#devouring radiant light

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Heartstrings & Hellfire: Prologue

A stage burst into life, awash with thousands of glowing light stick and roaring fans. Neon beams ripple across the arena, covering to form a brilliant sigil: letter H, blazing at the heart of it all.

The crowds chants in perfect rhythm, voices echoing like a war cry of devotion.

Huntrix!

Huntrix!

Huntrix!

The name reverberates, charged with energy. As the lights whirl and pulse, fans raise their signature light sticks, ornately shaped like clover blossoms with interwoven lines, echoing the elegance of traditional norigae. Bathed in soft lavender and violet hues, each stick glows with a radiant H in its centre, uniting the crowd in a magical, synchronised light.

“The world will know you as a pop star.” a calm, powerful voice narrates, Celine, their mentor.

“But you will be much more than that.” She continued as a thick mist coiled across the stage, revealing three silhouettes of figures standing side by side. Their reflection shimmer as if caught between past and present.

“You will be Hunters.”

Centuries earlier.....

Red lighting cracks the earth of a quiet nearby village during the Joseon-era. the ground glows ominously beneath terrified feet as villagers turn, too late. From fiery fractures in the soil, grotesque shapes rise.

Demons.

“Demons have always haunted our world,”

One by one demons began to terrorize the village and take the souls of the innocent.

“Stealing our souls and channeling strength back to their king, Gwi-Ma.”

Streaks of light twisted upward, souls, torn and taken from the villager, pulled like comets into the void. In a shadowed realm, Gwi-Ma, the Demon King, devours them. Each soul that he feeds on bloats his form with power. With every feeding, he spawns new horrors.

“Until heros arose to defend us.”

A mother shields her child, clutching only a rake for protection, as demons close in. But then a song is heard from the gate. A sudden glow.

The demons were about to attack the people, only to be stopped by the presence of three women standing atop on the gate. Clad in warrior's hanbok, each holding weapons that shimmer with unnatural brilliance. With a song powering them to defend the villagers and defeating the demons.

“Born with voices that could drive back the darkness.”

As the three women conquer the demons, each woman sings with rich melodious grace while soaring and vanquishing all the demons within the village.

“Singing songs of courage and hope. But hunters are more than warriors. They also had the protection of an angelic warrior supporting them with their light magic.”

As the final demon fades into dus, the warriors descend, with elegance and fierceness. Their harmony summons a wave of light, wrapping the country in safety. From above, a new glow.

A fourth figure descends, an angelic warrior, radiant in white hanbok. With hands outstretched, she channels the music into pure white magic.

“Our music ignites the soul and brings people together.”

The angelic warrior went over to a little girl whose soul was ignited by the performance of the warrior's and held her hand to show compassion and hope while retrieving the little girl's sparkled soul in doing so, creating a glowing light show.

“With this connection, the first Hunters created a shield to protect our world, the Honmoon.”

The warriors gather. With synchronized steps and radiant song, they form a circle at the village center.

“Every generation, a new angel is reborn with the new trio of hunters chosen to fulfill our ultimate duty.”

The angel lifts her hands and a wave of golden light erupts outward, a protective shield was formed.As the demonic horde screams from the underworld, the light seals them away.

The Honmoon expands across the land, a barrier that no demon can breach.

“A barrier so strong it is impenetrable, that will keep demons and Gwi-Ma from our world forever.”

Time shifts. Eras pass, each decade of music gives birth to a new trio of Hunters and the rebirth of the Angel was shown as they sang together in harmony.

“The Golden Honmoon.”

The Sunlight Sisters' golden performance was the breaking point in creating the golden protective shield around the world.

“And now that duty falls to you.”

Celine stood with a giant scared willow tree behind her. Before her stand the new Hunters, the first male led generation.

At the center: a tall young man with violet hair, intensity in his eyes. To his left, a smirking dancer with flaming pink hair. To his right, a graceful and beautiful woman with long golden wavy locks, eyes full of fire and kindness. And beside her, a bright soul with dark navy hair, fists clenched in resolve and excitement.

Celine steps forward.

“That victory is within your reach. It is your voice, your song, that will create the Golden Honmoon.”

The four of them looked at each other and clasping hands to show their loyalties to one another and their friendship.

“Yes, Celine,” they all said in unison.

Their eyes shine. Not just with the thrill of the stage but with purpose and fire.

AUTHORS NOTE:

Hi, so this is the start of the story hehehe, hope you enjoyed it so far. So the height is based on the height of some of the BTS members (since they're back and I love them).

Also I would like suggestions for the male counterpart of the names for the Huntrix. I read somewhere that the name Rumi can be unisex so that stays but I'm having a hard time with Mira and Zoey's male names.

So far I have is Miro and Zane. But you can comment down below if you have any other suggestions that you like.

Chapter 01 is out

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜TAGLIST💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

@gremlinartstudio @enerofairy @aliyahanime43 @zoeyella1-4 @daisy56789 @darling-dearestt @0eye0 @sirenetheblogger @akariis4snowball @crescent-z @any-maybe @shoopershtar @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @foxinspace @selenescribes @onebraincellsaday @hoo-hoo @lowkeyjarr @kitsune-05 @princessbonniebubblegumsblog @scarletsssarchive @bugworldsworld @redrage71890 @kashasenpai @hisashifrey @akiqvq @aespaminjeong @greensunflowerjuna @justrandomlypassing @eyesdontread @eliengoddes @codgirle @fandomgoddes05 @yirengbam7089 @themostdelusionalgirl @baby-bread-in @graceluvseilish @lynvriee @itsstarlight01-blog @zomqiez @strayharmony943 @nevermorekisses @hikari-michiko @lizzymizzy-blogg @lovingyeet @chibiduck @hisashifrey @maximimtrashchild @reni502 @queenofviolenceandnerds @gasoline-eater @tagmepls @gl00muraaii @prettylittlelavvy

@comicsol1999 @saternsky @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant @sunshinedaisy21 @katzline @thecrazyone2007 @mat-mat-mat @monnxtqf @dyuiphc @p1nkpaperstars @misdollface

[distuff]

HELLO? your saja boys characterizations are so perfect!!!! i really loved reading the 'sharing' post!!!

If i may request...Baby going absolutely soft and tame under the reader's affections as they trace the patterns on his demon form face and neck with quick little kisses, secretly just trying to see how much it takes for the nonchalant Baby to loosen his composure, and they get just what they were aiming for. I love the demons being slightly awkward or unsure of such affections as I imagine its hard to come by it in the demon realm.

Answer: Aaah~ Arigatou!! I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself!! ( _ _)人 It makes me happy to know their personalities fits! And oh boi- the sOftness!! I love this idea so much! Def see what ya mean w the boyz being awkward with affection since as ya said they probably ain't cuddling in demon realm lol Hope you'll like it readershi!

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Baby Saja: What's Affection?

Featuring: Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

🍼 Baby had barely any memories of his life before death - only fragmented flashes.

🍼 A betrayal from someone he once trusted. A faceless figure selling him off to another faceless nobody. Torture. Torture. Moulding. Screams. Blood. Endless cries.

🍼 The memories always ended the same: the sound of a thousand skittering legs crawling - burrowing - into his ears, past his eardrums. Screams. Tears. And then— Darkness...

🍼 Everything after that became crystal clear. He remembered standing emotionlessly before a vast wall of violent purple flames that crackled as if laughing. There was, however, another voice. Soft, almost like a balm on the pain his body hadn’t realised it carried. It coaxed him to step back.

🍼 So he did. He slid his right foot behind him, about to lean toward that soothing light - when another voice, one that burned, spoke: "WoUldn’T YoU LikE tO ForGet?"

🍼 The words hit like a club across his head. His eyes snapped open, head splitting with pressure as memories fought to surface. Rage he didn't knew was there surged forward. Screams and images - blurry faces he didn’t recognise but hated all the same - overwhelmed the soft pull of the first voice.

🍼 His hands twitched with the urge to tear something apart - to claw the answers to his questions out of someone, anyone. Instead, his fingers dug into his scalp, nails scraping skin until he felt something wet slide down his forehead, trailing along his cheeks, dripping to his bare collarbone.

🍼 "gO," said the flame again. His gaze locked on the radiant purple fire. A warmth spread through him - not comforting, but fueling - amplifying his rage, he didn't know he had while the soft voice behind him begged him to turn back.

🍼 He gritted his teeth. A faint, sharp face appeared within the flame, grinning with needle-like teeth. "Go aNd ForGeT, bY mAkiNg AmeNDs wITh thOsE whO WroNgED yoU… I shAll aLlOw It tO hApPen."

🍼 It spoke with such confidence he didn’t even question it. Just took one slow step forward. Then another. Until he stood directly in front of the one he would come to know as Gwi-Ma.

🍼 Warmth engulfed him. His shoulders eased, the tension slipping away as his body - cold without him even realising - began to warm up.

🍼 Then came the pain. Scorching. Burning. The purple flames had devoured him whole. It lasted only seconds, yet stretched into what felt like centuries as the cackling of the flames joined his blood-curdling screams..

🍼 And with the dying flames, the contract was sealed. Powers to take the lives of those who wronged him for his submission to whom he now recognised as his King. Warmth then became something wrong. It prickled. Burned. Even the thought of a touch made him recoil.

🍼 Not that anyone in the demon realm dared to touch him. Not when he started rising through the ranks faster than anyone expected for a freshly turned demon. It was laughable, really - he didn’t even know what the ranks were until much later. He was too busy hunting humans to satisfy the maddening itch in the void where his soul used to be.

🍼 He was no one. Just a follower meant to feed his King. Until Jinu came along, saw his face in the demon realm, and casually called him “Baby.”

🍼 Baby hadn’t realised it would stick. Even with demonic features, it seems he had a baby face. Perfect for luring in humans if you asked him.

🍼 He had no memory of his real face, no idea who he used to be. The only hints were physical reactions - flinches, preferences, inexplicable instincts. Forget my ass, Baby would grumble every time his body reacted to something he couldn’t explain.

🍼 So, when Jinu asked if he wanted to take a peek at the human world, Baby very easily said no. It wasn’t until Jinu literally begged that a sadistic smirk tugged at Baby’s lips, and he agreed - caring very little for whatever promises Jinu had offered.

🍼 But the lack of memory came with one very specific problem: He had no template to base his appearance on. Although Baby felt that even his demonic form probably held more resemblance to whoever he’d been before death than whatever polished identity Jinu had instructed him to mimic.

🍼 The mint hair felt right in tone, but not colour. His bright painted nails felt right too, though he preferred darker shades. His cheeks were too round, eyes too big - he remembered scowling the first time he saw his reflection and calling himself a “Fucking owl.” Eventually, he altered them, drooping them slightly. Enough to pass as doe-eyed, but more tolerable for him.

🍼His lips and nose felt… familiar. Almost correct. And his demon markings? He felt naked without them.

🍼 Ironic, considering they were symbols of what he’d become. Still, they were him now. Not this peach-skinned twink he wore for public appearances.

🍼 He lived for moments when no humans were around and he could drop the illusion. Let his features sharpen. Hair darken. Let the demon marks shimmer faintly when caught at the right angle.

🍼 But the thing that really got under his skin? That fucking honmoon wave surrounding the entire damn globe. Broadcasting its bullshit feelings - “Comfort,” “Love,” “Warmth.” Every time it pulsed near him, his brain went static, and his body curled in on itself. Disgusting.

🍼 He labelled what he felt as disgust, anyway. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to investigate it either. Those feelings? They made his skin crawl. Tried to fill the void in his chest - and he wanted nothing to do with them.

🍼 So when you slipped into his routine, so slowly he didn’t even notice until Romance offhandedly asked if you’d be coming to one of their shoots - Baby had been about to say no. But he froze. Because how the fuck should he know?

🍼 He hadn’t even realised how intertwined you’d become in his life until that moment. He hated it. He hated what you made him feel.

🍼 Even worse? He realised why he felt so pissy lately. It was you who made it impossible for him to relax the illusion. That was your fault.

🍼 So. What does a clever, soul-devouring, high-ranking demon do? ... That’s right. He told you.

🍼 Told you the truth - on the apartment balcony. At night, when the guys were out. Cornered you, really. He knew humans had that fight, flight, or freeze instinct, and he wasn’t about to be scolded by his seniors if you ran off because your little human brain couldn’t process anything that wasn’t a grey alien with antennae.

🍼 Let the illusion slowly fall away- Silver-blue eyes overtaken by a glowing gold, face subtly shifting, clawed hands flexing. Grey-toned skin bled over warm peach, washing it out in waves. Markings flickered faintly before settling - like ink spreading across wet parchment.

🍼 It went about as well as he expected. You looked at him - his pupils narrowed vertically, curious - And you promptly jerked back and fell off the fucking skyscraper.

🍼 Baby watched you over the railing, utterly bored, as you plummeted. Would they follow Gwi-Ma if they died? The thought flickered. The answer was obviously no.

🍼 So he jumped after you. Caught up with ease - just as your panic spiked, sharp and intoxicating through the honmoon. He pulled you against him mid-air, chest to chest. In the next breath, you vanished in a swirl of violet smoke - Only to reappear on the same balcony you'd hurled yourself from.

🍼 His expression didn’t change as you shoved him away, gasping, refusing to look at him. Baby would never admit it, but for a second, he wondered if telling you had been a mistake.

🍼 Because if you’d said you wanted to leave, even if you promised to stay silent— He wouldn’t have hesitated. He would’ve feasted on your soul then and there. So at least some part of you would stay with him.

🍼 Good for you, though. You calmed down. Asked questions. And Baby answered - just enough to soothe you, and somehow managed to make you believe he and the others only wanted to live like humans.

🍼 Yeah right. He nearly rolled his eyes at himself. They did want to live like humans, sure. But only so they could turn those annoying HUNTER/X fans into SAJA fans so their King could have enough souls to have a corporeal form.

🍼 Still. He told you exactly what he thought would calm you down. And it worked.

So you really couldn't blame him for looking at you like you'd lost every single brain cell the moment you asked him to show more of his demon features. The two of you were tucked away in his room - Romance and Abby off experiencing another so-called “wonder of the human world” under Mystery’s watchful eye, while Jinu was out doing who-knew-what for who-knew-why. Again. If Baby cared enough, he could’ve tapped into the honmoon and followed his veiled wave to sense what the other was feeling and where he roughly was. But right now, all of his attention was locked on you, mouth parted slightly as he gawked. He blinked, a brow rising before a faint smirk curved his lips as he looked you over. “Why? Want an excuse to go jumpin’ off the balcony again?” he asked, voice low, honeyed with a slight rasp. You seemed to be still a bit bothered by the subtler demon traits he let slip - like those faintly glowing golden eyes, the greyish tint to his skin, and the slightly curved black claws at the tips of his fingers. Still, most of his human features remained intact. Baby could always see the way your gaze lingered on him. Your body still, almost instinctively, while he shamelessly felt your bright blue wave in the honmoon barrier crackle with adrenaline whenever he let his human form ease a bit. The sensation was delicious, teasing, and just out of reach. He could feel it pulsing even now, tempting him. But you remained stubbornly leashed by the Huntresses. Tch. No matter. He wasn’t worried. With the plan they've agreed on, it was only a matter of time - and his gradually thinning patience until the cool blue would turn brilliant crimson. You then mirrored his "playful" smirk, pushing his arm lightly with a soft glare. "Ha. Ha. You’re so funny," you said, voice dripping in sarcasm. Baby leaned back against the pillow wedged against the headboard, posture relaxed as he grinned. “I know. I’m fuckin’ hilarious— Ack! Hey! What the fuck... was that... for..?” You'd flicked his forehead. He growled softly, reaching for the second pillow beside him, only to trail off with his words when you shifted suddenly - smoothly swinging your leg over and settling down on his lap. His head tilted back to look at you, eyes narrowing as you loomed over him with... Determination? ...What? His claws flexed, digging into the bedding beneath him. Instinct told him to throw you off. His abdomen tightened with tension, warning signals blazing. You were far too close, and he didn’t like it - didn't like how your expression was unreadable. Golden eyes flared brighter. Still, Baby didn’t act. He had a part to play, and unfortunately, that part meant he had to let some of the physical touching pass. Apparently, this was how modern couples showed... affection. Gwi-ma, he wanted to gag. He kept his face composed, barely restraining himself, giving you a sceptical look as you inhaled like you were bracing for— His hand shot out, clamping around your wrist before it could reach his left cheek. He knew exactly what you were aiming for. His mark - a jagged line like a centipede crawling from his neck to his temple, slithering beneath his shirt and connecting to the web of others across his back and stomach. “What... are you.. doing,” he asked, voice low and gravelly, each word pronounced deliberately as he locked eyes with you. To anyone else, you might’ve looked fearless. But Baby could feel the tremor in your honmoon wave. Fear and— oh? Anticipation?

HaaaH. How stupidly naive. Were you seriously getting off on this? His frown twisted into a crooked grin as he tightened his grip on your wrist - just enough to make a point. His other hand slid down to your thigh, claws grazing your clothed skin with a deliberate lightness that sent a shiver through your body. He felt it. That spark in your wavelength. The surge. He could’ve taken it - could’ve let that familiar fire devour him, choosing scorching heat over soft warmth any day - but just as he leaned in, lips parting to claim that blaze for himself- You placed your hand gently over his mouth. With that same nerve-fraying calm, you guided him back onto the pillow. What... he thought, blinking. Baby was confused - thrown off by how unreadable your wave had become. It rattled him, and his face gave it away. But instead of offering any explanation, you simply leaned closer, hair falling like a curtain around your face. The tips of your fingers trailed from his lips, down the column of his throat, settling softly where the faint glow of his marks began to appear. His focus slipped. The illusion cracked. In places he could usually hold it together, it now flickered and glitched - his control slipping as his body betrayed him. Baby hated it. Hated how he could overpower you, end you, devour your soul without effort. And yet, when the image crossed his mind and he tried to command his limbs to move- All they did was twitch. His hand tightened silently around your wrist, more a warning than an attack. His golden eyes flared, pupils narrowing to slits, claws twitching against your thigh as he watched your every move carefully. His body coiled, breath shallow, your hand sliding beneath his neck. His marks pulsed under your touch - more visible now, shining through the grey-blue tint of his skin like they were answering some silent call. It was laughable. Hysterical, even. His chest vibrated with a low, restrained cackle. His demonic body - eager, searching - called for marks that didn’t exist on you. You were human. You can't respond. And yet, his body did not seemed to get that. That's why when he saw the lack of marks, he couldn't but feel desperate - drawn in by that tender, painful warmth of your touch, but also aching to pull away from it. As if your calm was contagious, invasive. Baby gritted his teeth as you dragged your hand lower, pushing aside the collar of his shirt to reveal more of his glowing marks. He strained not to retaliate, not to lunge. You were touching him so carefully. He could’ve crushed your wrist. Should’ve dug his claws in, made you stop. But all he could do was breathe hard and watch through half-lidded eyes, your presence looming over him. You looked at him with that maddening combination of tenderness and steel, no hesitation left in your wavelength. It pulsed through the honmoon barrier. And he felt it. Your fingers traced the glowing lines across his chest, up his neck to his right cheek, and it was like you were branding him - burning him with your softness. Pathetic, he thought, as his grip slackened. His body and mind were at war. The mind screamed: They'll betray us. Leave us. But his body... Baby exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering as he hesitantly nuzzled into your palm. His pupils dilated, just for a moment. Then they narrowed again, body snapping taut as your lips pressed gently to the mark on his left collarbone. Reflex kicked in. In an instant, he overpowered you - twisting your body beneath his with a snarl that rumbled deep in his throat. He pinned your arms over your head, legs locking yours in place so you couldn’t move an inch. His glowing eyes bore down into yours, slitted and wild, fangs bared.

The adrenaline was back - shuddering through your wave, cracking against the barrier - and it made Baby feel sick to his stomach. Disgusted. Yet he let that familiar, creeping fear settle on his tongue like a meal he devoured with too much hunger. That's right… he thought, tightening his hands around your bound wrists as he leaned closer, close enough that your noses nearly brushed. His grin was mocking, laced with something darker. “Did you had your fun?” he growled low, his mind too preoccupied with his aching body to try and sound playful. He needed to get closer; his marks pulsed, desperate for yours to answer back. His grip tightened just so as he dipped lower, his eyes locked onto your face, breath warm as he brushed his lips over your right ear. “I sure didn’t,” he growled again, voice rougher now, pupils thinning into sharp slits. Yet still, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. There was no anticipation. No arousal. Your wave felt hollow - like it had vanished entirely. And that silence in your energy made the void in his chest expand until it felt unbearable. He must’ve looked insane - his lips parted in shallow gasps, golden eyes blown wide and glassy. He rose up just enough to search over your body, frantic, desperate for the familiar spark that could sear him if he dared— Baby froze. He couldn’t move. Not a muscle. Your lips were pressed with quiet certainty against the mark on the left side of his neck. Like your life wasn’t in danger. Like you weren’t human. Like he wasn’t a demon. Baby shuddered fully as you strained your neck to kiss his left cheek, right as his breath stuttered and caught. His eyes, two black moons nearly devouring the gold, stared at you like a cornered beast. He didn’t even notice when he’d loosened his hold. But he had - because suddenly your hands were cradling his face like he was something precious. He didn’t know what to do. So he let you guide him upward, both of you slowly sitting on the bed. His eyes stayed locked on you, unmoving, unblinking - as though expecting a trap. As if at any second you might hurt him. But you didn’t. Instead, you smiled. Softly. Your left hand came to rest at his neck, massaging gently, while your right traced over the demon mark. Baby realised then - every single mark across his body had begun pulsing again, glowing faintly through the fabric beneath your hands. With a sharp inhale, Baby curled his clawed hands into the sweatpants, watching you lean in. He expected a shove. A scream. A betrayal. Instead, your forehead rested softly against his, your hair mingling with his own. Your eyes were closed. His stayed open, pleading silently - end this, do something, don’t drag it out.

But what broke him were the words you whispered between the two of you, "It’s okay, baby. You’re safe here… hmm~" The name. His name. No - pet name. And the meaning behind those words was what finally made his body go lax all at once. He exhaled and let his forehead drop to your shoulder. As if the strings holding him had been cut. His body slumped against yours, heavy, drained - and you didn’t waver. You held him. You expected this. One hand slid up into his hair, the other keeping him anchored as he pressed his face deeper into your neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent that was you. A shaky exhale left him. His arms curled around you, possessive and trembling, like you were his personal plushy and he didn’t quite know what to do with it yet. Something flickered in his chest. A soft flame. And in that quiet, Baby realised two things. First… His arms tightened protectively around you as he slowly opened his eyes. That glowing gold, dimmed but determined, stared into nothing. You were not going to be taken from him. Not by the King. Not by fate. Not by anything. Baby would stand against that pathetic excuse of a King if he had to. And second… His gaze dropped to the gentle blue hue of your soul. It was being wrapped - willingly - by the bright violet threads of their shared demonic energy. With a smirk you couldn’t see, Baby lowered his clawed hand to your chest. His markings responded, pulsing at his command. He watched with near-reverence as the blue began to shift - from a gentle blue - to a sharp crimson. The once serene hue of a honmoon, now soaked in red devotion to him. His tongue traced over one fang as he trembled at the flood of emotion pouring from you - adoration, fondness, warmth. He pressed in closer and sighed in satisfaction. His other hand slipped from your back down to the mattress, touching your wave - letting it wrap around his arm and slide up his side right as he clenched his hand around it. He was ready when your body shuddered - before you collapsed into him completely. Straightening, Baby let himself fall backwards with you in his arms, landing softly against the mattress. Your dazed expression rested against his chest. Crimson line glowed gently across his marked skin, and Baby smiled, pleased. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and pressed his lips to your forehead. “Rest, my stubborn human," he whispered, "I promise I’ll be here when you wake up,” He reclined into the pillow as your eyelids fluttered, too tired to understand what had just happened.

His smile widened. As your body surrendered to sleep, his arms instinctively tightened around you. Unbeknownst to you, your forms had become woven over - your beautifully crimson wavelength, having torn itself free from the barrier, drawn to him the moment he called. Oh, you... How adorable that all it took was a flicker of vulnerability in something humans believed to be untouchable for them to give themselves over so completely. So fucking naïve~ Baby mused, his grin turning sharp as he gently caressed your cheek with a clawed hand.

[cuzxai]

behind closed doors - suggestive

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: you and spence getting caught ALMOST in the act (god i love the coloring i made the picture)

Rossi only threw a party when something dramatic happened. A retirement, a promotion, once even a divorce but this one? This was his “we survived another goddamn year” celebration, complete with catered hors d’oeuvres and enough wine to knock out the entire Bureau. The man had taste, you’d give him that. His house, as always, looked like a catalog spread for Tuscan luxury: polished floors, oil paintings, dramatic lighting. You were somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen island, nursing a glass of sparkling water and trying not to look like you were waiting for someone. Because you weren’t. Not officially. Spencer hadn’t arrived yet.

The rest of the team was already mingling. JJ and Will were tucked into a corner with Garcia, who looked radiant in a sequined wrap dress and held a glass of something suspiciously neon. Emily was talking to one of Rossi’s old profiler friends while Morgan was at the bar charming the hell out of a woman who was definitely not in the FBI. You kept your cool. You were good at that. Trained for it. But your eyes flicked to the door every time it opened.

“Stop looking so nervous,” Emily said suddenly, drifting past you with her glass. “This isn’t a debrief. Drink more.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lied.

“Uh-huh.” She gave you a knowing look over her shoulder and vanished into the next conversation.

You weren’t nervous. You were just tense. You and Spencer had been doing this thing. This not-quite-official, definitely-against-Bureau-policy thing for almost six months. Meetings at his place. Late-night calls. “Accidental” lunch breaks taken at the same time. All of it lived in the shadows, and both of you liked it that way. Mostly. But tonight was the first time you’d be in the same space as him with everyone else since you’d started sleeping together. You hadn’t seen him all week. You didn’t know if he’d sneak you a look, a touch, anything. You didn’t even know what he was wearing. Then the door opened and you knew. Dark grey blazer. Rolled cuffs. His hair a little longer than usual, curling at the ends. You caught his eyes from across the room and your stomach dropped in the best possible way.

Spencer looked at you like he wanted to devour you. And no one else noticed.

He moved through the room in that awkward, polite way of his, nodding to a few people, lingering to greet Garcia with a quick hug but his gaze kept sliding back to you. You kept sipping your drink to avoid biting your lip. Ten minutes passed before he finally found his way to your side. Casual. Relaxed. Like he didn’t need to be next to you but it helped.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey yourself.” You didn’t look at him, just kept your focus on the charcuterie board like you were talking about cheese instead of actively trying not to remember the way he kissed when he was desperate. “Took you long enough.”

“There was traffic.”

“There’s never traffic in Quantico.”

He smiled. “Then maybe I was waiting for the right moment.” You did bite your lip that time.

There were too many people around to say anything else. You could feel the tension sparking between you like static electricity, flickering beneath your skin. He kept his distance but his arm brushed yours once, twice and you felt it all the way down your spine.

“So,” you said eventually, pretending to reach for a cracker. “You planning on behaving tonight?”

Spencer tilted his head. “Are you?” You almost choked.

Luckily, Morgan appeared beside you both, sipping a beer and already halfway into a grin. “Look at you two standing there like secret agents. Lighten up. It’s a party. Reid, you actually drink wine or just quote facts about it?”

“I prefer wine to beer,” Spencer said without missing a beat. “But Rossi has an open bar. I might try something new.”

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath. “Somebody stop him.”

Morgan laughed and wandered off again. Spencer leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“You want to get out of here?”

Your pulse jumped. He wasn’t asking to leave the party. You glanced around. Emily was deep in conversation, Garcia and JJ were swapping stories, and Derek was already headed back to the living room. Nobody was watching. Nobody cared.

“Where?” you whispered.

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” he said. “Third door on the left.” You hesitated. Only for a second. But the way he looked at you—quiet, intense, wanting—it overruled every single warning bell in your head. You nodded once and stepped away from the table.

“Wait five minutes,” you said. “Then follow.”

Spencer didn’t smile, didn’t wink. Just tilted his head again and let you walk away. You took the stairs slowly, your pulse roaring in your ears. The upstairs hallway was quieter, dimly lit. You found the door—third on the left—and slipped inside. It was a cozy room. Rossi style, of course. Big bed. Window seat. A mirror. Dim lamplight casting gold across the walls. You didn’t touch anything, just stood there, waiting. Listening. One minute. Two. The door creaked open behind you. You turned and Spencer was already locking it. He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room, calm and deliberate and kissed you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. You made a soft sound, pressing into him, gripping his shirt and dragging him back until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You didn’t waste time. Neither of you did. You knew what this was.

Clothes half-on, mouths locked, hands everywhere. Spencer kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like he needed you to breathe. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively as he lowered you to the bed, and you couldn’t stop the noise that escaped your throat when he would grind against you.

“God,” he whispered against your neck. “You’re gonna be so good.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder. It was fast and hot and messy, the kind that came from too many nights of wanting and not being able to have. You bit your lip to stay quiet, nails digging into his back as he moved his fingers into the waistband of your pants. One of his hands pressed against your mouth. It was good. It was so damn good.

And then the door opened. You froze. Spencer froze.

“Yo—” Morgan’s voice rang out, then cut off with a sharp laugh. “Oh, shit. My bad!”

You couldn’t even look. You heard him snort, heard the unmistakable smugness in his tone.

“Reid getting play,” Derek said. “Did not see that coming.”

Then the door clicked shut. Silence. Spencer’s fingers were still inside you. His breath hitched, face buried in your neck. You lay there, stunned, blinking at the ceiling.

“…we’re never living that down,” you muttered.

Spencer just groaned.

[masquerade-of-misery]

Alright, so we are all familiar with pregnant women getting the weirdest cravings, right?

Imagine this: you are expecting Lilia's child. And what you start craving, is something that leaves everyone, including yourself, in utter shock.

You crave Lilia's food.

The banana cake with pieces of liver in it? Heavenly. Soup in which he put yogurt, eggs, hot paprika, and god knows what else? Seconds, please! Roasted lizard? A delicacy!

The look of horror and utter disbelief on Sebek, Malleus, and Silver's faces as they watch you devour Lilia's strangest culinary creations is absolutely priceless.

But what you really can't get enough of, is the way your husband's face lights up when you tell him you want him to cook for you every day. Lilia's radiant smile, his cheerful humming coming from the kitchen as he prepares your next probably inedible meal, are worth more than any treasure in the world.

[kpoplustzone]

Fucking my BF'S BOSS - Seo Yea Ji Smut

OC X SEO YEA JI

Part two of this smut is only available in my KoFi account

https://ko-fi.com/epiclude

The doorbell chimed, a sophisticated melody that echoed through the modern apartment. Seo Ye-ji, still slightly flushed from her action-packed day on set, adjusted the thin t-shirt she was wearing. It was one of her boyfriend, Min-jun’s, softest cotton tees, and it clung to her every curve, the fabric almost sheer against the delicate lace of her black bra. The studio lights had been unforgiving, and under this softer lighting, the full shape of her breasts was undeniably visible, the dark cups of her bra a stark contrast to the lighter fabric.

Min-jun rushed to the door, a nervous excitement in his step. “That must be Mr. Park!” he called out to Ye-ji, who was just stepping out of the kitchen with a bowl of steamed edamame. She offered him a warm smile. She was genuinely happy to meet his boss, a respected figure in the finance world, and she hoped her presence would make a good impression, maybe even open up some opportunities for Min-jun.

The door opened to reveal a distinguished man in his late forties, impeccably dressed even for a casual dinner. Mr. Park’s eyes immediately landed on Ye-ji, and a flicker of surprise, quickly masked by a polite smile, crossed his face. He extended a hand to Ye-ji, his gaze lingering a moment too long on her chest, the visible outline of her nipples peeking through the thin cotton.

“Seo Ye-ji-ssi,” he said, his voice a low rumble, a hint of admiration in his tone. “It’s an absolute pleasure. Min-jun has told me so much about you, and I must say, you are even more radiant in person.” His eyes flicked down again, a subtle but unmistakable appraisal of her figure in the revealing t-shirt. He couldn’t help but notice the way the soft cotton molded to the prominent swell of her breasts, the shadow of her cleavage clearly defined, the dark lace of her bra a tantalizing frame. He found himself momentarily speechless, captivated by her effortless beauty and the unintentional yet potent sensuality of her casual attire.

Seo Ye-ji, accustomed to the intense gazes of fans and the scrutinizing lens of the camera, was no stranger to being looked at. But there was a raw, unadulterated hunger in Mr. Park’s eyes that was different. She could feel his gaze tracing the lines of her body beneath the clinging t-shirt, lingering on the prominent peaks of her breasts pushing against the soft cotton, the subtle sway of her hips as she had walked from the kitchen. A faint smile played on her lips. Usually, such blatant ogling would have elicited a sharp retort or a feeling of discomfort. Her body, honed from years of disciplined training for action roles, with its subtly defined muscles and the natural curve of her full breasts, was hers to command, not to be freely devoured by wandering eyes.

Yet, there was something undeniably arousing about the way Mr. Park, a man of considerable power and influence, couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. The sheer lack of pretense in his lust, the way his gaze lingered so openly on her exposed form, sent a strange heat pooling in her lower abdomen. She knew her t-shirt was revealing, the thin fabric practically transparent against her black lace bra, showcasing the rounded fullness of her breasts and the dark circles of her nipples straining against the delicate material. It was a casual look for a relaxed dinner, but under Mr. Park’s intense scrutiny, it felt charged with a different kind of energy. A small shiver traced its way down her spine. The knowledge that this powerful man, someone who could significantly impact her career, was so openly lusting after her body awakened a complicated mix of vulnerability and a secret, illicit thrill.

As Min-jun turned towards the kitchen, busying himself with pouring drinks, Mr. Park leaned slightly closer to Ye-ji. His eyes dropped again to her chest, and this time, a knowing smirk played on his lips. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper that only she could hear amidst the clinking of glasses. “That t-shirt… it’s certainly a very… generous offering, Ye-ji-ssi. Are you trying to distract your boyfriend’s boss?”

Ye-ji felt a jolt of shock, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. The directness of his comment, the blatant acknowledgment of her revealing attire, took her by surprise. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced quickly towards the kitchen, making sure Min-jun’s back was still turned. A nervous laugh bubbled up in her throat, a mixture of embarrassment and a strange sense of being caught.

“Oh, no, Mr. Park,” she replied, her voice a little breathier than usual, trying to keep it light and casual. “It’s just… comfortable. I came straight from a shoot.” She subtly adjusted the neckline of the t-shirt, a reflexive gesture, though she knew it was futile in concealing the obvious.

Mr. Park’s eyes followed her movement, a predatory gleam in them. “Comfortable for you, perhaps. But for a man with eyes… it’s quite… stimulating.” He reached out a hand, and this time, his fingers brushed against her arm again, but lingered a fraction longer, his thumb lightly stroking her bare skin. Ye-ji’s breath caught in her throat. She looked around quickly, ensuring Min-jun was still occupied in the kitchen, completely oblivious to the charged interaction happening just a few feet away. A strange thrill, mixed with a growing sense of unease, coursed through her. This dinner was taking a turn she hadn’t anticipated.

As they settled around the polished wooden dining table – Ye-ji and Min-jun on one side, and Mr. Park facing them – the initial conversation was polite and focused on pleasantries. They discussed Ye-ji’s recent shooting schedule, Mr. Park’s work in finance, and Min-jun’s aspirations within his company. Ye-ji found herself subtly observing Mr. Park, noticing the way his eyes would occasionally flick downwards, lingering on her chest even through the slightly less revealing angle from across the table.

As the conversation flowed, punctuated by Min-jun’s eager contributions, Mr. Park’s boldness began to subtly escalate. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Ye-ji’s face as she spoke, but there was an intensity in his stare that made her skin prickle. Then, under the cover of the tablecloth, it happened. Ye-ji suddenly felt a soft pressure against her bare calf. Her eyes flicked down instinctively, but she couldn't see anything. A moment later, the pressure returned, a slow, deliberate stroke moving upwards along her bare leg. Her breath caught in her throat. Mr. Park’s leg.

His touch continued its insidious journey, sliding past her knee and onto her inner thigh beneath the hem of her short skirt. Ye-ji’s heart hammered against her ribs. She glanced up at Mr. Park, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a burgeoning panic. He maintained eye contact with her, a knowing, predatory smirk playing on his lips, completely unconcerned that Min-jun was mid-sentence, enthusiastically describing his latest project.

Mr. Park’s leg pressed more firmly against her inner thigh, his toes now subtly teasing the delicate skin higher and higher. Ye-ji instinctively squeezed her legs together, a reflexive attempt to block his unwelcome advance. The pressure only intensified, his toes now dangerously close to the hem of her panties. She subtly shifted in her seat, trying to create some distance, but Mr. Park’s leg moved with her, an insistent, possessive probe. A wave of heat washed over Ye-ji, a potent blend of fear and a strange, unwanted flicker of arousal at the audacity of his move. She had to do something, but Min-jun was right there, completely oblivious to the blatant sexual harassment happening beneath the table. The casual dinner had become a terrifying and thrilling game of cat and mouse, played out under the guise of polite conversation.

Despite her initial shock and the instinctive urge to pull away, a strange shift began to occur within Ye-ji. Mr. Park’s touch, while initially unwanted, carried a certain confidence, a sense of power that was hard to ignore. The illicit nature of the act, the risk of being discovered by Min-jun who was still enthusiastically talking about work, sent a nervous flutter through her that was increasingly tinged with excitement.

As Mr. Park’s toes continued their teasing journey higher up her thigh, getting dangerously close to the edge of her underwear, Ye-ji found her own legs relaxing slightly, the initial tension easing. She subtly angled her knee outwards, offering him more access, a silent, almost unconscious invitation to continue. The heat between her legs intensified, a familiar ache of arousal beginning to bloom.

Mr. Park’s smirk widened almost imperceptibly, a silent acknowledgment of her change in posture. His toes now gently brushed against the lace of her panties, a deliberate, tantalizing tease. Ye-ji’s breath grew shallower, and she could feel her nipples hardening beneath her top. The forbidden thrill of the situation, the powerful boss secretly pleasuring her under the table while her oblivious boyfriend chatted away, was becoming overwhelmingly arousing. She clenched her jaw slightly, a small, almost imperceptible tremor running through her body, a clear sign of her surrender to the illicit excitement of the moment.

"Min-jun was just telling me about your upcoming role in that new action film, Ye-ji-ssi," Mr. Park said, a sly glint in his eyes as his foot continued its subtle exploration between her thighs. "It sounds like it will require a lot of… stamina. Are you preparing yourself adequately for the physical demands?" His toes brushed against the lace of her panties, a deliberate provocation.

Ye-ji's breath hitched. She met Mr. Park's gaze, a playful smirk forming on her lips. "Oh, yes, Mr. Park," she replied, her voice a little breathier than usual. "I've been doing a lot of… conditioning. Making sure I'm limber and ready for any… intense scenes." She subtly shifted her legs, offering him a little more access. "It's all about finding the right rhythm and knowing how to… handle the pressure."

Min-jun beamed, completely missing the underlying current. "She's incredibly dedicated, Mr. Park! She trains for hours. Really pushes herself to the limit to be in peak… performance."

Mr. Park chuckled, his gaze never leaving Ye-ji's. "I'm sure she does, Min-jun. It takes a special kind of talent to maintain such… exquisite form. And I imagine, Ye-ji-ssi, you have to be very careful about who you allow to… assist you with your warm-ups." His toes gently teased the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Ye-ji’s pulse quickened. "Indeed, Mr. Park," she purred, her eyes locking with his. "It's crucial to have someone who understands the… intricacies of the process. Someone who knows exactly where to apply the… right amount of force to achieve the best results." She subtly pressed her legs together, trapping his foot between them, savoring the feel of his toes against her moistening core.

Min-jun nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! She even has a special stretching routine. Says it's the key to her… flexibility and endurance."

Mr. Park’s foot pressed a little harder, his toes now gently massaging her through the thin fabric of her panties. "I'm sure it is, Min-jun. Some exercises require a more… intimate approach, wouldn't you agree, Ye-ji-ssi? A closer connection, perhaps, to truly feel the… benefits."

Ye-ji could barely contain a shiver, the sensations between her legs becoming increasingly intense. "Absolutely, Mr. Park," she replied, her voice a husky whisper. "Sometimes, the best way to achieve… peak performance is through a very… hands-on approach."

You know, Mr. Park," Ye-ji said, tilting her head with a seemingly innocent expression, "Min-jun here is such a hard worker. He puts in so much effort, but sometimes… he just doesn't quite have the… reach needed to truly excel in his field." Her eyes flickered to Mr. Park, the double entendre unmistakable. Under the table, Mr. Park’s toes had slipped further, now nestled directly against her dampening core.

Mr. Park chuckled knowingly. "Ah, yes," he replied, his gaze fixed on Ye-ji with undisguised admiration. "Effort is commendable, but sometimes you need a more… experienced hand to guide you. Someone with the right… tool for the job to truly penetrate the market, wouldn't you agree?" His foot pressed gently against her.

Min-jun laughed good-naturedly, completely oblivious. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean? Are you guys saying I'm not good at my job?"

Ye-ji offered Min-jun a sweet, placating smile. "Oh, honey, no! We're just saying that sometimes, a little extra… support from the top can make all the difference in achieving your goals." Under the table, her fingers discreetly reached down under her skirt. With a slow, deliberate movement, she nudged the elastic band of her panties aside, creating a slightly wider opening, a direct invitation for Mr. Park's exploring toes.

Mr. Park's eyes darkened with lust as he subtly adjusted his leg, his toes now making direct contact with her bare, moist flesh. A thrill shot through Ye-ji, a potent combination of the forbidden and the intensely arousing. She met Mr. Park's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Exactly, Min-jun," Mr. Park continued smoothly, his foot now gently stroking her exposed vulva. "It's about having the right connections and knowing how to… handle certain situations with… finesse. Sometimes, you need to be willing to go the extra mile, to offer a little… something extra to truly impress the right people." His toes brushed against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through Ye-ji.

Ye-ji leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table, her gaze fixed on Mr. Park, a sensual smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I completely agree, Mr. Park," she purred, her voice a little husky. "Sometimes, a little… exposure in the right circumstances can lead to very… rewarding outcomes." Under the table, she subtly spread her legs a fraction more, giving Mr. Park even greater access, reveling in the feel of his insistent touch against her increasingly wet pussy. Min-jun just chuckled, shaking his head. "You guys are incorrigible!"

“Let me go start on dinner,” Ye-ji announced, pushing back her chair with a graceful movement. Mr. Park’s leg, which had been delightfully tormenting her under the table, reluctantly retreated. She stood, the short hem of her skirt swirling around her thighs.

“Oh, let me help you,” Mr. Park offered quickly, turning to Min-jun with a disarming smile. “I’m quite the accomplished cook myself, Min-jun. I wouldn’t want your beautiful girlfriend slaving away in the kitchen.” He stood up smoothly, his eyes never leaving Ye-ji as he gestured towards the doorway to the kitchen.

Ye-ji hesitated for a split second, a flicker of apprehension mixed with the lingering thrill of their under-the-table encounter. But she offered a polite smile. “That would be lovely, Mr. Park. Thank you.”

She led the way into the brightly lit kitchen. As she turned to face the counter, gathering ingredients, she felt Mr. Park step in close behind her, the heat of his body radiating against her back. Before she could even register his intention, his hands shot out, firmly grabbing both cheeks of her ass under her short skirt.

Ye-ji gasped, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips. Her body went rigid with shock. “Mr. Park!” she exclaimed, her voice a hushed but firm chide. She tried to pull away, her hands instinctively reaching back to try and dislodge his grip. “Min-jun is right there, watching TV! What do you think you’re doing?” Her heart hammered against her ribs, a potent mix of fear and a renewed surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The audacity of his move, so sudden and blatant, left her momentarily stunned.

Mr. Park chuckled softly, his grip firm and possessive on her rounded flesh. He squeezed gently, his thumbs rubbing against the curve where her thigh met her buttock. “Resisting already, Ye-ji-ssi?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “But I have a feeling you’re enjoying this more than you let on.” His fingers subtly dug into her cheeks, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his touch.

Ye-ji’s initial shock was quickly being replaced by a confusing wave of heat. Despite the audacity of his actions and the risk of Min-jun walking in at any moment, her body was starting to respond. A familiar warmth was pooling low in her abdomen, and her nipples were tingling beneath her t-shirt. She still knew she should protest, should push him away, but the thrill of the forbidden and the undeniable power dynamic at play had begun to erode her resistance.

“Mr. Park, please,” she whispered, her voice losing some of its initial firmness, now laced with a hint of breathlessness. “Min-jun could come in…”

“Let him,” Mr. Park said, his grip tightening momentarily. “Or perhaps… let’s keep it our little secret.” He shifted his hands, one still firmly planted on her ass cheek while the other slid slightly higher, his fingers now tracing the line where her skirt met the top of her thigh, dangerously close to her underwear.

Ye-ji bit her lip, her internal struggle evident on her face. She knew this was wrong, a clear violation of boundaries. Yet, the sensation of his hands on her body, the boldness of his touch, was igniting a fire within her. She tried to focus on the task at hand, reaching for the gochujang paste in the cupboard, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. Her mind was racing, a chaotic mix of fear, excitement, and a growing sense of surrender.

As she reached for a knife to chop vegetables, Mr. Park’s hand on her ass cheek gave another firm squeeze, his fingers subtly digging into her flesh. A soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. She quickly cleared her throat, hoping Min-jun hadn’t heard from the living room. “I… I need to focus on the food,” she stammered, her voice trembling slightly.

Mr. Park’s chuckle was low and knowing. “Go ahead, Ye-ji-ssi. Cook for us. I’ll just… admire the view.” His fingers then slipped further down her thigh, the tips now brushing against the lace of her panties, sending a jolt of pure sensation through her. Ye-ji’s body reacted instantly, a sudden surge of wetness between her legs. She pressed her thighs together slightly, trying to contain the growing arousal, but the feeling of his hand against her ass, so intimately close to her core, was making it increasingly difficult to maintain any pretense of resistance.

Mr. Park’s fingers on her thigh edged higher, the lace of her panties a mere barrier now. The cool air of the kitchen brushed against the exposed skin where the fabric had shifted. Ye-ji could feel the heat radiating from his hand on her ass, the possessive pressure sending shivers of a conflicting mix of fear and desire through her. The scent of the gochujang, sharp and spicy, filled the air, mingling with the subtle, almost metallic tang of her own arousal.

“You’re flustered, Ye-ji-ssi,” Mr. Park murmured, his voice a low rumble right against her ear, his lips so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Does the thought of me… enjoying your assets while you prepare dinner for your boyfriend… excite you?” His thumb, with deliberate slowness, traced the outline of her ass cheek.

Ye-ji’s hands trembled slightly as she tried to slice a scallion. The sharp edge of the knife felt suddenly precarious. “Mr. Park, please… we shouldn’t…” But the protest lacked conviction, her body already betraying her words. Her nipples were now hard points pressing against the thin cotton of Min-jun’s t-shirt, and a wet warmth pulsed between her thighs.

Mr. Park’s other hand left her thigh and moved to her side, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her waist, then slowly sliding upwards, his knuckles grazing the underside of her breast. Ye-ji’s breath hitched. She could feel the heat of his touch through the fabric, imagining the sensation of his bare skin against hers. The sizzling of oil in a nearby pan seemed to amplify the tension in the small kitchen.

“Don’t worry, Ye-ji-ssi,” he whispered, his fingers now gently cupping the side of her breast, his thumb brushing against her hardened nipple through the t-shirt. “Our little secret. Think of it as… adding a little spice to the evening.” His thumb started to rub lightly, and a soft moan escaped Ye-ji’s lips before she could suppress it. She quickly coughed, hoping the sound would be masked by the whir of the range hood fan. The vibrant red of the gochujang in the bowl suddenly seemed to mirror the flush creeping up her neck.

As Min-jun’s footsteps approached the kitchen entrance, Mr. Park instantly shifted his posture, stepping closer to the counter as if intently observing the ingredients Ye-ji was preparing. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering near the bowl of gochujang. “Perhaps a little more of this, Ye-ji-ssi?” he said, his voice now loud and jovial, directed towards Min-jun as he entered the kitchen.

Min-jun leaned against the doorway, a smile on his face. “Smells delicious! You two are quite the team in the kitchen.” He seemed completely unsuspecting, his attention focused on the food.

Under the guise of pointing at a specific ingredient, Mr. Park’s hand brushed against Ye-ji’s, his fingers briefly squeezing hers before moving towards the bowl. But as his other hand rested on the counter near her, his thumb subtly traced the curve of her hip, just beneath the hem of her t-shirt, a silent continuation of their illicit game. Ye-ji’s breath caught in her throat. She forced a smile for Min-jun, trying to appear normal, while the sensation of Mr. Park’s thumb grazing her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mr. Park was just giving me some tips,” Ye-ji said, her voice a little higher than usual. She reached for a knife, her hand slightly trembling.

Mr. Park chuckled, his eyes meeting Ye-ji’s for a fleeting moment, a predatory gleam in their depths. “Indeed. Making sure Ye-ji-ssi’s technique is… up to par.” He then moved slightly, positioning himself to her side, ostensibly to look at the vegetables she was chopping. As he did so, his arm brushed against her breast, a lingering contact that made her nipples harden even further.

“You seem to be handling that knife very skillfully, Ye-ji-ssi,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear again, his voice just a whisper. “Are you always so… precise with your movements?” His hand then subtly moved down her back, his fingers trailing along her spine, a path that led directly to the waistband of her skirt.

Ye-ji’s heart pounded against her ribs. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain eye contact with Min-jun, who was now reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. “Years of practice,” she managed to reply, her voice a little shaky. Under her skirt, she could feel Mr. Park’s fingers dipping just beneath the elastic, the tips lightly brushing against the top of her bare ass. The risk of Min-jun turning around and seeing them was almost unbearable, yet the thrill was undeniable.

“Well, I must say,” Min-jun said, popping open his beer, “this is quite the treat. My two favorite people cooking together.” He took a swig, completely oblivious to the electric tension simmering just a few feet away.

Mr. Park chuckled again, his fingers now gently kneading Ye-ji’s buttock beneath her skirt. “The pleasure is all mine, Min-jun. Especially when the view is this… inspiring.” His gaze lingered on Ye-ji’s face, a silent promise of more to come in his eyes.

Mr. Park’s fingers, now fully beneath the hem of Ye-ji’s skirt, slid lower, his middle finger dipping into the soft crease between her buttocks. A gasp caught in Ye-ji’s throat, and she gripped the countertop tighter, her knuckles white. The sizzling of the kimchi jjigae on the stove suddenly sounded deafening in the small kitchen.

“That’s a very nice… curve you have there, Ye-ji-ssi,” Mr. Park murmured, his voice low and husky, his thumb now gently pressing against the thin fabric of her panties, right over her dampening core. “Very… touchable.”

Ye-ji forced a smile for Min-jun, who was now watching her intently. “Just making sure I don’t burn anything,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She reached for a spoon, her hand brushing against Mr. Park’s arm. She subtly pressed her fingers against his bicep for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment of his boldness.

Mr. Park’s foot under the table then nudged her inner thigh again, this time with a more insistent pressure, his toes gently separating her slightly parted legs. He leaned in closer to Ye-ji, pretending to examine the vegetables she was chopping. “Are you enjoying your time… on set, Ye-ji-ssi?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Is there a lot of… action?” His fingers on her buttock gave a slow, deliberate squeeze.

Ye-ji’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Yes, Mr. Park,” she managed to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. “Quite a bit. It can get… very physical.” Under the table, she subtly shifted her weight, pressing her wetness against his exploring toes.

Min-jun, ever the innocent bystander, chuckled. “She comes home exhausted sometimes! Says it’s more tiring than any workout.”

“Ah, but a good kind of tired, I’m sure,” Mr. Park said, his gaze fixed on Ye-ji’s flushed face. His hand on her back then slid lower again, his fingers now dipping inside the waistband of her skirt, his thumb finding the top of her panties and gently tugging them down a fraction. Ye-ji gasped softly, her eyes widening with a mixture of shock and intense arousal. She quickly turned towards the stove, pretending to stir the pot, her back now pressed against Mr. Park’s hand, savoring the feeling of his fingers so intimately close to her core. The savory aroma of the Korean stew filled the air, a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic tension simmering between Ye-ji and her boyfriend’s boss.

Mr. Park’s fingers, already nestled beneath the waistband of Ye-ji’s skirt, subtly shifted their target. While Min-jun turned to rummage through the refrigerator, his back completely to them, Mr. Park’s thumb slid downwards, encountering the soft, moist fabric of her panties. With a deliberate slowness that amplified the anticipation, he gently pushed the fabric aside, his fingertip making direct contact with Ye-ji’s swollen, wet flesh.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Ye-ji’s lips, and she gripped the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles turned white. The sudden directness of his touch, the sheer audacity of it with Min-jun just a few feet away, sent a jolt of pure electricity through her body. The aroma of sizzling garlic in the pan suddenly seemed overpowering, and the vibrant colours of the vegetables on the cutting board blurred in her vision.

“You’re a little… damp, Ye-ji-ssi,” Mr. Park murmured, his voice a low, suggestive purr that barely carried above the quiet hum of the refrigerator. His fingertip began to gently trace the sensitive folds of her vulva, a slow, tantalizing caress.

Ye-ji squeezed her eyes shut for a fleeting moment, trying to regain her composure. “Mr. Park… please… he could turn around…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Mr. Park’s thumb then pressed lightly against her clit, sending a wave of intense pleasure radiating through her. “But he hasn’t, has he?” he replied, his tone laced with a confident possessiveness. “And you know you want me to, don’t you?” His fingertip began to rub gently, a small, insistent circle that made her legs feel weak and watery.

Mr. Park’s fingertip delved deeper, finding the slick entrance to her core. He explored gently at first, tracing the delicate inner lips, feeling the swollen, throbbing flesh beneath his touch. Ye-ji’s breath hitched again, and a soft whimper escaped her, a sound she quickly tried to cover with a forced cough. The stainless-steel countertop felt cold against her clenched hands, a stark contrast to the burning heat Mr. Park was igniting within her.

His pace quickened slightly, his finger now stroking in and out with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each movement sent shivers of pleasure cascading through her body, making her legs feel increasingly unstable. She leaned more heavily against Mr. Park’s arm, the solid feel of his muscles a necessary anchor in the storm of sensations he was creating. The scent of sesame oil and soy sauce filled the air, mingling with the musky, almost primal aroma of her own arousal.

Mr. Park’s thumb continued its teasing dance against her clitoris, the small, sensitive nub now throbbing insistently. Ye-ji’s head fell back slightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she focused entirely on the exquisite torture he was inflicting. She imagined Min-jun just a few feet away, completely oblivious to the intense intimacy she was sharing with his boss. The risk of discovery only amplified the thrill, adding a layer of forbidden excitement to the encounter. Her body was singing, every nerve ending on high alert, completely consumed by the masterful touch of Mr. Park’s single finger. She was trembling from head to toe, a delicate vibration that ran through her entire frame, a clear testament to the potent pleasure he was so expertly delivering

“Feeling that nice and wet for me, Ye-ji-ssi?” Mr. Park murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper against her ear. His fingertip continued its teasing dance, now pressing a little harder against her swollen flesh. “You know you want me to slide another finger in there, don’t you? Really stretch you out for me.”

Ye-ji’s breath hitched, a shudder rippling through her body. “Oh, God, Mr. Park…” she whispered back, her voice thick with arousal. She tilted her head back, her eyes half-closed, a flush creeping up her neck. “You have no idea how much… Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” The need for more was a desperate, clawing sensation in her core.

Ye-ji’s trembling intensified, her moans becoming more frequent and less controlled. Her hips began to subtly rock against Mr. Park’s hand, seeking a deeper, more insistent pressure. She was so close, the pulsating waves of her impending climax washing over her in delicious, dizzying surges. Just a few more strokes, she thought, just a little more…

“Hey! You two in there?” Min-jun’s voice called from the living room, startling Ye-ji so violently that her body tensed. “Dinner’s almost ready! We should eat before it gets too late.”

A wave of pure, unadulterated fury washed over Ye-ji, so intense it almost felt physical. Her eyes snapped open, a flash of raw anger replacing the lustful haze. He has got to be kidding me! The blissful sensations that had been building to a fever pitch were abruptly cut off, leaving her frustrated and aching with unfulfilled desire

Ye-ji’s breath hitched, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. She loved Min-jun, she truly did. He was kind, supportive, and their relationship was comfortable and easy. But in that moment, with Mr. Park’s skilled finger still teasing her so intimately, she couldn’t deny the raw, visceral pull of desire. Min-jun was sweet, but he wasn’t… like this. Just the way Mr. Park had touched her, with such confident expertise, had brought her closer to the edge than Min-jun ever had with just his fingers. The interruption was a wave of cold water over a burning fire, not because she resented Min-jun as a person, but because her body had been so tantalizingly close to release, a release that this powerful, unexpected encounter was promising. She glanced at Mr. Park, a complicated mix of embarrassment and lingering desire swirling within her. He had awakened something primal in her, a craving that her steady, loving boyfriend simply didn't satisfy in the same intense way.

Mr. Park slowly withdrew his fingers from beneath Ye-ji’s skirt, his gaze never leaving hers. He brought his hand up, displaying his fingertips, which were glistening with her own slick secretions. A thick, viscous trail clung to his skin, catching the light. Ye-ji’s eyes were glued to his hand, a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and a potent wave of arousal washing over her. It was a blatant display of their secret intimacy, laid bare in her boyfriend’s kitchen.

For a long moment, she could only stare, her breath caught in her throat. The reality of what had just transpired, the sheer brazenness of it, hung heavy in the air. Then, with a deliberate slowness, Mr. Park reached out his hand again. This time, instead of going under her skirt, his fingertips gently brushed against her lips.

Ye-ji’s body instantly responded, a tremor of pleasure running through her once more. Her eyelids fluttered, and a soft moan escaped her throat. The sensation of his finger, slick with her own essence, against her mouth was intensely arousing. Almost instinctively, she parted her lips slightly.

Mr. Park didn’t hesitate. He slid his finger into her mouth, the taste of her own juices surprisingly potent on her tongue. Her eyes locked with his as she gently sucked on his finger, cleaning away every last drop. The act felt both intimate and incredibly debasing, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over her in that moment. The metallic tang of her arousal filled her mouth, a raw reminder of the forbidden pleasure they had just shared.

[androm3da868]

I find it so fascinating that Shukra (Venus), traditionally seen as the ruler and teacher of the Asuras — the demons — holds dominion over Venus-ruled nakshatras that are placed in fire signs. Especially in Purva Phalguni, there are myths suggesting that demons feed off light, energy, and even human emotions. It’s no coincidence that Venus, a planet often associated with beauty and pleasure, finds its nakshatras housed within the fire signs ruled by Mars, the Sun, and Jupiter — planets known for carrying some of the most abundant, radiant, and potent life force in the cosmos.

Even more intriguing is that Venus governs Purva Ashada, a nakshatra housed in a Jupiter-ruled rashi — Sagittarius — despite the ancient enmity between Brihaspati (Jupiter) and Shukra (Venus). This suggests a deeper, almost alchemical lesson hidden within Venus’s placement: a call not just to master material pleasures, but to confront and tame the obsessive pursuit of perfection — the endless refinement of craft that can drain one’s own life force if left unchecked.

It’s as if these Venusian nakshatras carry a built-in resistance to external parasitism: demonic or negative energies may attempt to feed off their light and vitality, but are thwarted because these natives are repeatedly trained to master their own internal demons — their desires, attachments, and compulsions — before such forces can consume them. Mastery over one’s own life force, rather than being devoured by it, becomes their shield and secret power.

[aintnoloveintheheatofthesun]

A love letter to the brilliant, talented, lying ass, cheating heifer...Pearline 🖤

There is so much to love about this character. She is played by Jayme Lawson so jot that down.

I couldn't sleep after watching this film. Not only did she cheat, sing and kill in the space of 2 hours 18 minutes, she stole my heart, too.

Let's break this down sequentially.

Name

'Pearline' connotes something rare and beautiful. There's two elements I love about this imagery.

One - she is a shining vision in a sea of flesh. This reflects her performance on stage, where she is a sight to behold in a sea of moving bodies.

Two - she is linked to local history. For decades, African Americans found employment and even autonomy fishing oysters along the Gulf Coast. These oysters would be shipped around the nation; creating opportunity for black fishermen, chefs and entrepreneurs. Her names anchors her to the South, to black ingenuity and resilience.

Furthermore! Her solo reflects the idea that Pearline is deeply committed to her people. While Sammie wrote an original song that he had never shared before, Pearline sings a lively song where everyone could join in.

When she thumps in time with the twins' violence, I feel like that emphasises her carpe diem nature. You cannot reach the valuable part of an oyster without exerting physical force. Before we reach the climax of the song and see Jayme Lawson in all her brilliance, a sinner in the back room takes several blows to the chest. Since this takes place during the Prohibition Era we can assume that she is no stranger to violence or crime.

Look

Damn, this woman is fine. Her skin was so well lit in the film. The night scenes when she was sweating on stage (and on that table) had her looking radiant. The beat was flawless and the hair worked!

Fits

The Clarksdale train station look will always be a favourite of mine. The white fishnet gloves, the floral earrings, the dark hat with flowers at the back and the floral print dress ate down. I'm just glad Sammie saw the vision.

Her light green, silk number in the juke joint made sense. We even got a new accessories  on stage, she can be seen in her wedding ring, different dangling earrings and a shiny cuff. The matching scarf was the perfect touch and them shoes!! Lord. They took 'Pale, Pale Moon' to the next level. Speaking of that that song - I am obsessed. It went triple platinum in my house last week. Brittany Howard and Ludwig Göransson devoured.

Love interest

That introduction after Pearline first watched Sammie play did it for me. There were fireworks between them!! Only to be followed up by

"You gonna sing?" "We'll see where the night takes us"

My goodness me. This woman really said I do what I want. She walked all the way to that juke joint, got her pussy ate, and sang like never before.

Queen shit.

Character arc

We first meet Mrs Pearline in the golden light of day. She looks calm and curious; eyeing up Preacher Boy. We then learn more about her tastes (in terms of sex, music, choreography and aromatics) before seeing her in action (killing these undead motherfuckers with Annie). She starts off reserved and mysterious and later proves herself to be brave and self-assured. Her dance style is sensual, animalistic and free. Clearly, this is not her first time performing for folks in a place like this; unlike Sammie. He has only ever sung at church and on Delta Slim's territory.

Speaking of Preacher Boy! She stands side by side with him, guarding the room where they are holding Stack. She calls Smoke evil to his face when he threatens to kill her over some garlic. She shoots at vampires, stakes motherfuckers and fights to the bitter end. My girl has ice in her veins.

Background

A massive thank you to professional dancer and cultural historian Melany Centeno for her breakdown video on YouTube explaining all the ancestors in THAT scene. She found that Ahmari Vaughn played Pearline's ancestor. This dancer was dressed in Hamar cultural wear while doing traditional Nilotic dances. The Acholi people are a Nilotic ethnic group found in Sudan and Northern Uganda. They have dances like Larakaraka and Bwola; which emphasise female agility and elegance.

Also credit to Walter English. He created this reading list inspired by Ms Pearline. It explores some brilliant Black Feminist literature and historical archives.

Thoughts on the actress Jayme Lawson deserves every good thing in this world. I love this character that she has brought to life and I thoroughly appreciate how messy, beautiful and real Pearline is.

Favourite quotes by her

"Y'all are cousins? I thought you were a nice young man"

"What was in that jar?"

These quotes represent the 'fuck it, we ball mentality of Mrs Pearline. When she learns that Sammie is related to the twins, she doesn't run out of that place - she spends even more time with him. I love that for her. There's no doubt she has heard rumours of the Smoke Stack twins not-quite-legal employment history. Rather than seek the company of upstanding black folk in Clarksdale, she goes even deeper into this mess.

For the second quote, I love how Pearline is actively working to figure out how the hell they can survive. The criticisms of her character as a jezebel are not completely unfounded however this line changes things. She is a woman who feels trapped in her marriage, just like how Sammie feels trapped in his father's church.

While she is very comfortable in her sexuality; she is not defined by it. She gets head from Preacher Boy, with her wedding ring on. She performs with reckless abandon on stage to an adoring crowd.

Siren, sure. Jezebel? No.

Mrs Pearline is not a sexual object with no thoughts, no ambitions for herself. She understands that in 1932 Mississipi, the sale of alcohol is illegal and she sings in a Juke Joint. She learns that this man she has just met has notorious, gangster cousins and she continues to seek him out. She finds out that they are surrounded by cold blooded monsters and she picks up a stake, then ties it to a shotgun.

The lovers' performance

I am calling it a singular performance because these two partners, idgaf. When Pearline arrives, Sammie dares her to play. She plays it cool and returns the dare. As he sings, she makes her way over and dances for him.

Them getting nasty in the backroom is the interlude. And finally, as she sings, he is in the wings, watching her with pure adoration.

Her musical number is just as powerful and vibrant as Preacher Boy's. Both of them are shown to be deeply rooted Southerners who love their people and the arts. They even stand up to Smoke in a similar manner. When Smoke tells Sammie to live a decent life, playing gospel music in the next town, Sammie refuses. Smoke holds a gun to his head. When Pearline hesitates to eat a clove of garlic, Smoke holds a gun to her head. Neither of them back down, even when their safety is on the line.

I saw an excellent post that explores the narrative development between 'I Lied to You' and 'Pale, Pale Moon'. It is a beautifully constructed journey that takes us from a coming-of-age musical to a historically accurate horror film. Sammie's song introduces us to his God given talent, while setting the scene for Remmick's self-serving, cult-like, pursuit.

Pearline's song is where the violence and the music begin to converge; namely when Pearline gets to stomping on stage in sync to the twins kicking a man in the gambling room.

In this scene, Sammie is admiring his woman and the juke joint patrons are singing in a chorus with her. This siren is at the centre of everything, in part because of her sex appeal, but mostly because of her passion and vocal abilities. The lyrics of the song even foreshadow the violent fates of these patrons. Sammie's music celebrates Black cultural contributions through past, present and future while Pearline's is a warning for what is to come.

Sammie is not the only griot in that place. The final credit scene features the gospel song 'This little light of mine' in which the lyrics directly contrast Pearline's song. Ms Pearline gets turned and becomes vulnerable to the sun so when she sings

Don't let it shine x4

Oh Lord

We learn that she is Sammie's equal and opposite.

In conclusion, Pearline is much more than eye candy in Sinners (2025). She is Sammie's narrative foil. She is a daring, formidable character who is about that action.

Favourite quote about her

'You so beautiful' - Sammie Moore 1932

No notes. Dude's right.

That whole scene had me like

[ghostofviriena]

“Crimson Flame of Jealousy” [🌶️]

Vil Schoenheit x Fem! Reader

Sypnosis:

A jealous spark ignites behind the ballroom curtain, Vil’s control unraveling the moment your smile lingers on someone else, hands and mouths claiming what words can’t, passion blazing hotter than pride, until dawn finds you both tangled in love and silk.

MINORS DNI 🔞.

Labels: NSFW, SMUT, Rough but tender intimacy, explicit content (MDNI), Dom! Vil, soft (?) dom tendencies, unprotected sex, intense kissing, oral (f! receiving), Jealousy, fingering, marking, mild possessive dirty talk, public setting → private scene, mild emotional tension, aftercare, and spicy!

💭: I love strawberries, specially in drinks. Strawberries x Matcha 😋 + they didn't come back at the event afterwards lol.

The gala was glittering, the grand ballroom alive with whispered secrets and glittering gowns, but all Vil could see was you— laughing just a little too closely with that other man, a Pomefiore student with his usual charming grin and eyes that dared to linger at you for too long. You looked radiant, your smile lighting the room, but the sight stabbed Vil’s heart like a thousand shards of ice coated in fire.

He told himself to stay calm, to stay professional, to trust you, or to not let his pride betray the trust you had carefully built between you. But every graceful tilt of your head, every subtle brush of your hand against that man’s arm was a slow burn he couldn’t extinguish.

Backstage, hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain near the library alcove, the air was thick with tension— the kind that could snap or ignite with a single spark. Vil’s usually perfect composure cracked as he stepped closer, his voice low but fierce.

“Why did you let him get so close to you?” he demanded, the cool elegance replaced by raw vulnerability and jealousy.

You blinked, startled, but you didn’t back down. “But Vil, It didn’t mean anything at all. It was just a conversation.”

Vil’s eyes darkened, stormy and burning with want and pain. “Didn’t mean anything, you say..?” He comes even more closer to You, “But it meant something to me.”

The space between you vanished instantly. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in with a desperate need that matched the heat pooling low in your belly. His breath hitched, trembling as he pressed you flush against the wall.

His lips found yours with a brutal hunger that left no room for doubt— a claim, a confession, and a promise all at once. His tongue swept in, teasing, demanding, consuming. You melted against him, hands threading into his hair as his mouth devoured yours.

Vil’s fingers slid beneath your blouse, igniting every nerve ending they touched. He peeled it away with possessive slowness, his eyes drinking in the smooth expanse of your skin, the soft curve of your ribs, the gentle rise and fall of your breath.

His lips left a trail of fire down your jaw, neck, collarbone, biting gently as he claimed every inch. You gasped, trembling under the fierce tenderness.

“Do you know just how much I want you?” Vil whispered, voice thick with need and jealousy.

You were unable to speak, your body arching toward him like a moth to flame.

His hands moved lower, brushing the waistband of your skirt with featherlight strokes that set your skin on fire. The fabric slipped away, and you shivered as the cool air kissed your bare thighs.

Vil’s fingers traced lazy, tantalizing paths between your legs, stirring the heat that was already pooling, his touch both gentle and commanding.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “Say that you want me, only me.”

Your voice was barely a breath. “I want you..! I need you, only you.”

The walls melted away as Vil sank to his knees, lips brushing against your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that made your breath catch. His tongue flicked expertly, exploring, worshiping, driving you wild with need.

You clutched the edge of the stone wall, nails digging in as his fingers slid inside your clit, curling just right, sending shocks of pleasure that stole your voice and left your legs trembling.

“Vil..! nnghh..~! right there, please.. please.. haah..” He cups your breasts as the sound of your moans made his bulge even more bigger.

Vil’s own breath was ragged, his eyes locked on yours, burning with a desperate hunger that mirrored your own.

When he rose, shedding his own layers of clothing with trembling hands, the sight of him— every inch lithe muscle and sculpted grace that stole your breath.

His cock was already hard, slick with need, and when he pressed against you, the world shrank to the searing connection between your bodies. “Gonna fuck you until your mind won't be able to think of any other guy's cock.. mmm.. than mine..”

His thrust was slow, deep, and demanding— a perfect storm of power and devotion that rocked you to your core. The size of his cock stretched out your insides, “Vil..Vil..! m-more please”.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with desire. Your eyes met his, wide and shining with unshed tears of pleasure and something far more intense— love, fear, and possession.

“You.*thrust* are.*thrust* mine.*deeper thrust* ” he whispered, “and no one else will ever have you like I do.”

Every movement was a symphony of lust and longing, fierce and tender all at once. You matched his rhythm, your nails raking down his back as your bodies joined in a wild, desperate dance.

“Mmm.. Vil.. gon'.. cum..~!” He speds up his pace, pushing his cock harder and deeper into your insides. And you? You couldn't think of anything other than how good he's making you feel, eyes rolled back and your back arched as he leaves more marks in you.

“Look at that pretty cunt, being dumb fucked by me— oh..~ fuck.. fuck! fuck! fuck! gonna.. haah.. cum with me, yeah darling~ ? nngh..”

He pounds into you more and more like a wild animal in heat, just the sight of what your face made him even more turned on.

When both of your climax hit, it felt as if it was a storm— fierce, overwhelming, all-consuming. Vil groaned your name, tightening around you as he claimed you utterly.

“I got you darling, don't worry.” Your legs fall weak and keep shaking. He decides to carry you back into his room to ensure your comfort.

“Vil..”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you”

“and I love you more, darling”

He then kisses your forehead while carrying you in a bridal style.

Morning After

The sun filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in a golden glow. You lay tangled in the sheets, limbs entwined with Vil’s, the heat of last night still humming beneath your skin.

Vil’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare back, his gaze tender and raw. “So gorgeous darling.. I'm glad you're mine,” he murmured, voice thick with a mixture of triumph and vulnerability.

You smiled, heart swelling. “And I’m yours, always.”

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer. “Jealousy is a fire,” he whispered. “But loving you is my forever flame.”

[slvbum]

CRUSH ♡ Rafe Cameron!

Content WARNING: Rafe Cameron x Stalker!Reader, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, manipulation, and threats of violence, unhealthy and dangerous behavior

She had developed a crush on Rafe that had metastasised into an all-consuming obsession, a dark vine twisting around her heart until it choked out reason. It began with that fleeting moment in the grocery store two years ago, his careless smirk, the way his fingers brushed hers when he handed her that jar of honey. For her, it was fate, a spark that ignited a fire she’d never extinguish. Now, lying flat beneath his bed, her breath shallow, her pulse a fevered drum, she felt alive in a way only he could make her. The cold hardwood pressed against her back, the faint musk of his cedar-and-salt cologne curling into her lungs like a drug. Her manicured fingers clutched a syringe of ketamine—swiped from her father’s stash. She was done waiting for Rafe to see her. 

Tonight, she’d make him hers.

Her obsession had spiraled that morning at the beach club, where she’d poured every ounce of her charm into asking him out. She’d approached him at the bar.

“Rafe,” she’d purred, voice like velvet, “wanna grab dinner tonight? Just you and me.” Her heart had thrummed with anticipation, expecting his blue eyes to light up with recognition. Instead, he’d leaned back, beer in hand, and squinted at her like she was a stranger.

“Do I know you?” he’d said, his tone flat, almost bored. “Look, I don’t do random dates with people I don’t know. Pass.”

No warmth, no lingering glance... just a dismissal that stabbed her like a blade. She’d frozen, her smile cracking, her eyes darkening as rage and humiliation coiled in her chest. He didn’t remember her. He didn’t see her. She’d stormed off, heels clicking, her mind a whirlwind of vengeance and need.

All day, she’d stalked him. She’d watched him at the gym, his sweat-slicked shoulders flexing under the weights, her breath hitching as she snapped photos through her car’s tinted windows. She’d lingered outside Tannyhill when he ate lunch with Topper, her camera capturing his laugh. At the pier, she’d stood in the shadows, her heart aching as he scrolled his phone alone, oblivious to her worship. Every moment he didn’t notice her fueled her fury, and her hunger. By nightfall, she’d slipped into Tannyhill through an unlocked side door, her body trembling with purpose. Now, under his bed, she counted his breaths.

She waited patiently, her heart pounding so loud she feared he’d hear it. When his breathing deepened, she slid out, silent as a specter. He lay sprawled, one arm flung over his face, his chest rising and falling. Her gaze devoured him, the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint stubble, the way his shirt rode up to expose a sliver of toned abdomen. Desire and possession surged through her, a heady mix that made her dizzy. She straddled his chest and plunged the syringe into his neck. His eyes snapped open, a choked “What—” escaping before his body went limp, his blue eyes rolling back. A thrill shot through her, electric and intoxicating. He was hers now.

Dragging him was a nightmare. Rafe’s six-foot frame, all lean muscle, was dead weight. Her sneakers skidded on the hardwood as she hauled him down the stairs, his boots thumping against each step. Her arms burned, her breath ragged, but the pain only sharpened her focus. She’d prepared her basement, a soundproofed bunker from her father’s paranoid days, with a chair bolted to the floor, zip ties, and a duffel bag of tools. Binding him, she felt a rush of power, her sweat mingling with the jasmine on her skin. She changed into a white dress that clung to her curves, and waited. The drive-in movie was tonight... their night.

When Rafe stirred, his head lolled, a groan rumbling deep in his throat. “The fuck…”

His eyes widened as he took in the concrete walls, the dim bulb swinging overhead, and her standing before him, radiant and unhinged.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurred, yanking at the zip ties, his biceps straining, veins bulging under his skin. Panic and fury warred in his expression, but there was something else, confusion. It made her pulse race how he wasn't even scared.

She crouched, her smile a mix of adoration and menace.

“It’s me. From the grocery store, remember? You got me that honey.” Her voice was syrupy. “And—You hurt me today, Rafe. You were so mean when all I wanted was just a date…”

“Fucking crazy,” he manage to mutter, still dizzy from the drugs. “Let me go, you psycho bitch—” His words cut off as she slapped him, her nails leaving red streaks on his cheek. The crack echoed, and she felt a jolt of satisfaction, her skin flushing with heat.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, her face inches from his, her breath mingling with his. “You’re mine, Rafe. You just don’t know it yet.” She pulled a switchblade from her duffel, twirling it so the blade glinted. “Say you’ll come, or I start cutting. Please, just a date…” Her voice was calm, but her heart thundered, a mix of rage and longing. She needed him to say yes, to choose her.

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting to the blade, then her face. He was a Cameron, but her gaze, devoid of anything human, made his stomach twist. Fear gripped him, cold and unfamiliar, but there was something else, a dark spark. She was worse than him, her derangement a mirror to his own chaos, and it… fuck, it stirred something in him. Her power was terrifying and magnetic, a pull he couldn’t fully deny.

“Fine,” he growled, his pride choking him, his voice laced with defiance and dread. “I’ll go. Put the damn knife down.”

Her smile was radiant, as if he’d proposed under starlight.

“Good boy,” she purred, cutting the zip ties. The drugs still dulled his strength, and her warning was a blade at his back: “Try anything, and I’ll carve your family apart. Wheezie first.”

The drive-in movie was her twisted dream, a warped vision of romance under the stars. The screen flickered with a retro slasher flick, blood and screams filling the night as they sat in her cherry-red convertible, the top down, the air thick with her jasmine perfume.

“Isn’t this perfect?” she murmured, her voice dripping with adoration, her heart soaring. To her, they were a couple, their chemistry electric, their future written in the stars.

Rafe was a caged animal, his body radiating tension as he pressed himself against the passenger door, his shoulder practically welded to the frame. Rage churned in his chest, his heart pounding with every unwanted touch. Her fingers on his thigh felt like a brand, invasive and suffocating, and he swatted them away, his hand trembling with barely contained fury.

“Hands off me,” he snapped, his voice low and venomous, his blue eyes blazing with disgust. “Fucking delusional.”

The rest of the movie was a torturous dance. Every touch sent a jolt of revulsion through him, his body rigid as he flinched away. His skin crawled, his pulse racing with a mix of fear, anger, and that shameful fascination. She was relentless, her hand grazing his thigh again, her chatter incessant.

“What a wonderful first date,” she said, oblivious to his scowl, her voice bubbling with joy. “We’ll have so many more. And you’ll see how good we are together.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the screen, blood and screams blurring as his mind raced, plotting an escape, grappling with the sick pull of her derangement. He hated her, but her attitude was a mirror to his own darkness, and it… fuck, it haunted him.

When the credits rolled, she drove them to her mansion. On her doorstep, under the glow of a wrought-iron lantern, she turned to him, her eyes gleaming with triumph. Her heart soared, she’d won, she’d claimed him. Before he could react, she grabbed his face, her nails digging into his jaw, and kissed him. Her lips were fierce, possessive, her tongue pushing past his defenses, tasting of cherry lip gloss. Rafe stood rigid, his hands hovering, not touching her, his body screaming to pull away but paralyzed by her threats. The kiss was a violation, a claim, and it left him reeling—furious, and, God help him, he like it. Her derangement was a drug, and he was caught in its undertow.

She broke away, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, “If you tell anyone, I’ll slaughter the Cameron name. Sarah, Wheezie—gone. And I’ll make you watch.” 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I've been reading your SAHSRAU content (10000/10 btw). I suddently had this idea of a reader who has 12 pure white angelic wings that they can hide whenever they want. But the aura surrouding them is so intense and pure that is nearly impossible to hide. However those wings can turn black under extreme moments of anger or rage. Kinda like this ying and yang kinda thing in which the reader is a balance between light and darkness under some circuntances yet not malicious in any shape or form. Also i don't know about yoh but can you imagine the reader looking like warhammer 40k emperor or manking? Being tall and divine yet hates being called a god? I find that idea funny since it's canon that the emperor of mankind loathes being called or seeing a god can you imagine the reader being tall and golden in everyshape or form being worship while cringing inside? I can imagine sunday, argenti or any other religious character not just from honkai but from genshin trying to worship the reader.

Sunday: "Praise the almighty Creator! The God of life. Allow me to sing praises to your glory!"

EoM Reader: "Please don't...."

Argenti: "Your grace your beauty surpassed does of Idrila!"

"EoM! Reader: "STOP! I AM NOT A GOD!"

Sunday: "All hail the creator!"

Everyone else: "All hail the creator!"

Meanwhile the reader is dying inside while some of the express crew tries to comfort them. Since the reader aura is soo strong and so divine they basically can't hide it

(This is not a request or anything like that I just wanted to discuss these ideas with you)

HELLOOO—first of all, thank you so much! I'm so glad you've been enjoying the SAHSRAU content, and OH MY GOD this concept you’ve dropped in my lap?? I’m devouring it. This is chef’s kiss peak celestial angst and divine comedy.

12 pure white angelic wings—absolutely yes. It's so biblical it hurts (in a good way). That kind of holiness that burns, like trying to look directly into the sun. The Reader’s presence isn't just divine; it’s overwhelming, a pressure on the soul like you're being judged just by standing in the same room. But the twist? The Reader hates it. That kind of “I’m just trying to live a life and y’all keep bowing” energy.

And then—black wings in times of wrath? That duality is so poetic. The idea that they're not evil when the wings turn black—it’s just a mirror to the emotion inside them. Their “rage mode” isn’t demonic, it’s just the raw force of justice or grief that tips the balance. Think “vengeful seraph” not “fallen angel.” And maybe even in those moments, others misinterpret it as the Reader falling from grace, and they panic. Meanwhile the Reader’s just screaming “THIS IS FINE I’M JUST MAD.”

Reader who looks like the Emperor of Mankind but cringes when worshipped—oh my god, the contrast of their divine, regal, borderline eldritch presence with the deeply human, "please stop putting me on a pedestal" energy?? HILARIOUS. They walk into a room, radiant as a thousand suns, their voice makes walls tremble—and the first words out of their mouth are: “You better not be kneeling again, I swear to Aeons—”

Sunday is positively vibrating in reverence. Argenti probably composes three odes a day, and Jingliu has to physically drag him away sometimes. Even Herta’s research drones start quoting scripture when the Reader enters the lab.

Reader internally screaming at the cult forming around them while characters like March, Dan Heng, or even Kafka and Welt are trying to shield them from the worst of the worship?

YES.

March: sighs “Okay, I’ll take care of the shrine someone made in the parlor again.”

Dan Heng: “We can’t keep threatening to throw Sunday off the train.”

Trailblazer, deadpan: “...Can we, though?”

Meanwhile, Sampo’s probably selling fake feathers on the black market claiming “They fell off the Creator’s wings during their descent!”

I also love that Reader’s aura is too strong to suppress, like their divinity is an inescapable fact of existence. That just adds this beautiful tragicomedy where even if they wore a hoodie and sunglasses, the sheer reality-breaking presence of them would turn every head. “I’m not a god,” Reader says as flowers bloom in their footsteps and the air vibrates with unseen choirs.

“You sure about that?” replies literally everyone.

[kathaelipwse]

Stuck With You

Masterlist

<<<previous chapter

Pairing: CEO!J.Yunho x Secretary!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine

Warnings: Smau, fluff, teasing, flirting, cameo - seonghwa

Word count: 0.5k

Chapter 12 – Forever & Always

5 Years Later – The Wedding Day

The soft hum of a string quartet filled the grand wedding hall, the scent of fresh roses and jasmine lingering in the air. Elegant chandeliers bathed the venue in golden light, and rows of familiar faces turned toward the entrance, waiting.

Yunho stood at the altar, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, fingers slightly curled as he exhaled slowly. He had faced boardrooms full of intimidating executives, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and led an empire—yet standing here, waiting for you, was the first time in years he felt nervous.

Then, the doors opened.

His breath hitched. The world fell away.

You stepped into the aisle, adorned in a breathtaking wedding gown, delicate lace trailing behind you, shimmering in the light. Your veil framed your face, but it couldn’t hide the soft, radiant glow of your expression.

Yunho froze.

His jaw clenched as emotion swelled in his chest. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Seonghwa, standing beside him as his best man, nudged his ribs. "Breathe, bro."

Yunho barely heard him. His entire being was focused on you.

Each step you took toward him felt agonizingly slow, yet he wanted to memorize every second.

By the time you reached him, his hands were itching to touch you.

And then, as you stood beside him, he finally leaned in, his voice teasing but husky.

"Are you ready for a baby? I mean, I don’t mind waiting… but I could always just devour you tonight—"

Your eyes widened in horror, and without hesitation, you elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Jeong Yunho!" you hissed under your breath.

He only chuckled, shameless and entirely unrepentant. "What? I’m just saying, wife."

"We are at the altar—"

"And?" His grin was downright sinful.

The officiant cleared his throat, eyeing Yunho with barely concealed amusement. "Shall we proceed?"

You gasped in embarrassment, while Yunho winked at you.

When it was Yunho’s turn to recite his vows, the teasing was gone.

His gaze softened, and when he took your hands in his, his thumb traced your skin slowly, reverently.

"Loving you has been the greatest privilege of my life," he began, voice steady but thick with emotion. "From the moment I met you, I knew I was doomed—in the best way possible. You drive me insane. You challenge me. You steal the blankets at night. But you also give me a home. A reason to slow down. A reason to be better. A reason to love."

Your throat tightened as he continued.

"You are my home, my peace, my greatest love. And I promise to stand by you for the rest of our days."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

"Jeong Yunho," you whispered.

His fingers tightened around yours, silently urging you to continue.

"You are the most insufferable man I’ve ever met," you started, making the guests chuckle. Yunho smirked. "But you are also the kindest, most loving person I have ever known. You love fiercely, you protect without hesitation, and you look at me like I’m the only thing that matters in this world."

Your voice trembled slightly.

"I don’t need a grand promise. Just you. Forever."

The crowd awwed, and Seonghwa was aggressively sniffling in the background.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Yunho didn’t wait.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you in so suddenly that you gasped against his lips before melting into him.

The kiss was deep, slow, and lingering, filled with the overwhelming love and passion he had held for you all these years.

The entire crowd cheered loudly, but Yunho didn’t care.

His hands cupped your face, lips still brushing against yours, and when he pulled back slightly, he rested his forehead against yours, voice low enough for only you to hear.

"God, you look so beautiful… but I can’t wait to rip this wedding dress off you and officially claim you as mine."

You gasped again, heat flooding your face as you smacked his arm.

"Yunho!"

He only smirked innocently, eyes twinkling.

"What?"

"You are UNBELIEVABLE."

"And you love me for it."

Yunho refused to let go of you the entire night, either holding your hand or keeping a possessive hand on your waist.

Every speech ended with some variation of: “I can’t believe our grumpy CEO is now the biggest simp.”

Seonghwa’s speech: “For years, Yunho acted like he was allergic to emotions. And now? He literally kissed his wife like a man starved, so I guess love truly changes people.”

Yunho? Completely unfazed. “Yeah, and I’d do it again.”

His father sat at a distance, watching with a contemplative expression. Eventually, as Yunho passed by, his father muttered a simple, gruff approval.

"You chose right."

Yunho didn’t respond immediately, but his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

"I know."

By the time the reception ended, you were exhausted.

You entered the honeymoon suite, finally free from the chaos of the night, and exhaled in relief.

"I’m so tired—"

But then you heard the click of the door locking.

A shiver ran down your spine as you turned to see Yunho, standing there, loosening his tie. His tuxedo jacket was already discarded, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just enough skin to make your breath hitch.

His gaze was dark, intense, filled with something entirely different than before.

Slowly, he walked toward you, fingers brushing your cheek as he tilted your chin up.

"You’re mine now." His voice was low, husky. "Forever."

You swallowed, heart hammering. "Yunho—"

He smirked. "What? I waited all night, baby. You’re my wife now. And I think it’s time we…" He leaned down, lips ghosting over yours. "Celebrate."

Your stomach flipped. "You're so shameless."

"And you married me anyway."

Then, he kissed you, deep and slow, as if he had all the time in the world.

And he did.

Because forever was only just beginning.

THE END. ❤️

---

New Series:

Carved in Sin | Dokyeom

— Trailer

— Masterlist

[snail-day]

Devotion

Yandere Angel x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors, virginity loss/blood (dubcon), unbalanced power dynamic. Stockholm Syndrom MDNI

WC: 2k

Thinking about yandere angels with egos so inflated they see themselves as gods.

The kind who can’t fathom the idea of not being adored, especially by someone as soft and radiant as you, a devoted priestess. The kind of angel who sees their love for you not as a flaw, but as something divine, even when it starts to consume them.

And when you don’t reciprocate their devotion? It’s not just rejection—it’s blasphemy. They feel it etching into their very being, carving itself into the rings of their eyes like a new deadly sin. A longing so raw and agonizing, it sears through them. It’s a pain so unbearable they’d rather fall from the heavens than endure it a second longer.

Perhaps revealing his true form had been a mistake.

But what else could he have done? How else could he show you the depth of his devotion, the unbearable weight of his love?

In his human guise, he was nothing to you. Just another man, no different from the others who worked the gardens or sang praises in the temple halls. You brushed off his lingering touches like they were nothing, turned away from his yearning gaze like he wasn’t even there. And oh, how that hurt.

He’d watch you, always. Watched as you laughed with the other priestesses, your voice soft and melodic as you hummed prayers to the heavens, your hands weaving blossoms into garlands with such delicate grace.

Prayers that should have been meant for him.

But he wasn’t just a man. He wasn’t one of your temple brethren, desperate for a glance or a kind word. He was your god. Your salvation. The very reason the flowers bloomed beneath your feet and the sun graced your skin.

And yet, as he watched you twirl in the flower fields, silken gown catching the breeze and hair glowing in the golden rays of sunlight, he felt so small.

You were his god.

The thought burned in his chest, an unbearable ache that clawed at him from within. It was wrong, this feeling. A god should not feel small. A god should not bow before his creation. And yet, you reduced him to something lesser, something aching and hollow, longing for your gaze as though your love alone could sustain him.

He needed you.

It was not a want, not a passing desire, but a hunger that carved itself into the very marrow of his existence. With every moment you didn’t see him, his divine power faltered, his wings feeling heavier, his light dimmer. You, with your radiant smile and unknowing grace, held his entire existence in your hands.

He craved you with a desperation that bordered on worship. Your laughter became his gospel, your touch his sacrament. And yet, you remained oblivious to the storm raging within him, to the pain that ripped through him each time your gaze lingered anywhere but on him.

So, he showed you.

When his true form unraveled before you, it was both agony and ecstasy. Rings of infinite, burning eyes opened, each one fixing on you, devouring you. Wings, vast and unknowable, unfurled with such force they bent the air around them, casting the gardens into shadow. His presence was no longer something soft or gentle—it was overwhelming, a tidal wave of light and fury.

And his voice. Oh, his voice.

It was a symphony, both terrible and beautiful, a sound that split the air and reverberated in the depths of your soul. He whispered your name as though it were a hymn, each syllable imbued with a longing so profound it cracked the heavens. The sound carried with it the weight of eternity, the desperate prayer of a being who had waited lifetimes for this moment.

He saw the way you froze, the way your body trembled beneath the weight of his presence. He saw the fear in your eyes, the way your hands clutched at your chest as though trying to shield your very soul. And though it was not what he wanted—not the love he yearned for—it was enough.

Because in that moment, you saw him.

Not the man who lingered in the temple halls, nor the one whose hands you brushed off without a second thought. You saw him, in all his infinite, incomprehensible glory.

And for the first time, he felt whole.

When he was done, when he had felt like you had enough, when the brilliance of his true form faded and he returned to his human shell, he found you crumpled before him, your body trembling, your cheeks stained with tears. He crouched down, his hands shaking as he touched you, soft as a supplicant before the altar.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the salt on your skin. “Do not be afraid.”

But even showing you the divinity of his existence. A very god from the heavens, etched from the stars. Wasn’t enough. Even as he kissed you, his hands desperate to hold you closer, even as your body slackened in his arms, he could feel the gap between you. He could feel your terror, your fragility, the way you couldn’t understand the vastness of his love.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything he had ever known.

Because you were his god, the very reason for existing, the only thing that could fill the endless void inside him. And yet, you recoiled. You trembled in his embrace as though he were something monstrous.

“Why do you fear me?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Can’t you see what you are to me? You’re everything.”

As his hands clutched you tighter, not in anger but in desperation, as if letting go would shatter him entirely. He had shown you all he was, stripped himself bare for you. And still, you slipped through his grasp like sand.

Was it so wrong for him to need you? To worship you? To crave you so deeply that it hollowed his very soul?

You were his god, and he was your broken disciple. And he would make you see it. 

Because no god could abandon their most devoted follower.

“I’ll follow you,” he repeated, his voice soft, almost fragile as if the thought of losing you was enough to unmake him. “Even if I must crawl through fire, through darkness so deep it swallows me whole. Even if I lose everything—my wings, my grace, my very name—I’ll find you. I’ll carve myself into the marrow of your soul, so deeply that we will never be parted. Not in this life, not in the next. You are mine, and I am yours.”

His words weren’t sweet, loving promises. His hands, so gentle yet unrelenting, cupped your face as his eyes—those eyes that had seen the infinite—bore into yours. You wanted to look away, to pull back from the intensity of his gaze, but you couldn’t. His grip, his presence, held you captive in ways that went beyond flesh and bone.

At first, the fear of his true form had been enough to keep you pliant. The memory of those rings of burning eyes, that overwhelming presence that seemed to consume the very air, kept you rooted in place. Every brush of his hand, every whispered word, reminded you of what lay beneath the façade of humanity he wore so convincingly. You stayed because to resist felt like courting annihilation.

But his devotion wasn’t soft; it was desperate to carve you into another deadly sin.

The garden where you once found solace, where you sang hymns to the heavens and tended to flowers in peaceful devotion, had become something else entirely. A space no longer sacred but defiled by his love—if love it could be called.

He cornered you there, amidst the blooms that once symbolized purity, now crushed beneath your bodies. His hands gripped yours, pinning them to the earth as though to tether you to him, to make you an unshakable part of his existence. His gaze, burning with that unholy light, pierced into your very soul.

The petals beneath you, soft and fragrant, carried the cruel irony of the moment. They dampened with blood—your blood—staining the earth that had once been a place of worship. His movements, though deliberate, carried a desperation, a need to stake his claim not just over your body, but over your very being.

After all, at the end of the day, he was still a man.

"You were always meant to be mine," he whispered, voice trembling between fevered thrusts. "Even the gods know it—even the stars themselves. You were made for me, the greatest of all creations."

When the act was over, he didn’t release you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his touch gentle yet suffocating. His lips pressed fevered kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, murmuring promises that felt more like prayers to an unseen deity.

“You’re my salvation,” he murmured, his voice trembling against your skin. “But I’ll make myself your sin. I’ll weave myself into you, body and soul until no part of you is untouched by me.”

Somehow you stayed. Not because you wanted to. Not because you loved him.

Afraid of the being who could unmake you with a single thought. Fearful of the burning rings of eyes, the suffocating wings, and the divine madness that simmered beneath his human shell.

Yet as the days turned into weeks, something within you shifted.

The fear dulled, and softened, like a blade losing its edge. His touch, once suffocating, became something else—a tether, a strange comfort that you found yourself confiding in. He was everywhere, a constant shadow over your life- a guardian angel in your wake. 

And then, one day, you kissed him.

It was small, barely more than a fleeting brush of lips, but it was enough. Enough to send him reeling, enough to ignite something that burned brighter than the heavens he once called home.

The kind of kiss that left him frozen, his breath catching as though the world had stopped spinning.

“You… kissed me,” he murmured, a voice trembling with something that sounded like disbelief, as though the act had unraveled his very being. Something that should have been so meaningless, he clutched onto for dear life. 

You didn’t respond—not with words, not with an explanation. But it didn’t matter to him. It never did. His lips were on yours again before you could even think, fervent and desperate, his hands clutching at you as though you might vanish if he dared let go. There was no restraint, no hesitation, only the consuming need to feel you, to know you were his.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you found yourself responding—not out of love, not out of desire, but something more primal, more insidious. Survival, you told yourself. A way to keep him calm, to keep the fire that burned behind his eyes from engulfing you.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

You weren’t just surviving. You were falling.

Falling deeper into the pits of hell, where the flames would soon lick at your skin the way his lips did, consuming you in their unbearable heat. Vines of need and possession twisted around your heart, constricting your breath until the only thing left was him—his touch, his words, his presence.

“I love you,” he whispered in the dead of night, his voice trembling with reverence so raw it made your skin crawl. “I love you more than the stars, more than the heavens themselves. I love you more than I was ever meant to love anything.”

Sometimes, you would murmur back—a soft acknowledgment, a sound that wasn’t quite rejection but wasn’t acceptance either. You weren’t sure what it was anymore. A concession? A survival tactic? Or the first crack in the fragile walls you’d built to keep him at bay?

This life wasn’t enough for him, and soon, you realized, it wouldn’t be enough for you either. He had made you his, not just in this moment, but in every moment that would ever exist. In this life and the next. In every breath, every form, every fleeting heartbeat until the end of time.

And when the stars themselves burned out, when the heavens crumbled and turned to dust, you would still be there with him. Even as stardust, you knew, that sweet angel would find a way to intertwine himself with you.

Characters:

JJK: Gojo, Geto, Kenjaku

AOT: Eren (post time-skip), Zeke, Ymir

BNHA: Hawks, Overhaul, Dabi

Alien Stage: Luka

[blindmagdalena]

The Undone and the Divine

18+ 2k lady homelander x f!reader. pwp, wlw, loss of virginity, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names. written for an anonymous requester. 🖤

To kiss, to taste, to devour. Homelander is as close as the world will ever come to knowing what it's like to walk among gods. She's powerful, petulant, all consuming, and she knows exactly how to show you the pearly white gates of heaven.

Touching Homelander is akin to holding fire in your palms. It’s something that should be impossible, and yet time and time again she returns to you, her every muscle thrumming with the barely contained power of a god. There’s a ceaseless wonder to it. 

Even so, nothing could have prepared you for this. For seeing all of her. She’s radiant in her beauty, her body lithe and free of blemish. The light behind her head gives her blonde hair an angel-like glow, and the press of her lips on yours is nothing short of divine.

You’re both stripped bare on her bed, your respective clothes shed in a trail from the bedroom to her couch, where kissing became heavy petting.

The mirrors surrounding you make this feel like a shrine dedicated to the woman over you, and you whisper her name like a prayer between kisses.

“Your heart’s pounding like a drum,” she murmurs, kissing the salty-sweet sheen of sweat from your neck. “You’re all full of adrenaline. Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she says, her voice a feline purr.

“A little,” you admit breathlessly. “I’m not good with pain.”

She knows you’re inexperienced, though you’ve been purposefully vague on how inexperienced. Just thinking the word “virgin” is enough to make you cringe inwardly.

Lifting herself up to meet your gaze, she tilts her head, flaxen hair falling over her shoulder. “It’s not supposed to hurt,” she tells you, touching your lips with the pad of her thumb. “That’s a stupid lie told by stupider men. I won’t hurt you.”

You press a kiss to her thumb. “Maybe not every time, but… What about the first time?”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. You flush, averting your gaze.

“Is that how it is? Well, I’ll be damned. My sweet, pretty girl,” she croons, somehow both warm and wicked in the way she nuzzles at you, laughing softly. “My little virgin.”

“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with both hands.

“Ah, ah, there’s no hiding from me.” Homelander easily pries your hands away. She dives in to kiss you, coaxing your lips until they move with hers. 

“No shame. No fear. No pain,” she says, her palms sliding slowly down the length of your body. She settles herself between your legs, your knees hiked up over her hips. 

“Well… Unless it turns out you like a little pain.”

You bite your lip, watching her with a mix of thrill and apprehension.

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart.” Her middle finger drags a slow line down between your breasts, over your stomach, her lips softly parted in focus.

“Your hymen? It’s not a seal. It’s a liiiittle arc of tissue,” she says, voice too light and casual for the way her fingers are now traipsing down between your legs. 

“It doesn’t need to tear. It doesn’t need to bleed. Not if we take our time,” she says, eyes flickering up to your face. Her lips curl into a devious smile. “Not if we get you nice and wet.”

Your breath catches as she slides two fingers down either side of your clit, rubbing so close to where you want her to touch you most.

“It’s not just about the clit. Not about what you can stuff inside it. No one without a pussy is going to understand, but all of this”—she follows the outer curves of you, skirting your quivering cunt—“is part of the show.”

She swallows up your shuddering breath with a hungry kiss. For as long as you’ve known the taste of her lips, Homelander has been hungry. She’s a devouring force, always eager to envelope you. To hoard you for herself. 

What’s new to you now is the urgency behind her fervor, how she moves with jagged impatience even as her fingers stroke with maddening slowness.

The juxtaposition of the two is enough to have you writhing under her.

She slips her tongue into your mouth, beckons yours to move with hers.

“Touch me,” she urges, words hot and quiet between your mouths.

Your hands move to obey before you even process her words. You cup her face, push your hands into her hair, nails scraping her scalp for the way it makes her sigh in pleasure. You let your hands roam without rhyme or reason, stroking and learning every part of her.

Though her skin is satiny, the flexing muscles beneath are as coiled steel under your hands.

There’s nothing as thrilling as so viscerally feeling the strength of her in her every movement, and knowing through that just how unbelievably gently she’s handling you.

It makes your clit throb even harder, aching to be touched.

She leans over you, bracing her hand on the headboard, and you seize the opportunity to kiss her neck as she had yours, peppering kisses down her throat to her clavicle. She hums sweetly, cupping the back of your head, encouraging you with the scrape of her nails.

You suck her petal-soft skin gently at first, and then harder. You’d leave a mark on any other, but not her.

“That’s it, baby,” she sighs. “Use your teeth.”

You bite. Hard. For as gentle as she needs to be with you, you must be rougher for her to really feel you. You imagine it must be little more than a tickle for the sweet way it makes her laugh, the sound of it throaty and full of need.

“Atta girl,” she moans, tracing circles, teasing you terribly. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing, hyper aware of how empty you feel. How much you want those fingers inside you. That pulse between your legs is radiating throughout your entire body, turning every inch of you into a live wire.

“Please,” you keen, shifting, trying to angle your hips so that you might feel her where you want her most. “I’m ready, please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. You beg pretty,” she says, leaning back. 

Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink, her hair disheveled by your hands. A lance of pride moves through you; it’s not every day a mere mortal debauches a god.

With a wicked curve to her kiss-bitten lips, she presses her thumb to your sensitive clit.

“Do it again.”

“Please!” You gasp, bucking under her touch. “Please, please, it’s so–I’m so sensitive.” 

By the time just the tip of her middle finger presses into you, the wet squelch of it is audible, even with your shuddering gasps. However, much to your dismay, she lifts her hand away.

You make a confused, indignant noise, but any further protests die on your lips as you watch her suck her two first fingers into her mouth, her scorching blue eyes dark with thirst.

She wets them thoroughly before returning her hand between your thighs, dropping back over you to kiss the faint trace of your own tangy flavor into your mouth.

“Even better than I imagined,” she says between kisses. You wrap your arms around her neck, so taken by the press of her lips that the slip of her finger catches you by surprise.

You gasp, but she hushes you.

“Don’t tense up on me now, pretty girl,” she says, her voice little more than a rasp. “Let me in.”

You nod, letting out a calming breath, fighting to let go of the tension in your body.

She focuses her attention on your neck, kissing her way down to the swell of your breasts. She nips playfully at your left nipple before taking it properly into the heat of her mouth. She gives a pleasant hum, the vibrations of her voice making you shiver with pleasure.

You push your hands into her hair, down her neck, cupping the back of her head to cradle her there, squirming between the skill of her fingers and her tongue. Her first finger slips into you with such ease, the curve of her finger pressing on your inner walls actually surprises you.

She was right. There’s no pain, just the sweet fill of her inside you.

“More,” you gasp, grinding down on her finger. “I want more.”

Though she doesn’t succumb immediately to your demand, she does distract you with the faintest scrape of teeth over your nipple. She sucks, swirls her tongue and pulls off with a wet pop only to descend upon your other breast. 

Goosebumps erupt across your body at the sudden temperature shift. You’re focused on that when she does slip a second finger in, and this time you do feel a slight ache for the stretch of it. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you had built it up to be in your mind.

It feels amazing.

“You smell so fucking good,” she all but growls, kissing and nipping her way down your torso. “I need to taste your pussy.”

She manhandles you effortlessly into position, shouldering between your legs and sinking down onto the bed. It all happens so fast that you barely have a chance to process before that same hot, velvet plush tongue is pressing against your clit.

Your whole body jerks, but she holds you in place with just one hand. Her fingers rock in and out, curling in on every deep plunge. Her mouth had felt good elsewhere, but it’s unreal between your thighs.

She laps and sucks at you, swirling her tongue in nonsensical patterns, drinking you down with abandon. The sound of it is obscene, easily heard even as you moan aloud your pleasure.

“Oh god, oh my god, god, please, I’m–” you bite your tongue, pushing and pulling at her hair before you settle on pulling her closer, losing yourself to the building crescendo of pleasure overtaking your mind and your body.

The pressure of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, an ache so intense that the pressure of it crawls all the way up your spine.

Your vision goes white. Your body locks up and your voice disappears somewhere far away, leaving you aware of nothing but the overwhelming release that crashes against you like the ocean against the shore.

The pleasure isn’t centralized to your clit the way it has been in the past: this orgasm spreads to the tips of your toes, your fingers, your scalp.

Homelander soothes you through it, her hand sliding up and down your inner thigh, her fingers fucking you slow and steady. She laps lazily at your clit while it throbs and throbs, nuzzling in with a pleased noise.

When you regain use of your fingers, you detangle them from her hair so that you can pet her head, the world around you still spinning.

“Oh my god,” you echo softly, the words slurred around the edge. “S’never… been like that.”

“That’s because you’ve never been fucked by me,” she says, head turned to kiss your inner thigh, her fingers motionless inside you as she savors the fading tremors of your orgasm. As if reticent to feel the loss of your warmth, she leaves her fingers where they are even as she settles next to you, slipping her other arm underneath you to pull you close.

When she kisses you now, there’s nothing faint about your flavor. It’s heady and salty-sweet, made all the better by how languidly she licks it into your mouth.

The two of you spend a long while tangled up like that, taking your time coming down from the high. When her fingers do slip free, you feel the loss of them as keenly as any other.

“Aren’t you lucky I got to you first?” She asks, smiling against your lips. “To think you could’ve had your virginity fumbled by some jackass jabbing your taint with his dry, sad–”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pressing your palm over her mouth. “Yes, yes, you’re right. And crude. Thank you.”

She takes hold of your hand and kisses your palm, nipping playfully at the meaty part just below your thumb. She nuzzles into your hand and sighs, looking every bit the proverbial cat that got the cream, her eyes falling shut.

A little sting of insecurity bites at you.

“I didn’t take care of you.”

Homelander’s eyes crack open, one of her arched brows lifting. “You want to?”

You nod eagerly.

She grins.

“Roll over.”

[merakiui]

The Most Dangerous Game [1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

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

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

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

“That right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

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

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

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

He said I’d look good in the uniform. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most often do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

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

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

“Ah, you know him well.”

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

“Have you tried asking?”

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

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

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

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

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

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

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

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

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

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

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

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mushroom brownies?”

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

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

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

“I find that hard to believe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How routinely predictable of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

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

“What’re you getting at?”

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

“Moray courtship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jade—”

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

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

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

It’s just one kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

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

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

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

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

He kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s an added bonus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

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

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

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

“You literally are.”

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

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

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

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

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’d rather lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

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

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

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

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

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

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

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

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

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

“Jade.”

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

“I was just leaving.”

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

It’s not worth it.

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

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

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

“It’s for Floyd.”

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

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

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

“Do you…want that with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What was stopping you?”

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

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

“Floyd, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

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

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

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

“What’s it like?”

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

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

“And you’d never leave me?”

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

“But what if someone else—”

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

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

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

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

More. More. More.

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

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

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

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

But it felt like Floyd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

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

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

“Prolly.”

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

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

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

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

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

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

“Do you think he knows?”

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

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

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

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

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

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

“(Name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

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

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

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

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

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

“Back so soon?”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… Is this for me?”

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

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

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

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

“That doesn’t sound very comforting…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

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

“Mm, nah.”

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

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

“You think so?”

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

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

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

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

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

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

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

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

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

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

“Then could I talk to him now?”

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

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

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

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

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

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

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

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

“Sure he is.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, totally.”

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

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

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

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

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on…”

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

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

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

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

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

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

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

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

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

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

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

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

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

“What should I add?”

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

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

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

“Special how?”

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

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

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

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

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

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

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

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

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

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

Still…

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

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

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

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

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

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

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

“Officially Octavinelle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you, of course.”

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

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you work as well?”

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

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

“Fortunately, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he now?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

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

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

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

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

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

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

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

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

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

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“How curious.”

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

“For the right price.”

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

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

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

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

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

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

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

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never know.”

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

“Dancing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

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

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

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

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

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

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

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

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

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

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

“I could’ve told you that.”

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

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

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

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

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

“And did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It is when you follow it.”

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

“Don’t group me with you.”

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

“You’re insufferable.”

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

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

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

“Every time. Without fail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

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

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

“Was yours not worded the same?”

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

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

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

“No, but I insist.”

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

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“Then I shall be the first.”

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

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

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

“I’ll consider it.”

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

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

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

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

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

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

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

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

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

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

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

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

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

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

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

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

“I hate you.”

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

“As if, asshole!”

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

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

second part.

[sultrydxrling]

Vampire husband <3 (AFAB!) reader/ Fill in any hair, race, or size. This is open and I can guarantee this dress would look amazing on anyone. especially for this wonderful vampire.

He left a note on our bedside table that you woke up to see, in his beautiful cursive he wrote,

"Good morning, my beloved. there's a gift for you in the wardrobe across from the bed. do your hair how you like, drip yourself in any diamonds you choose, and meet me in the ballroom."

You squeal excitedly and run to the wardrobe, practically tripping over yourself. You open the doors to see the most beautiful gown.

A white corset led into a full ballgown bottom, with the base color being white. Laid over the fabric of the skirt was a sheer piece of material adorned with at least one thousand white diamonds. The corset was also decorated with the same diamonds, but scattered wonderfully across the entire dress; were what appeared to be Blood spatters. However, upon further inspection, they turned out to be the most beautiful rubies. Attached to the corset's shoulders were shining, off-the-shoulder sleeves that sparkled in the light.

you call one of the maids to help you with the corset and adjust the dress to your liking. you thanked the maid and sent her away so you could do your hair in your favorite hairstyle, which also happened to drive your lover crazy on more than one occasion.

You do your best at a natural makeup look, your skin glowing after your moisturizer, though you lace your eyelids with a soft, but dark red shadow that compliments your skin tone, followed by a blush that has the same effect.

You deeply contour your neck to accentuate it and choose a simple diamond, teardrop-shaped necklace. This would hopefully draw more attention to your neck by covering it less.

After spraying his favorite perfume on your neck and slipping on your white, sparkly heels, you walked to the stairs from your room, already able to hear your lover's fingers gliding across the ivory keys of his piano. This makes your heart swell as you glide down the carpeted stairs. His delicate hearing picks up your footsteps and he stands, waving his hand to encourage the piano to keep playing with his magic.

With a soft wooshing sound, he meets you at the bottom of the stairs, standing behind you with his hand on the waist of your corset. His breath teases your sensitive neck as his eyes devour every inch of you.

"Hello, Mon cher, how beautiful you look in that gown astounds me. I knew you'd look radiant. Dance with me?"

You practically fawn against him as you turn around, your chest to his. You nod, speechless as he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the giant black-marbled floor, golds dancing across the black. You lean your head back joyfully as you relax into the dance, and the ceiling above you is painted with heavenly depictions of cherubs, the architecture, and the chandelier a bright, shining gold.

your stomach spins with your feet as you two dance, your heart pounds and you laugh. Your husband gazes down at you with a fanged, gentle smile. You can see his gaze lingering on your neck. This causes a blush to spread across your cheeks, showing through your makeup. He lifts you to himself and holds you strongly around the waist. Your feet lift off the ground and he proceeds to keep dancing with you as he buries his face in your neck.

"You're always so warm, and you smell so good. Your scent hungers me- and I an hear your heart pounding darling..."

This makes your breathing hitch in your throat and you can feel his fangs grazing your skin, a soft wet spot gathering on your undergarments. He takes a deep, shaky breath against your neck and begs quietly.

"May I? Please? I'm starving for you."

He sets you down carefully and kneels to one knee, clutching at the overlapping fabrics of your dress and looking up at you with his bright, pleading eyes. you can't say no to him, breathing deeply and nodding.

He stands quickly and pulls you to him once more, sinking his fangs deeply into your flesh and drinking from you needily. His arms hold you strongly around your waist, keeping you from moving barely an inch. As he drinks from you, you can feel the dizziness flooding your head.

You're not sure how much time passes, but after a while, he gently pulls you into a bridal-style position, carries you up the stairs, and lays you gently in your shared bed.

Somehow, your dress had been removed and lay gently over a chair in the corner of the room. Your eyes opened to see your husband undressing himself, looking over at you with that wonderful soft smile of his. You always swooned when you saw it, giggling and hiding your face in your soft pillows. He walks over to you and lays behind you, spooning you softly.

"Come here, face me."

you do as he says, met with a rough kiss, his fangs digging into your lips softly. you moan quietly and drape a leg over his waist, intertwining your fingers into his hair. The vampire pulls you on top of him and pushes his tongue between your lips.

Your hips, as if on cue begin to move and grind desperately against his bulge. He gasps and takes hold of your hips with his long fingers, digging his claws into you. You could feel the wet spot on your panties begin to grow against him, moaning lewdly into his ear.

Even though you don't have his flesh-piercing fangs you bite softly against his cold neck, sucking softly. His skin is slightly more living-looking due to him recently feeding on you, a soft pink tinting his body. The blood quickly gathers at the spot as you began to suck, his groans filling your ears, giving you more pleasure and incentive to grind.

You move your hips faster and faster as a tingle swirls around your clit, finding yourself close to climax. His cock throbs softly beneath you, encouraging your movement.

"Ah- Beloved- you feel- amazing..."

He breathes into your ear as he grips your hips tighter, his nails drawing a little blood. both of you pant like dogs as you lean into each other, desperate to finish with each other. He reaches behind you rips the fabric away from your drenched hole, and tears off his own. He quickly shoved himself inside of you, causing you to whine out.

Your husband's eyes roll back into his head as he moves his hips rapidly against you, thrusting roughly against your walls. Your walls clench tightly against his length as your body refuses to hold its climax any longer you squirt over his lower half.

"Oh my- God yes!"

He pushes himself as far into you as he could and his cum fills you to the brim, surprisingly warm. You rest your head on his chest, your hair a mess and had come out of its hairstyle, frizzy in all directions. You and your husband laugh with each other as he cuddles you close.

After a while of cuddling, he helps you to your feet and leads you into your bathroom. He helps you into the tub and runs the warm tap, using a small glass to rinse you off before plugging the water. He smiled at you lovingly as he poured an almond milk bath into your bath water and lavender petals.

"I am so deeply in love with you."

He pampered you for the rest of the night, with face masks, lotions, and moisturizers. Anything to make you feel more comfortable. Then you had a glorious dinner full of all of your favorite foods.

[grapefives]

REVÓLVER SEXUAL | HC

supernova trio x gn!reader (separately)

very light angst + implied nsfw + hispanic/latin reader + past fat shaming + insecurities + fluff + mentioned past unhealthy mechanisms

a/n: totally not self indulging. this has been in my drafts for a year LMAO please like 🧍🏻‍♀️

૮ ּ ۟ monkey d. luffy ׅ ۫ ✧

when you first joined the crew, luffy KNEW you had some sort of trouble with food

you were so hesitant of EVERYTHING that he found himself insisting and making sure you ate well, along with sanji

“y/n, eat more.” you felt like he was your MOM.

you could hear the “estas muy flac@” from your family members or the “ni que estuvieras a dieta” from your mother

but it was so HARD to say no to luffy, captain or not.

you still didn’t have a healthy relationship with food, and still felt a little guilty if you found yourself eating more than you FELT like you should’ve

sometimes you’d go all day without eating until luffy drags you for dinner, it’s not that you did it intentionally, you just don’t find it in you to eat

honestly, it worried luffy but he never really commented on it

all he would do is make sure you at least ate

but when you would play with your food more than eat or even just stare at the plate before you, he would frown and actually force feed you

“Y/N YOU HAVE TO BE STRONG AND HEALTHY SO WE CAN BEAT EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT WAY!”

yet, one day he finds out you literally had an issue with eating, you had mentioned it to chopper and he just happened to overhear

then it clicked why you were always squirmy during intimacy

and WITHOUT FAIL, to your surprise, he started being reassuring to you

he’s always a sweetheart with you, your hype man regardless but this time you knew his intentions were for you to understand you shouldn’t worry about your physical appearance

his eyes were ten times more tender outside the bedroom

yet, when it came to intimacy he was like a hungry animal— kissing, biting and grabbing. it had taken you aback at how specific he was being, but you still melted into him

he made you forget the voices that would say “hide that” or “don’t let him notice” but he made sure you understood that he’ll love you regardless of what you think

and he’s an eater

he’ll eat you up. always.

૮ ּ ۟ trafalgar d. law ׅ ۫ ✧

he’s a DOCTOR. man’s knows when someone is off.

he mistook your lack of interest in food for a stomach bug, genuinely concerned and forcing you to take pills and medicine

lowkey made you feel bad and ashamed to the point you came clean

medical confidentiality right?

😭 the face he gave you!!

“it’s unhealthy to neglect vital nutrients to your body.”

very stern about your meal intake, takes it upon himself to make sure you eat what you can stomach at first and make sure you grow comfortable with both him and food

he’s sweet really, just shows it in private

he literally sits you down and asks you what you would like for your body, because if you have any concerns then you MUST attend them CORRECTLY

no more unhealthy mechanisms

and he falls even more in love when you seem more radiant, more confident.

he’d come up from behind always and just plant a warm, wet kiss on your ear before whispering a compliment on your appearance

he made you feel like no one else’s opinion mattered anymore.

literally it didn’t matter if people commented on your weight, the results you were having made you feel confident

he was definitely surprised when you’d initiate intimacy, when you’d devour him like a starving animal

“someone’s hungry,” he teased once, but when you had paused, he realized his wording must have affected you

he low key panics and stutters out an apology but you smirk at him

“for once i don’t feel guilty for eating-“ and you devour his heart and soul too

૮ ּ ۟ eustass kid ׅ ۫ ✧

i’m sorry but this doofus was really oblivious about it until killer pointed it out

he was so mad at himself. how dare he not see your issue with food?? he thought you gave him your leftovers out of love!!

dude he’s like, an insensitive giant thinking he’s being helpful

it made sense of why you were always trying to put off intimacy or why you’d try to make him see less of you

“i don’t give a damn about how you look. why would i care?” he asks.

in his head he was being sweet and saying “i love you just the way you are.”

but it made you feel like shit

you were already struggling with feeling right with yourself, and he comes and says he doesn’t care? maybe you’re being sensitive but even that made you feel worse

it felt like you’ll never be enough for anyone, even eustass.

you never felt like you mattered, but growing up your weight put labels on you. you grew up with insults being used as nicknames, yet you felt like eustass saw you as nothing

“why aren’t you eating?” he asks when he notices you still aren’t developing a good eating habit, some days you eat well and others you either overeat or don’t eat at all

“does it matter?” you huff.

“i give a damn when you could get sick!”

“you said you don’t give a damn about how i look, so shut up about what i do.” you growl.

“eh? when did i say that!? you need to eat!” he huffs.

“well no thank you.”

you ignore him and he has to corner you in your room to get you to pay him any mind

his interrogations fall deaf in your ears as he cages you under him on your bed

“if i don’t matter to you get out,” you blurt out.

“what are you talking about? when have i made you feel like you don’t matter to me.”

“you know i’m struggling and you just- you just said you don’t give a damn about how i look!”

“because i don’t! does it have to matter? i love you for you! pirates seek out people for their bodies and for their own pleasures! i’m with you because i love you for who you are!”

“and i am not saying you’re ugly or whatever it is you think i think!” he beats you to every argument.

and then he goes on to show you PHYSICALLY what he means. not like, harsh or anything. you’ve never felt so precious under his care before, he kissed you so tenderly.

he didn’t make you feel fragile, like something that could break in a bad way

he made you understand how he sees you as more as his partner- as an extension of his soul, his missing piece

“i’ll make sure you never feel like that again, as long as you’re with me, you’ll be more valuable than a poneglyph. whatever you struggle with, i’ll help you through it.”

your confidence went up, because honestly he’s brutally honest and many people take what the captain says seriously; yet you knew he’s never lie to you

at the end of the day, what your lover says is what matters to you.