yes, it was a gift. I suppose it’s because you’ve charmed me.”

“O-Oh. Um…” You force a scowl despite the rising heat in your cheeks and add, “Well, I’m not charmed. I’m still angry at you.”

A sudden laugh bursts from him, unrestrained and filled with honest amusement. You gawk at him, bewitched with shock. Real, raw laughter sounds so musical coming from him—a sound that can only be produced when he’s effortlessly comfortable. Your resolve melts, and with another saccharine nibble you begin to dismiss every hostile barb that once occupied your thoughts. This Azul, you’ve decided, is by far the most enjoyable to be around. His shoulders lose their stiffness as he leans back against the cushioned booth, pure joy scrawled on his youthful face.

“For the record, I don’t truly see you as a piece of meat. It’s a distasteful comparison—an immature gibe, if anything. You’re more than that, but I’m certain you’re aware of this fact.” When you don’t reply, he smiles at you. A real smile, not his usual smirk-grin that he wears for confidence’s sake. “I’d say you’re quite the siren or something akin to a dessert. Sweet and tempting, a tantalizing human with a pretty voice and a pretty pair of legs. From every angle, you really are a painter’s finest work. I’ve found myself immersed.”

Sitting before him, clad in an oversized robe, sleepwear, and fish slippers, you do not feel like a painter’s finest work. Hell, you don’t even fit the classy theme of the Mostro Lounge, and you almost refute his claims outright. But with his gaze pinned entirely on you, you absorb his flattery like a greedy sponge in a puddle.

And with another sip from the flute, your heart pounding out an erratic rhythm and head swimming with elation, you realize you’ve shipwrecked into Azul’s three hearts. Even if his honeyed sentiments are insincere—even if he’s doing all of this to gain your trust and forgiveness—you want him to reciprocate for just a minute.

“It’s nice to feel wanted,” you whisper, and he perks up at the truth you’ve just uttered. “Knowing that someone waits for you and enjoys your company… I guess I just wanted to feel like I mattered here. I can’t use magic like you. I can’t grant wishes or fly on a broom. There’s not a magical bone in my body. For the longest time I felt so…useless and alone. There’s only one thing I am good at here and that’s making everyone else feel wanted. Because when I do that—when I’m able to give everyone else whatever it is they want—it makes me feel like I belong. Like I have a purpose.”

Azul stares at you and the silence that stretches between the two of you is so palpable that you hurry to shove another chocolate into your mouth. Why did I just say all of that? I probably sounded like an idiot. He reaches for your hand and you meet him halfway, fingers interlacing.

“But you’re not alone.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, squeezing.

“And who cares whether you can use magic?” Azul exhales noisily. “Honestly, there are plenty of respectable professions out there that don’t require any magic. Plus, the fact that you were even able to come here in the first place is magical enough. Call it destiny or fate or, Sea Witch forbid, ‘luck,’ it’s not every day Night Raven College is graced with a fascination such as yourself. And you’re very wanted! I want you, so don’t think for a minute that you aren’t... Ah. No, that’s not what I—well, it is what I meant. But... S-Stop looking at me like that! Forget I just said that! I meant, I want you as... As a companion. Like a friend! A contractual friend, all right? So stop smiling like a fool!”

He yanks his hand back and picks up his champagne flute, huffing around the rim. A flustered Azul is so very rare, and it’s a rich sight you savor.

“Oh? So we’re friends now?”

“We’re just two souls engaging in mutually beneficial affairs.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of saying we’re friends.”

He raises a loose fist that’s not entirely threatening and your heart floats.

“Azul, I really—” You bite your tongue. “I’m…sorry for calling you an ass and ignoring you. You deserved it, but right now I just want things to go back to normal. That way we can end on positive terms come Valentine’s Day.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He lifts his glass from the table; the golden liquid winks at you as it sloshes with the movement. “Shall we toast to that?”

You raise your flute and the two glasses join with a gentle clink. And it’s at that exact moment when you feel a tightness in your lungs—the kind that’s reminiscent of suffocation and drowning. You down what’s left in your glass before turning your perplexed and slightly unnerved stare on Azul, who regards you with a growing smirk. Just when you thought you’d gotten a glimpse of the real Azul, he returns to his scheming self. Your throat continues to close up despite the liquid that travels down it, and it’s a familiar feeling that brings forth a recollection of your visit to that fantastical museum in the Coral Sea.

Azul reaches for something under the table before passing it to you. It’s another gift wrapped in that same translucent paper from before.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I’d like to see it on you at the very least.” He rises from his seat, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. “You did say I’d come to understand the allure of lingerie if you wore it for my eyes.”

You listen to his retreating footsteps, wasting no time in tearing the present open. Inside lies a beautiful two-piece in the same shade of purple as Octavinelle’s crest. The top is bejeweled with pale gemstones, beads, and small seashells—polished baubles that glimmer when touched by the light—and strings of pearls hang low from the straps. The bottom is a short, wrap-front sarong skirt. Sequins wink at you when you lift it from the box to feel the sheer material between your forefingers.

It’s innocently modest, almost like a swimsuit, and you wonder what the significance is in this particular set. He must have browsed dozens of types and designs. There’s a reason he does everything, after all. Perhaps this is just a stepping stone in some bigger plan. The mere thought that he’s orchestrated all of this, down to the very foods you indulged in, kindles nervous excitement within you.

You don’t have any time to admire the design any longer, even if you want nothing more than to gush over its beauty, so you strip as gracefully as possible and change into the outfit. Your sleepwear and robe are discarded in a haphazard pile, and you secure one final chocolate from the table before following the path Azul took. There’s a ladder that leads up to the aquarium and you grab at the sturdy rungs with determined hands, breathless exhilaration fueling every step.

I wonder what his plans are, you ponder once you’ve reached the top, where the yawning mouth of the aquarium waits. Peering down at its illuminated depths, you note a stunning coral reef, dozens of colorful fish, and a spotted eel curled within the rock formation, its mouth parted to reveal rows of razored teeth. It reminds you of the twins.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest and you’re about to jump in when a hand fits into yours. Azul spins you around to face him, his other hand settling on your waist. You blink at him, unable to utter anything as your lungs shrivel. You have half of a mind to scold him for such an underhanded method, but you’re too speechlessly awestruck to do so. Instead, you allow him to guide you towards the water’s edge.

“Drown with me,” he whispers and you’re so ready to comply. You want to fall, fall, fall into the deep, spiraling blue. And your wish is granted without the need for deals or signatures. He tugs you against his chest and allows gravity to take the both of you.

With a resonating splash, saltwater envelops you in its whimsical embrace. The fish scatter at once, hiding amongst the reefs and in openings spotting the coral. Your eyes snap open in the water, lips parting in a soundless gasp, and you’re immediately put at ease when breathing comes naturally. Something slips through the bubbles and mist. At first you don’t recognize the creature who regards you with horizontal pupils and sharpened fangs, his beauty suspended in the angelic light as if he’s been frozen in time. But then a tentacle nervously curls around your arm, and your mind reels in an attempt to keep up with the sight that’s currently blessing your eyes.

“Y-Your mer form!” you sputter, reaching out to touch him. He flinches and you stop short, hands grasping water.

“It’s…weird. I’m aware. My apologies. I’m not sure why I assumed this would be a good idea. I just thought that maybe—well, you spilled your emotional guts, and I thought that it would only be fair if I—”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” You hold your hand up and watch as he slowly lifts his palm to meet yours. “You’re still you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He swallows thickly, eyes darting to and fro, unable to settle on your face for more than a minute. “But this form is so… So very undesirable. I’m weak and clumsy and—”

“Beautiful,” you insist, closing your hand around his. “You’re so beautiful.“

Tears well in glassy eyes, an indication of grief withheld for years. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him that before. Or perhaps he’s never allowed anyone to refer to him in such a lovely manner, for when he peers at himself in the mirror he sees the opposite.

“I don’t need your pitying words.”

“They’re not pitying. They’re the truth.” Maybe it’s because you’re feeling especially emotional tonight or it’s your lack of sleep that has honesty sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t stop yourself from admitting every single thought that crosses your mind. There’s something else that’s dying to escape the confines of your throat, three precious words that are locked away in your heart and are begging to be set free. You almost give in—you want to give in and allow the water to cradle your sentiments as it currently does you—but you can’t. “You’re amazing, Azul. I don’t know of anyone else who’s as dedicated and strong as you are.”

“Yes. Well.” He opens his mouth to retort and whatever self-deprecating excuses he had at the ready dissolve immediately. He shuts his mouth with a sigh.

“I like your true form.” Your fingers trace his jawline, holding his cheek with mounting fondness. “And I think you should like it, too.”

His gaze flickers to your midriff and a trembling tentacle curls tentatively around it. You glance at it as it holds you with such precise care—as if you’re precious pottery that might shatter at the slightest touch.

“But I hurt you,” he whispers mournfully. “Back then when I…”

Your head snaps up to view him. He averts his eyes at once, cowed into humiliated submission. You weren’t expecting he’d remember and you certainly didn’t think he had noticed your pain all that time ago. Has the guilt always lingered with him? Has he always been crushed with that memory?

“You remembered,” you mumble in disbelief, yet your voice sounds louder in the surrounding water. Almost as if you’ve been enveloped in a bubble. In fact, now that you’re realizing it, you don’t feel nearly as wet as you should. The lingerie isn’t sticking to your skin, soaked through with saltwater, and your hair is still in pristine condition. You surmise some unknown enchantment is to blame for this puzzling coincidence.

“Of course!” His tone rises in pitch, bordering manic panic. “How could I not? I was so cruel to you. Even if I wasn’t truly conscious for most of it, the fact still stands that I hurt you and endangered so many others. But I… I was just so terrified. Terrified of losing you like I’d lost my contracts…”

“Azul…”

“And to go so long without properly apologizing—horrible! Absolutely disgraceful,” he adds with great haste. “That’s why this form… It’s not pretty. It’s not cute. It’s ugly and gross and squishy. I hate it. It’s only good for causing harm. That’s why I—”

“Azul!” He snaps back to his senses when you place your hands in his and gingerly guide them to your mouth. And then you place a single kiss upon each. He nearly melts into a puddle of weepy octopus. “None of what you say is true. You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his voice falters. “I... It’s not proper to say things you don’t mean. I’d much rather you tell me I’m hideous now than continue dragging this nonsense out any longer.”

“Oh, Azul, delusion is not a pretty look on you.”

“So... So you don’t find me repulsive?” he ventures nervously. “You truly, honestly don’t?”

“Not at all. You take my breath away. Literally.”

His tentacle comes down upon your thigh in a soft smack. It’s a lighthearted admonishment, coupled with an unamused groan, and you find yourself laughing in delight.

“Can we make another deal?”

“That depends. What will this deal entail?”

“You can kiss me as much as you’d like, but you must first look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re beautiful. And you have to mean it.”

“What? Why? That’s—” His protests die in his throat. “I suppose...I can do without kissing for tonight.”

“How about this? Repeat after me.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not going to—”

“I, Azul Ashengrotto, am beautiful and wonderful and smart.” A delicate smile sprouts on your lips. “Go on. Your turn.”

He exhales dramatically, a bluish tint settling on his cheeks, and parrots the affirmation in a shaky mumble.

“And I’m not ugly, gross, or squishy.”

“And... Ugh. Honestly, (Name), this is completely senseless! What good is this going to do?”

“If you want to accept compliments, you have to accept your reflection first because it’s what the mirror will always show you whether you like it or not. And mirrors never lie. Your mer form is perfect as is, and so are you, Azul.” You lean in to press your lips against his cheek. His frown wavers. “I like you for you. That’s the truth. And I’m honored you’d feel comfortable enough to show me this form. That means a lot.”

Azul’s shoulders tremble with his inhalation, and you think he might cry. But after composing himself and chasing away creeping waterworks, he places his hands on your shoulders, sliding further down to caress your arms. He’s examining you like one might a rare luxury, handling you as though you’re a priceless artifact he’s only just unearthed from the murky depths of the ocean, and there is a certain glint in his eyes—one that reflects the truth in your heart.

“You’re perfect...” he admits suddenly. “You’re so perfect. Far more beautiful than I could ever be.” You open your mouth to object, but the tip of one of his tentacles prods at your lips to shush you. “I understand the appeal of lingerie now. It’s very nice on the eyes.”

“I told you you’d like it.” You kiss the tentacle briefly. It jolts in response, drawing back only slightly so that he may observe your pretty lips as they curl up in a wicked smirk. “But you’re avoiding our deal. To think the master of contracts would do such a thing...”

“I don’t recall agreeing. We never even shook hands, therefore it has no relevance.” He peers at you for a short while before sighing, the tension in his shoulders slackening. “But if what you say is true... If you really don’t find me unattractive... I... I suppose I can be beautiful. For tonight.”

“Just tonight? Why not forever?”

“Because forever is much too long of a delusion.”

“Whether human or mer, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

Azul exhales a disbelieving laugh. “You sycophant... You really are a siren, aren’t you?”

“I learned from the best.”

His eyes roll, but there isn’t annoyance in the act. Rather, a lopsided smile stretches on his face and his blue eyes are alight in the ethereal glow of the water. You touch one of his hands, admiring the seamless transition from black to grey. His skin looks so sleek—almost like the wax job of a newly built ship—and you’re certain that if you were to watch him swim he’d cut through the water without hindrance.

And to think that you get to experience Azul in such an intimate setting. You’d never have imagined this is where you would be with him last year, where you’d previously been at one another’s throats. Call it unresolved sexual tension or Azul’s determination to get you to sign a contract, but you’d avoided him and all that he was solely to prevent yourself from falling into one of his schemes. Now that you’re here with him, you realize the nature of your arrangement has only gotten so much more comfortable since you first started. It doesn’t feel like an obligation anymore. It doesn’t feel like he might cheat you out of something.

It really feels like he might feel the same things you feel. Or, at the very least, you can delude yourself into false hope, a balm that pairs nicely with the cracks in your heart—cracks that only Azul seems capable of filling in this moment.

“I’d like to try something,” he murmurs, his voice muffled in the water. You nod mutely, and a nervous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Anxiety does not suit a suave individual like Azul, but you suppose all negative feelings are undeserving of residence on such a handsome countenance. A tentacle traces up the length of your leg, slowly, enticingly, winding like ivy along a garden trellis, and he inhales a shuddering breath. “Would you... Ah, well, if you wouldn’t be opposed to this... Would you maybe, possibly, hopefully like to...”

“Fuck in your mer form?” you finish and he blanches, his eyebrows knitting in disdain.

“When you put it like that, it sounds so vulgar.”

“I’m sorry. Would you have preferred ‘make love’ instead?”

Azul pinches your cheek in what can only be considered lighthearted scolding. “I would have, yes. Very much so.”

You open your mouth to correct him—but this arrangement isn’t built on love—and promptly close it. You’re certain he’s well aware of that, even if it isn’t spoken outright. Instead, you throw your arms around his neck to mold yourself against him, to feel his hearts beating against yours.

“But only the tip. I don’t think I could do any more than that.”

“Is that so? What a pity,” he teases, and you scoff at him. “Perhaps we should add another month to our agreement? That would be more than enough time to properly accommodate that tight, little space between your legs...”

“Now who’s the vulgar one?” You press your forehead against his and swallow the truth. “Two months is enough.” But it’d be nice to do this forever.

He pouts at you—truly pouts!—and says, “The tip it is.” And then he’s glancing at your lips. “May I kiss you?”

“Kiss me until I’m dizzy.”

He seals what remains of the distance, a mere sliver of space, and you melt into him. His mouth is sweet against yours, a missing piece that finally completes your puzzle, and you tangle your tongue with his, sighing into him as though the sound is enough to keep the both of you afloat. Unlike the floral flavor from your first few kisses, his mouth tastes of chocolate and some fruity drink—pineapple, most likely.

You pull away briefly to catch your breath. He’s staring at you so intently now, horizontal pupils flicking about your body as if scanning you. He looks good without his glasses you’ve realized. But then Azul always looks good regardless of whether or not he’s wearing his glasses, and it’s a happy thought that trickles through your head like a stream slicing through a mountain.

“I won’t hurt you this time,” he whispers, and a tentacle curls around your hand, lifting it to his lips so that he may place a tender kiss upon it. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“Should I be scared instead?”

“Now there’s a question.” He hums and runs his fingers along your throat, a sly smirk settling on his face. “Fear is very delicious to us creatures from the deep. I wonder how yours might taste... Will it be salty or sweet?”

“Who knows,” you say in a sing-song. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself...”

He’s decorated you in his tentacles, twining them around your legs and waist, and it occurs to you that escape is impossible. But no matter how intimidating he may act, you could never be frightened by his real form. Even if he has the strength to subject you to a bruising death, he holds you so carefully, merely exploring every inch of you with curious touches and suctions. His hands cradle your face, pulling you in for another candied kiss, and your fingers wrap around his wrists to keep him there while you exchange breath as if the both of you are the only oxygen sources to exist in this wondrous world.

And this time he isn’t wearing gloves, and you’re no longer standing on the other side of the Do Not Cross line in the museum that confines his portrait. Now you’re right in front of him, offering yourself as a sacrifice at an underwater altar, and there aren’t any thresholds you must work to overcome. Even if there are still mysteries yet to be uncovered—and you can’t say you know Azul as well as you would like to—you’re astonished that such a relationship like the one you began with him could ever blossom into something so perfect.

Maybe Azul was the key to your heart all along—the single variable needed to solve the complex romance equation you’ve been unable to answer.

A stray tentacle slithers beneath the fine fabric of the sarong skirt, coiling between your thighs, and Azul smiles to himself as he curls another around your chest, the tapered tip sliding under the bra studded with remnants of the sea to take hold of your breast.

“Did you know,” he says conversationally, “that an octo-mer can taste with every sucker?”

“Really? Then I expect you to tell me my entire flavor profile by the end of this.”

He laughs a mystic laugh that surrounds you like wool stretching around your head, muffling all outside noise. You reach blindly for one of the few free appendages, to which he obliges and wraps one around your forearm, constricting good-naturedly. You guide this one to your other breast so that he may toy with both of your puffy nipples. He wastes no time in fondling you, utilizing his suckers in even succession. One moment you can feel the intensity of the suction as it squeezes you and then it relents, only to come back much fiercer. A people-pleaser to the core, he seems to be well aware of every touch you find pleasurable, and the idea that he may have found some covert way to study you in order to glean this secret information sparks gratification.

Perhaps he, too, has watched you from his own boundary, unable to indulge in the museum that houses your brilliance for reasons that will remain unknown to you.

Another tentacle finds your other hand—the one that isn’t currently stroking the tentacle that bestows tantalizing touches to your breasts—and briefly you’re considering how he can keep track of so many limbs. But you’d expect nothing less of Azul, who’s had years to master the art of multitasking with ten arms at his disposal.

The tentacle between your legs pokes curiously at your clit, and you inhale a quavery breath.

“This nub...” he mumbles, partially to himself, as if he’s in awe of the sexual anatomy that composes the human form. “Your pretty, little pearl...”

Your hand covers his tentacle, halting his exploration. His eyes flick up to meet your wide grin. “Did you...call the clit a pearl?” A giggle rises in your throat, and his face colors the deepest shade of blue.

“D-Don’t laugh! I’m trying to...” He looks away, chewing his lip. “Trying to be romantic...”

“No, no. It’s plenty romantic.” You bring it back to your thighs, pressing the sucker-lined side flat against your slit. Azul sucks in a sharp gasp. “You’re so cute, Azul.”

That seems to fluster him even more, for he pushes the tip of one of his tentacles past your lips, effectively silencing you. Never one to pass on an opportunity for teasing, you run your tongue along the underside. The contact has Azul suppressing a delighted shudder.

“You really are so peculiar,” he mutters, but there is an incredible amount of adoration twined throughout every syllable. “To call someone like me ‘cute’ without a shred of apprehension...”

Azul tuts at you, taking note of the half-lidded stare you level him with when your eyes meet, and he strokes along your pussy slowly. The lazy swipes are accompanied by another tentacle, its tip rubbing perfect circles into your clit, and you grind down against every limb satisfying your lower region out of carnal instinct.

“I find you much cuter when you’re like this, restrained and at my mercy.” He tilts his head to survey you from another angle, blue hues observing every tentacle that’s laced itself around your body, sliding between your thighs, breasts, and even your armpits. You remain in the very center of such a desirable piece of art, working diligently to lather the tentacle thrusting into your mouth with as much saliva as possible. Though it’s impossible to tell whether you’re successful in your endeavor when it mixes so freely in the water. You think you’re doing well because there’s a breathiness to his next words that has you humming in satisfaction. “Although my surroundings seem so empty without your pretty voice to fill the silence. That’s most unfortunate.”

He’s flattering you now, laying lovely adjectives on his phrasings as if he wasn’t the one to silence you in the first place. But for once you’re glad to have been quieted because it allows you to focus on his electrifying touches while he speaks. To think you were once so averse to his voice solely because of its grand intonation and the snarky, backhanded remarks that would always fill the spaces in his sentences.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be very fair to call you Miss Megamouth right now...” He chuckles to himself, bringing his knuckle to your hollowed cheek to pat it endearingly. “And you aren’t a clownfish either, certainly not when you’re dressed as—how do you humans call it? ‘Eye candy,’ was it? So then that would make you my tempting siren or my sweet, little mermaid. Which do you prefer?”

How about angelfish? you try to say around the thick appendage, and by some marine miracle your suggestion does not go unheard.

“Angelfish! Isn’t that beautiful? And so very fitting, too.”

You've never seen so much innate tenderness settle on his face before, softening his gaze and adding another exquisite level to his beauty, and it’s a scarce sight you engrave into your memory so that it will linger for years to come.

Azul presses his lips to your forehead, sighing blissfully when you squeeze your legs shut to lock the tentacles between your thighs in place.

“I’d like to call you that forever... May I?”

The tentacle in your mouth withdraws, much to your disappointment, so that you may provide him with a response.

“Of course. But I’m going to miss the other names you’ve given me.”

“Those aren’t going anywhere.” He offers you a small smile. “I’ll admit I’ve grown rather attached to them.”

“Then... Can I call you something, too?”

His hand fits into your awaiting one and he presses his body flush against you. “You may call me yours.”

Even though you know you’re treading a dangerous line, you wrap your arms around his neck and mumble into his mouth, “I like the sound of that.”

He fits his lips on yours again and the last of your apprehensions wither away. You kiss until you’re dazed and breathless, clinging to him as if you’re intoxicated. Every one of your sighs and moans are swallowed in heated, open-mouthed kisses, each more sloppy than the last. He’s still massaging your pleasure points with a dozen circular suckers, all of them attaching to you like persistent barnacles, and you arch into his grasp, a string of pleasant praises falling from your lips.

“Feels good... Really good. Hah...”

You grab at him for another kiss, and he closes the gap in seconds, his hand resting upon your lower back to keep you pinned against him. Your fingers tangle through his hair, and it is indeed softer than the clouds above. You think he might have been modeled after a deity because it’s nearly impossible to fathom how he can look and sound so divine, even in the midst of mindless ecstasy. You’d worship him entirely if you could, though you know that doing so would only feed his ego. But maybe you want to inflate it a little, if only to be granted the smiles and laughter you’ve fallen for ever since you found yourself trapped in the net he’s cast.

Azul does not suppress his needy whimpers when he separates from you, his face twisting into the approximation of blissful desperation when he drags a thicker tentacle along the lips of your pussy. You moan around a teasing remark, your own playful composure slipping into submission.

“Wanna put it in,” he mumbles hastily, nearly panting his desire, and he’s flushed blue from stimulation. “Please, angelfish...”

“Mm, yeah... G-Go ahead.”

More tentacles hold you steady in the water, and you peer deep into his sea-tinted hues, hoping to catch sight of his very soul.

“Just...take a deep breath. I’ll be gentle. It’ll fit.”

“You look like you’re holding back. Am I that tempting?”

He sighs dreamily. “You have no idea how much I wish to ruin you right now.” The tip prods at your entrance; you bite your tongue in anticipation. “I want nothing more than to stretch you wide enough so that no one else will be able to ever again—to mark you from the very inside so that you’ll be addicted to my every touch. That way—” It pushes past rings of tight muscle and a subdued groan spills from his lips. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you’re certain you’re leaving half moons in his skin. If it hurts, Azul doesn’t seem bothered by the pain. Instead, he holds you even closer, peppering your face with dozens of fleeting kisses. “That way... Haah. That way you’d only look at me. You’d only need me to properly fill you. No one else could ever satisfy you like I can...”

Most of his ramblings fall on deaf ears, for you’re so focused on the way your pussy stretches to accommodate him. He’s much bigger than any human male, but that’s to be expected considering he’s not fully human, and even if the stretch is more uncomfortable than you thought it’d be his attentive touches distract you from most of the ache. You pull him in for another kiss, squeezing your eyes shut, but then the tentacle working its way inside you suddenly bottoms out so deeply that you tear yourself away from him, choking on a gasping moan. You bury your face in his shoulder, crying out in a mixture of pleasured pain, and Azul brings a hand to the back of your head, stroking slowly.

“You’re doing so... Mmh... So well, angelfish. I told you it would fit without issue.”

“That...was way more than just the tip!” you hiss, and his delirious laugh comes out strangled.

“And yet it went in so easily! We were made for each other. See?” He rocks the tentacle once and it fills you entirely, further stretching your gummy walls. When you pull away to survey it you can see its outline bulging against your stomach. Azul sighs happily. “You’re so pretty... And all mine. Mine to mark and fill forever.”

All you can manage in response is another feeble whine.

His hand comes to rest on your stomach. “When you’re officially mine, I’ll kiss you here every night.” To cement this promise, the tentacle pokes at the spongy opening to your cervix and you melt in his hold. His deceptive blues flit to your eyes, which then admire your lips and then your stomach and then the way your pussy has swallowed so much of the tentacle that’s writhing within you, and a smirk sharpens on his lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my dearest angelfish?”

“Yes. Of course. Always,” you babble dumbly, numb to rationality. “That sounds like... Aah, like a dream.”

You roll your hips in an effort to take more of him, and he responds by thrusting the tentacle in and out of you, searching for a suitable pace. Any other words quickly melt in your mouth, reduced to mindless utterances of pleasure. Azul’s self-control seems to be slipping much like your own logical nature because he’s gripping you tighter than he was before, his tentacles curled possessively around every inch of you, as if he must mold himself to your form to truly connect as one with you. He’s tugged your bra down in his impatience and your breasts spill out with newfound freedom, though both are quickly covered by a reaching tentacle. His suckers affix to your nipples, and you throw your head back in pure bliss.

“It’s a dream that will soon be our reality,” he whispers, and a tentacle grasps your chin to guide you into another messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

You lick into his mouth with desperate fervor, swallowing the taste of him with every magnetizing connection of your lips. The tentacle that pistons in and out of you continues to batter your sensitive cunt, leaving you clawing at his back as you move your hips to the best of your ability, shamelessly moaning the filthiest of things. How good it is. How you never want this moment to end. How no one else could ever fuck you as good as Azul can. You think, for a split second, you’re losing your mind because Azul is the only one whose image is imprinted in your brain, strung up in your thoughts like a constellation in the night sky.

You’ve never felt so overwhelmingly full before, and you’re almost certain that by the end of this you won’t be able to think of anyone else because there isn’t any other person who can possibly compete with Azul’s octo-mer form.

At some point, amidst every delicious suction and touch, you can feel your climax mounting, and Azul moans so salaciously when you tighten around him. But just before you cum, he’s suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You stifle your disappointed whimper when he turns you so that your backside is pressed against his front. Two tentacles curl around your legs, spreading them wide, and another set hold your arms apart. He embraces you from behind, hands closing around your breasts, and the tentacle slides in in another quick, deep thrust that has your vision whitening.

Azul’s lips practically sear your neck when his teeth graze your bare skin. “Octo-mers are venomous,” he warns, as if it’s a reminder you ought to remember. “But I’d never—mmh—never hurt you. Just wanna keep you numb and dumb for me. Numb so that you can’t run away and—” He breaks off with a whimper, panting wet, hot breaths in your ear. “And dumb so—hah—dumb so...”

He’s quickly derailed from his ramblings, his pace having spiraled into something erratic and quick, and the tentacle is practically pummeling your cervix now. You’re crying in his arms, a broken wail ripping from your throat when he sinks his fanged teeth into your neck to muffle his own waterfall of love cries as he fucks into you a few more times. Another tentacle splays across your stomach, cradling it gently, while the one inside you stills at the entrance to your womb, filling you to the brim with copious amounts of viscous cum. There’s so much that it leaves you completely stuffed, and when you gaze at your stomach through teary eyes it’s bloated in a way that makes you appear pregnant.

In the midst of your own orgasm, which descends upon you so suddenly that it has you squealing, you manage a few semi-coherent phrases, all admitted in a garbled rush: “Please fuck me forever! You feel so good! Oh, I’m... I’m cumming!” You stiffen against him, struggling to catch your breath, while the tentacle limply fucks you through the aftermath. “L-Love you... I love you, Azul!”

“Me too!” he exclaims, gasping, and tilts your head so that he can capture your lips once more. You taste salt, ink, and blood all at once, and the contrasting flavors linger on your tongue when he pulls away. “You’re my everything... My perfect, pretty angelfish...”

You’ve never been anyone’s everything before, but right now you want to be exactly that for him. That, and so much more.

“Do you really mean it?” you whisper hoarsely, still catching your breath. Every word seems to dry up in your mouth, as if your own voice is shriveling from the sheer amount of stress it’s undergone. You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s reduced to a mere mumble come morning. “Do you like me?”

“Did I say that?” he teases, and you squirm in his grasp. He laughs and strokes your stomach to settle you. “Humans and their loveless sex traditions continue to baffle me. I couldn’t possibly picture myself chasing a relationship in which love is nonexistent.”

“We call those one-night stands.”

“Fascinating. Where I’m from, we refer to such relations as ‘eat or be eaten.’” A dark fingernail traces its way from your hip up to your ribs. “Shall I devour you now that we’ve thoroughly enjoyed ourselves?”

“If that’s the case, have fun tasting all of the cum you’ve emptied in me,” you joke and he stiffens, his face coloring blue. You crane your neck to shoot a disapproving look at him. “You really had no issue cumming inside, Mr. Azul ‘Just the Tip’ Ashengrotto.”

“Yes, yes. Forgive me for succumbing to my instincts.” He rolls his eyes with an indignant huff, a grin settling on his flustered features. “If you’re so worried, you can choose from all sorts of contraceptives, some more magical than others.”

“They better be magical! With how much you came I wouldn’t be surprised if I was pregnant within the next few weeks.”

“Could you imagine?” he muses, spinning you to face him. The tentacle inside you twitches, but he doesn’t remove it. “The two of us. Parents.”

“We’ve skipped ahead too many chapters. I can’t even keep Ramshackle in good shape!”

“And yet there’s no one else I’d rather tackle parenthood with than you.”

You sandwich his face between your hands. He reaches up to touch each hand, his larger ones covering yours. For a long minute, the two of you hold eye contact until, eventually, you exhale noisily. There’s a numbness that’s become increasingly prevalent and is slowly spreading its roots with every passing second, and you suspect Azul is to blame.

“Azul, you didn’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear.”

“‘Octo-mers are venomous,’” you repeat in a silly tone, and that prompts a devious smirk from him.

The tentacle inside you slides out, and you shudder bonelessly against him. Its slick tip prods at your lips next.

“Let’s continue our lesson from the library. I do hope you’ve taken adequate notes. You’ll need them if you want to recall octo-mer anatomy. But since I’m so very generous, I’d be more than willing to thoroughly teach you.”

Azul is just as insatiable as he is cunning.

Rustling sheets rouse you from your slumber. You blink through crusted eyelids and snuff the groggy yawn that rises in your throat, peering at the figure who lies on his side, his stare fixed on you. A smile softens his features when he notices you’ve awoken and he reaches out to pet your cheek.

“Good morning, my dear. Actually, I should say good afternoon. It’s rather late in the day, but you deserve to sleep in. You had a long night.”

It was definitely long, you think, recalling what felt like hours of endless sex. You’re not sure how you wound up in Azul’s room, where the scents of sea salt and chamomile tea combine effortlessly, but you think he might have carried you here after your late-night tryst. Your memory halts at the moment when you went limp in his arms and he’d stilled inside you to spatter your walls with thick, plentiful amounts of cum. After that, though, reality falls away and you’d found yourself swimming weightlessly in a dream composed of calm oceans and a breathtaking coral reef beneath still waters. Now, lying beside him in his bed, underneath a shell-like canopy that obstructs the ceiling’s light fixture, you bury your face in the pillows, thoroughly worn to exhaustion. Azul’s melodious chuckle fills your ears.

“You tasted like the sweetest pudding,” he adds cheekily. “A little salty as well. It was very delicious.”

The callback to an old joke has you swatting lazily at him.

No fair. You’re supposed to be the one who tastes like pudding, you try to say, only nothing comes out. You lift your head and attempt to speak again. Like before, there isn’t a single sound that tumbles from your open mouth. Confusion dawns on you slowly, almost like a rising sun, and you grab at your throat to try to force the words out. All you can do is open and close your mouth uselessly, and your befuddlement quickly morphs into raw horror.

Azul smiles and props himself on his elbows, head tilted curiously. “What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”

I can’t speak! you want to shout, but it’s become impossible to will your tongue into action. You clamp your lips shut and glare, hoping one question comes across clearly: What did you do?

“I suppose you’re looking for this, right?” He reaches under his pillow and withdraws a nautilus pendant. It glows faintly when he fastens it around his neck. When he speaks next he sounds exactly like you, even down to the breathy lust your tone had taken on while you were in the throes of an orgasmic high. “‘Please fuck me forever. You feel so good! Oh, I’m cumming! L-Love you... I love you, Azul!’” He clears his throat and his voice deepens. “As musical as these words are, one of those phrases is forbidden. You’ve violated our contract, my dear, and so now your voice is mine to keep. I promise to take good care of it while it’s in my possession.”

Foolishly, you open your mouth to exclaim, but he cuts you off with your voice.

“‘But I never even offered my voice as collateral! You can’t take what isn’t yours!’ is what you wish to say, yes? On the contrary, if you’ll recall, I specifically told you that uttering the phrase ‘I love you’ would lead to this mishap.”

You said no such thing, you think bitterly, but then you’re hit with his cryptic warning from long ago: It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity. Upon realizing that he’d dangled the truth in front of you from the very start, you bring your hands to your face in hopes of scrubbing the regret from your muscles. You were too absorbed in trying to maneuver his mischief back then that you failed to pay closer attention to his wording, and now it’s landed you right in the trap you were attempting to avoid. I messed up. I messed up big time.

“Your voice really is marvelous! I could get away with so much now that it’s mine to use. Where should I start? Ah, perhaps I should call some of your friends and tell them how much (Name) can’t stand to be with them? Or maybe it would be better to ruin your little ‘business’ before it can spiral out of control. Better yet, I should just—”

You lunge at him without much forethought, scrabbling for the necklace in a blind, frustrated panic. Azul laughs at your desperation, a little too pleased to engage in the scuffle. You’ve managed to pin him beneath you, your hands curled so tightly around his arms that your knuckles grow sore from the sheer pressure of your grip. He looks up at you, a mocking grin pulling his lips apart—lips you’d kissed more times than you’re able to count. Lips that you’d thought would be truthful for one night. Lips that run faster when telling perfectly orchestrated lies.

Azul’s gaze crawls down your neck, where a dozen circular-shaped bruises paint your flesh, evidence of the areas his suckers had once lavished with tight suctions.

“There’s no need to be so aggressive, Miss Megamouth. If you wanted me that badly, you could have just said so. Oh, wait. You can’t.”

You slimy cephalo-punk! You sneer at him, a dozen curses trapped on your tastebuds. I never should’ve trusted you!

Part of you wants to slap him, but the other part—the part that still clings to the affection you received last night—has you restraining the violent urge. Angry tears well up in your eyes instead and you release him, sitting back on your haunches. You wrap your arms around yourself despite the sheer, lacy robe that provides a semblance of cover. He was right. You really can’t beat him at his own game.

“Don’t look so glum. Fortunately, I’m willing to negotiate an exchange.” He sits up, smooths the wrinkles in his nightwear, and removes the pendant. It’s dangled before you, the charm twisting innocently, and you reach for it, only for it to be ripped away with an accompanying tut. “Not so fast. If you want your voice, you’ll have to give me something of equal value.”

What could possibly have the same worth as my voice? your disbelieving expression seems to inquire.

Azul grins and leans down to procure something from the safe at his bedside. A golden contract scroll winks at you under the light, and you throw your head back with a silent groan.

Another deal. Of course. What was I expecting?

“I’ve given the road that lies ahead plenty of thought, and I’ve realized that I can’t imagine a future without you. Since you were quite vocal about your feelings for me—” He stops short to peer past the contract and at you, a single brow raised. “That was the truth, was it not?”

Slowly, you nod, suddenly hot with embarrassment. You’ve never truly despised Azul. In fact, ever since you signed his contract and became his friend with benefits, you’ve found yourself falling even further into an unexplainable love. Even now, when he holds full control over your vocal fate, you want nothing more than to pull him under the duvet and make a mess out of him in this luxurious bedroom. By some strange miracle—perhaps it’s the delusional film that’s obscured your eyes ever since you met him, twisting his every trick into something attractive—you find yourself admiring the air of self-satisfaction that surrounds him.

Azul’s next smile is far more sweeter than its predecessor. “Good. In that case, I also love you.”

Your reaction must have betrayed your true thoughts because he barks out an amused laugh.

“Is it really so surprising? I’ve loved you for quite some time now.”

For once you’re relieved he has your voice because it prevents you from sounding like a flustered, speechless mess. All this time and he actually liked me? Azul likes me. Me, who can’t compete with him on any level? It almost sounds like a cruel joke.

“Did you think my flattery and gifts were empty and meaningless? I can assure you that everything I’ve said—every compliment and sweet nothing—has been the undeniable truth.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“I’m serious! You’re so critical. That stings, angelfish.” As wounded as he looks, he’s quick to recover, shoving the contract at you for your perusal. You read through every line. “Fret not. I’ve drafted another arrangement that will benefit the both of us. In exchange for your voice, our current relationship will be nullified and we will officially become lovers. You’re to put an end to your affairs with the other students. From now on, I’ll help you with every problem that comes your way. Although it would be very convenient if you could just move into Octavinelle and take up a job at the lounge. We’d be much closer. I promise I’m a very kind boss. You’ll be paid wonderfully, both in and out of the lounge.”

You glance at him, brows furrowed. Is that really all he wants? A real relationship and for me to stop getting involved with everyone else? As ideal as that sounds, it feels a little too good to be true. But what other options do you have? Without your voice, you’re powerless and vulnerable, unable to stand up for yourself when the students get too rowdy. You’d be forced to agree to your friends’ every whims, and that would mean allowing Grim to empty your monthly budget on whatever it is he happens to be craving at that moment. It’s a predicament with plenty of terrible outcomes, and the only thing that can prevent such an issue is your voice.

“You look at me with such distrust. I was very transparent with our first contract, was I not?”

He was, in a way. You look between him and the contract. It’s shorter than the previous one, every term outlined stiffly in cursive. This one feels too simple to be a contract drafted by Azul’s intelligent hand, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe things will only get complicated after you’ve signed and have found yourself in another inescapable mess.

But isn’t this a good thing? You like him and he likes you. He can grant your every wish and this time you won’t have to forsake your own pleasure in order to ensure his needs are met. And you won’t have to tiptoe around his deceit. The both of you will be in equal standing, in a relationship where honesty and mutual understanding are valuable facets of a loving bond. You like him, after all, and he likes you.

So why does your love feel empty and insincere? Why does it feel like you’ve woken from a long, everlasting dream to face the harsh backhand reality serves?

Azul twirls his magic pen and that mystical fishbone pen materializes. Its tip is already stained in ink and it’s poised just above the parchment. You look at him again and he nods encouragingly.

“I meant it when I said I love you, and I will continue to mean it for the rest of my days.” He reaches for your hand and you flinch away. This stops him, and he narrows his eyes at you, perplexed. “I will always love you, angelfish. You’re the only one I’ll ever love.”

You wish you could force him to prove it, but even then you’re not sure what else he could possibly do. But then you realize something and you pantomime writing. Azul catches on rather quickly because a ballpoint pen and a notepad appear before you. Hurriedly, you scribble something on an empty page before turning it towards him.

If I sign your contract, you have to promise no more tricks. And you have to get me the most magical contraceptive you have. And you have to be a good boyfriend.

“No more tricks. You’ll get the best of the best, both from the contraceptive and me,” he promises, and this time there isn’t any malice behind his smile.

And I won’t lose my voice again in the future? is the following written inquiry.

“Not unless you scream yourself silent the next time we—” Your unimpressed scowl cuts the rest of that sentence short. He chuckles and takes your hand in his. Your other grasps the fishbone pen. “Do we have a deal, my dear?”

You look from the notepad to the contract, where a nameless line awaits your penmanship. There’s a weird ache in your gut—a foreboding dread that has you hesitating. Azul seemed so angelic last night, but in the crisp light of his bedroom he’s a devil with concealed horns.

Do you honestly love him, or was that simply something you uttered in the heat of the moment? Why is your love for him beginning to shrivel after it’s been growing for weeks? And why are you no longer happy to know he reciprocates your feelings?

I need my voice, you think, disregarding every other doubt. That’s all that matters right now. I’ll figure out my heart later.

You scrawl your name on the glimmering parchment, and like before it rolls itself up and Azul snatches it with a pleased hum. You watch him place it within the safe, which soon closes and locks with an echoing bang. Before you can theorize what the combination to open it is, he stands with the pendant clutched in a resolute fist.

“How unfortunate that I must break a perfectly good shell...” At your impatient glare, he raises his hands in surrender. “Very well. I’ll return it now. You wouldn’t be Miss Megamouth without your voice.”

With just a little more pressure he smashes the nautilus into a dozen brittle pieces, and from the debris your voice comes trickling through in an aureate fog. It surrounds you momentarily, like the smoke from a cigarette, before slipping through your open mouth, down your esophagus, and into your very being. You cough once, clear your throat, and croak your first words out.

“Did it work?” Upon hearing your rough pronunciation, you exhale a relieved sigh. “Yes, it’s back! Thank you!” Your happiness is short-lived, though, because you’re quick to turn your ire on Azul. He allows you to grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him up to your face. “Don’t ever take my voice again, you slimy sea creature.”

Azul smirks and leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “So cruel. And after all we’ve been through...”

“Ugh. Whatever.” You release him and fall back onto his bed with a tired groan. “Seriously... That was terrifying.”

“I’ll get you something to drink so that your voice won’t be so gruff. Is tea sufficient?”

“What’s the catch?”

Azul clicks his tongue. “Must you be so wary of me? Can’t I do something nice for my dearest angelfish?”

“No, but you can certainly find some way to attach a dozen strings to a single cup of tea.”

“You know me so well, but this time I don’t need anything in return. I’m simply doing you a favor.”

You peer at him from where you lay. “Okay. I’ll take a cup then. You know the way I like it?”

“Of course. I’m nothing if not observant. I’ve brewed more than enough tea for you to know your preferences, down to the exact temperature.”

You nod, not quite listening to his boasting, and let your arm fall over your eyes. Azul steps out without another word, leaving you to dwell on the past few minutes. Though the contents of this second contract don’t sit right with you, you push your uneasiness aside in favor of focusing on the fact that Azul has admired you for a while now. You never would have guessed he’d loved you in silence because you only saw him as a lying cheat. Naturally, if he were to confess back then, you probably would have assumed he was trying to enlist your help with something. Either that, or he genuinely wanted to make your life miserable by subjecting you to some obscure con.

You wonder what part of you captured his heart. You’d made your dislike and distrust of him very clear, and you’d sneered at him every time he attempted to rope you into a scheme involving the Mostro Lounge and Ramshackle Dorm—it was something about a temporary branch café, but you wanted him and his grimy, slimy tentacles to stay far away from the property. Maybe his Overblot really did awaken something in him. Maybe he’d fallen in love with the you who was kind and patient—the you who visited his bedside every day while he recovered. Or maybe it was the you who soon became known for not-so-secret exchanges. Maybe he simply fell in love with the idea of squashing another business competitor. How that could happen is beyond you.

But then, if he really has loved you all this time, why did he want to engage in friends with benefits in the first place? It must have been awkward for him each time you’d come to service him, especially since you merely saw it as a contractual obligation. Had he pretended there was more to the act? Were his feelings for you the reason he treated you so carefully whenever you’d meet—so lovingly and sweetly?

At the very beginning of this, you vowed to undo every lock that kept the many facets of his personality hidden away. And even though you’ve come to learn some of his secrets, there are still so many things left for you to discover.

But do I really love him? It’s a haunting question—a lock that binds your heart and prevents you from unraveling the truth. Though with this one, you’re not quite sure you want an answer.

Azul returns with the tea and a pill, and you take both from him with a grateful smile. It tastes as it always does: floral and deliciously enticing. The fragrance soothes your frazzled mind, warming it to the thought of a relationship with Azul.

We’re dating now, you realize, awestruck. We’re dating...

“I feel like I’ve just finished sucking your dick,” you say, and he exhales a long sigh.

“I was going to say something far more romantic, yet here you are spouting obscenity.”

“But doesn’t it remind you of that? You’d always get me tea after our meetings.”

“Only because you were so intent on swallowing every time.”

“And you found it attractive every time.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me your ridicule.”

Now that you’re looking at him, with his unkempt hair and silken nightwear, the feelings you’ve attempted to stifle with uncertainty come swelling to the surface. He’s your boyfriend now. He’s yours. All yours to love and kiss and hold. All yours to tease and laugh with. He's the chisel who has finally sculpted you anew, filling your shattered heart with overwhelming sweetness, and this time you won’t turn away from it.

You open your mouth to ask a single question, but Azul beats you to it.

“May I kiss you?”

Grinning, you set your empty cup on his desk and tug him into bed. His arms lock you in a comforting cage, and he stares down at you with a lovesick smile. You hook your arms around his neck, mirroring his infatuation.

“Kiss me drunk, clownfish.”

A collection of empty bottles is locked away in Azul’s desk drawer, respectively labeled Love Potion. The intolerable flavor mixes well with floral teas, but that’s a trade secret you’ll never need to know.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw #azul thought four #call him azul rizzengrotto because his rizz is immaculate!!!!#for once i have written an azul thought where azul is not actively suffering

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