#gets on your nerves enough to make you say something he can benefit from and fuck you just right

[senmiyaazx]

Hi! If that's ok could i request Sol with a reader that does not fuck around? Somebody bothering? They're already swinging before the mf can finish the sentence. Someone following them? They're pulling out the hammer out the purse and start charging the person. And pretty much anything in their hands becomes a weapon.

Just curious to see his reaction lol

oo this is an interesting scenario especially in the library scene

SOL X GN READER

cw: guess what! not proofread. reader is lowkey a menace. violence obviously, but it's not that detailed.

The first time you and Sol met was a surprise. He was getting beat up, not wanting to cause a scene in the library and he's outnumbered.

Until you appear from the corner and start roundhouse kicking these bastards like stirring coffee. On top of that, you weren't even that hurt after dealing with those two bullies! Well, aside from the bruise on your cheeks.

Sol was already in love with you before, but when you held your hand out to him with a charming smile on your lips he fell harder, if that was possible. (He's already signing the marriage papers)

Since then, you've become something like Sol's protector? Sol can defend himself perfectly fine. He gets into fights all the time, it's nothing new to him. But he's absolutely smitten when you do it nonetheless, rolling your sleeves up the moment you even see someone looking at Sol the wrong way.

While your feistiness provides good benefits, such as being able to defend yourself even when he's not there, Sol wishes you could.. tone it down a little. He doesn't want you to get hurt that often. Because he'll deal with the other person one way or another. Or risk yourself hurting the wrong person (Someone from a higher class) and that wouldn't do you much good, wouldn't it?

He's happy he has such a strong and brave darling though. His eyes are filled with hearts as you walk through the hallways with your head held high and some students who recognize you scramble to get out of your way in fear of getting on your nerves.

And he loves you. He really does. But please put that hammer away— where did you even get that?! — he wasn't following you! He was he just so happened to be in the same place as you. Geez, you're scary when you get mad.

A little cute too when you furrow your brows at him, telling him to be more careful around you. Sorry pumpkin, he can't resist you.

He realized quickly you're lowkey a hazard to people when you ask him for his least favorite pen in art class and proceeded to nearly hospitalize someone who disrespected you, with it. You obviously get in trouble afterwards, but the uncaring grin you send him made his heart stop for a moment.

"Least no one's gonna bother us now." You say after getting lightly scolded by Sol.

He's pretty sure you noticed the way his cheeks flushed at that.

Since then, he makes sure you're not within any objects that could harm people. Even something as silly as a ruler. (He's seen the way you sent someone to the clinic with a book. He's not taking any risks)

Eventually, whether he does it consciously or not, he ends up protecting other people from you instead of the other way round. Sol doesn't know how it happened or when he started to give his scariest glare to anyone who even thinks about approaching you with malicious intent. It's a win-win for him. He gets to spend more time alone with you and he prevents other people from earning your wrath! The only problem is that he won't be able to do this when he's not with you.

Whatever. He hates to admit it, but hopefully that Crowe dude handles you as well as he does.

And he trusts you, too. He knows you have a goal in mind for this school and he knows you won't get yourself in enough trouble to get expelled. There are.. simply some times where you can't help but put people in their place. Which Sol respects a lot.

That doesn't stop Sol from getting paranoid, however. Oh well, at least he's the one who gets to patch you up after you get into another fight<3

[gojoest]

tucked away and fucked raw bc you told satoru “do what you want” and what he wanted to do was you apparently

[yuri-is-online]

Can I request a part 2 for when the guys leave some of their stuff in the guest room? Can it be with Azul, Jamil, and jade please? Thank you!

While cleaning the Ramshackle guest room, the prefect occasionally finds items that remind them of their guests. Sometimes that is because those items actually belong to them and need to be returned, other times it's just a happy coincidence. Either way, the item needs to be delivered, might as well invite them over again? Or just chase them down, whatever is most convenient.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, I was a bit surprised to get this request! In a nice way~ No warnings for this one, just pure fluff. The first one can be found here and more fic can be found on the Masterlist.

Antique Coin

Azul Ashengrotto is a well put together young man. His suits are pressed, his shoes are neatly polished, his rooms are always orderly and without dust.

Which is why he notes immediately when something is even mildly out of place, and completely falls apart once he's in the privacy of his own room. He knew he never should have paid attention to that stupid article Floyd had shared in their group chat, coins being symbols of good luck wouldn't make him relatable to anybody and now he's missing one of his best coins! How stupid could he have been to think that-

"Hello, this is Azul speaking." He snatches up his phone without even checking the caller ID and immediately begins sweating when he hears your familiar breathing (he swears he's not a creep, really! He's just noticed that whenever you speak on the phone, not that you do that often really just when he can work up the nerve and hey this is technically the first time you've called him! Progress he's making progre-)

"Hey there, you got a moment?" Azul can feel the heavy sweat drop on his forehead. He's done enough research to know conversation starters like this are never good.

"I'm a bit busy right now." He tries to lean casually against his desk and glares at the book that has the audacity to fall off his desk and startle you. "Is this terribly important or can it wait?"

You, laugh? Is it nervous, or is it affectionate? Does even know what that sort of laughter would sound, is it bad that he finds your voice terribly beautiful even if it's mocking, even if it's- "Um sorry, but are you missing a coin?"

"A... coin?"

"Yes! I remember you saying you collect them and this one I found in my guest room smelled a bit like the ocean so. Yeah. I thought it might be yours." He smiles.

"My dear, you know I'm just going to say 'yes' and take it from you." You laugh again, how silly that last one was nerves. This one is affection, his hearts are fit to burst with it so it must be. "I'll be there in thirty minutes. If that’s acceptable?"

"Of course! I'll be here." Perhaps that article wasn't completely wrong after all.

Red Feather Accessory

There are few things Jamil hates more than being sick. Assassins don't have sick days, or maybe they do. Maybe they have better benefits than he does. Maybe he'd make a really good assassin in some alternate universie like that one video game series from your world you told him about once, the one with the emblems and gangrene? He doesn't remember much of the conversation Kalim tricked him into having by saying he wanted to hang out in your guest room yesterday.

"But you were so happy to see them!"

Because of course, that had been Kalim's justification. And sure, he probably had been really happy to see you. He'd been running quite the fever and he can't imagine you made that temperature any better.

"Good morning, prefect." He manages it smoothly, you look properly embarrassed to see him this early, your eyes flicker to his hair and linger just a moment longer than normal. "Sleep well?"

"Mostly." You try to focus on his face, but his hair is clearly distracting. Your eyes keep darting back to it, Jamil expected to be embarrassed, but this is oddly empowering. "Is there a reason you're here so early?"

"I think you know why I'm here." You don't, he can tell that much from how you swallow. "Can I come in?"

"Sure?" You move just the bit and Jamil let's himself inside, the doors in Ramshackle always look so damn similar. Just how do you find your way around in here? "Um, Jamil?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know why you're here?" You look lovely

"Of course." He laughs. "I left a hair accessory here yesterday when Kalim decided to visit." How odd, normally you'd flinch if he worded it like that. Instead you just look sort of blurry.

"I see." You're close now, but he can't see you through this weird fog that's filling your hallways. You push back his headband and press the back of your plam to his forehead. "Oof. Well that's not good." Your arm encircles his shoulders and boosts him back up to his feet. He supposes he can afford to lean towards you, there's enough plausible deniabilty in what he's said already to keep his feelings to himself.

"C'mon." You do your best to boost him and march back towards the door. Jamil is smiling similar to how he does when he gets one over on Azul, but you doubt he's planned this. He's so feverish that his skin has gotten clammy. "I already took your hair pin back to Scarabia, ok? Let's get you back to bed."

"That's so kind of you." His hoarse voice tries to purr. "Perhaps you'd like to stay for breakfast?" Thank the seven Grim isn't awake yet. You'd never hear the end of this from either of them.

Encyclopedia of Tea

Books are expensive, you can count on one hand the ones you own unrelated to your school work scattered around your dorm. They are precious to you, signs of your life in a world you don't belong in. A way to tell something about you if someone decided to look at the little shelf you had finally put up in your guest room.

And someone had, because you know damn well this book isn't yours, the process of returning it is guaranteed to be a headache but the longer you hesitate the more ammunition the book's rightful owner will have to accuse you of stealing it. Assuming that's what Jade's goal was anyway, it seemed like something he would find funny to do. You could picture him slipping the book onto your shelf with that calm look on his face.

Jade's face isn't what you would call wildly expressive. He smiles pleasantly most of the time, seldom do you see him frown. Even now when his forehead is knit in concern there's nothing really resembling the scowl you saw during Azul’s overblot.

"Hello Jade, forgotten something?" You hold the book up and shake it slightly. His eyes widen, and his smile drops into something more nuteral. This expression is adorable, it stays as Jade speaks, allowing you to admire it longer

"Oh?" He blinks, Jade wakes easily enough so your own expression flickers to concern at how slow he seems for just long enough to give him back his confidence. "It seems the simplest solution was correct. Thank you, prefect." He reaches for the book, hands lingering near yours as his eyes focus on the title of the book. He is painfully slow in taking it back.

"Do you really take this everywhere with you?" Your hand involuntarily flexes as you retreat back into your personal space. Sometimes you wish you could read minds, it would make this heavy feeling in your heart more explainable. Let you notice the way Jade's teeth display for you and not hide inside your own insecurities, how he wishes you would keep your eyes on him.

"Of course, it helps to have some light reading on hand when things get slow." He wishes you had kept the book long enough for it to retain your scent or some of your warmth. Perhaps now that he's set this precedent, he can fake it. Leave his jacket or his scarf? But no, that wouldn't be believable. He's Jade Leech, the Vice Warden of Octavinelle. You would never believe the real reason the book ended up where it did. His dreams are his to dwell in alone.

"Perhaps as thanks I could prepare one of my favorites for you? To clear the debt so to speak." For now.

[sminiac]

girl what do we think abt piwon and easy access clothing because i-

💌 — OHHHHHHH DONT GET ME GOING NOW.

⋆ Y. Keeho

Whenever you just so happen to be wearing something thin and short is when he just so happens to be needy and impatient, what a coincidence! Keeho doesn’t allow himself to get too hasty, nor does he resort to whining or senseless complaints about how deprived he is of your touch even though it’s a reoccurring last resort for his… problem. For the most part he’s actually quite collected, from what you can see. What you happen to miss is the ticking burn under his skin that’s ready to set his entire being ablaze with every inch of your bare skin that his fingers carefully tread.

Keeho pretends that he hasn’t yet acknowledged how great of an effect the hot streaks of his touches against your inner thigh have over you, and the punishment is only in favour of what he’s endured by your hand.

He’s doing it to get back at you. You know he is, he just won’t say it. The action is so slight in his scale of play, but god does it make your head fog. The ticklish pads of his long, defined fingers groove well oiled against the softness of your flesh, only slipping so far up as to brush against a sweltering dampness and then briskly retreating back out from under the fabric in the matter of seconds. It’s unfair, and cruel, the way he plays with your heart. The disturbed set of breaths heavy in your nose as he continues with the dreadful pattern.

He thinks about how perfect the shorts are that you have on, that the leg opening is just wide enough for his hand to go under without any added strain to his wrist, how stretchy and forgiving the material was when he made a mess of himself on them a few nights ago.

He’s satiated with the sensual memories of you, not to overindulge, it’s what he’s always been good at, while you on the other hand are struggling greatly to remain indifferent to his teasing.

His fingers flex, digging gently into you with an added pressure that pulls the skin out from where the line of your panties sit. A stupid, boyish smile appears on his face once he sees your chest jump with an expectant breath, but you’re quickly let down when his hand pulls back out again.

“Hm?” He hums like he’s ready for your scolding. A low sultry voice completely overtakes his well lived in tone when you’re shooting up from the pillows to take in his face, your urgency makes his hand still. He knows this is the end, but it was fun while it lasted.

His hand, it rests flat against your leg now, just above your knee, still and coaxing. “You’re being annoying.” You pout, your attention flits from the small mole on the back of his middle finger to his face.

He knows. You can see it. You know he knows.

“‘m sorry baby.” He adjusts his body closer to yours, trying not to laugh. “Can’t I just touch you like this?” He asks. His four fingers curl slightly into his palm as it turns right side up, running the pointed part of his knuckles against you.

“Know you can’t.. stupid. Not when you’re- h’doing, like that.”

He laughs, nodding for you to lay back dow. “Should’ve said somethin’ sooner,” his other hand, the one you’re not quite well acquainted with slips under both of the soft materials you have on and hooks them to the side, leaving you open and bare for him to see, revealing you shiny with slick and all. You’re so pretty, he thinks, vulnerable and so fucking needy he almost loses himself to his tongue. It’s like an instinct for his head to dip down when you’re exposed for him, he can’t help but take a lick.

His three fingers keep the fabric pressed up and out of his way as his tongue makes contact with you, the pressure is light and not far enough for there to be any progress made, but he gives you the benefit of a small wet kiss to your clit. As he pulls away his thumb takes over, gliding big wet circles into your point of nerves.

“My fingers could’ve been fucking you into your first orgasm by now baby, only if you asked nicely.”

⋆ C. Taeyang

In general Taeyang doesn’t really strike me as much of a yapper when it comes to sex, but when you’re both in a heated, greed filled pursuit of one another he can’t help but let his mouth run a little more freely from the adrenaline. “Keep doing that” “need you right here” “don’t stop”. It makes him insufferably needy, and ‘demanding’ is a only a pinch of the severity you’d call his behaviour. The only thing is, his horribly attitude is simply because you made him that way. You’d be a hypocrite to say his habits weren’t shaped by your own enabling, but it’s so hard to say no when he uses just the right words with the right tone of voice. When you’ve got on something that’ll be in his favour every which way it’s hard to keep up the stupid act of pretending to not realize how horny he gets. Even by simply just thinking of taking you with little to no complications has him aching and impatient. Gets extremely worked up by his own self indulging thoughts, and they don’t exactly paint you as innocent as you play. He’ll torture himself, and keep torturing himself until you’re acting on straightening him out.

“‘s your fault.. hurts Y/n, hurts.” He wails, the hot pillows under his head cushion the sore impact with every defiant dig back into the mattress as his hips buck and circle at the air, desperately trying to find some kind of relief to his red, aching and overstimulated cock. He has your attention, there’s nothing worse than him knowing because then he just milks it until you’re giving in.

Taeyang’s attempts at being mean would be considered weak and laughable to anyone else— I mean, really, it’s pathetic the way he tries to his make his voice stern and accusatory to somehow get you to back down from the challenge of denying him another, even though another orgasm is already quickly approaching that he can’t even remember the number of. It makes you smile, seeing the tears gather thickly at his waterline, how his body convulses in both pleasure and the inability to handle much more.

He underestimated you and sold himself at a high price to your hand, which is an arguably incomparable position for him to so clumsily take, and head on at that, but he did anyways, and now he’s paying for it.

It’s cute, the way he fails so swiftly at trying to have a voice of reason even before you’re torturously teasing yourself with the head of his dick that’s glossed over in a mix of fluids. The sting strikes him so deliciously, and the sensation is only heightened by the lack of visuals. He whines from being unable to see your bare cunt, his head promptly revisiting the pillow in a bratty thrash. “Think you can cum from this, pretty?” You ask, the warm slip of your pussy along his length is unceasing, and so alluring to the continuous tightening in his tummy.

Taeyang shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut in a feeble attempt to gather himself. He tries to speak, to say no, that you’re being mean and awful, but the only audible reply he has is a soft pathetic squeak before he’s biting at the knuckle of his index finger. He’s close, from the way his jaw squeezes and the pained screw of his features you know he’s on the cusp of being completely engulfed. Your pace picks up in pursuit, the soft damp fabric that the head of his cock repeatedly bumps against only sets him up faster by a few points, but it’s enough for him to start unabashedly whining.

His chest is flushed, and you see the marks left by his teeth on his finger as he hurriedly pulls his hand away to start desperately pinching at his own nipple.

“C’mon Tae’, just one more for me princess, ‘s all I need.” You coax, trapping aside the fabric that’s kept you hidden from his eyes for the entirety of your insatiable torture. Taeyang tries to speak again, but he only manages a few “Hm, hmph—hh” as your fingers gently nudge his tip back.

His feet are digging into the mattress and he’s sure his body will give out any second now, but the feeling of your pussy taking him in so effortlessly is much too good, and he’s much too greedy.

“Plea— shit, my god, baby… ruin me, gonna ruin me. Fuck me, jus’ keep fucking me.”

⋆ C. Jiung

He’s casual about being intimate where one is not typically meant to be intimate. It’s not stressful due to his newly discovered confidence that only appears in the wake of his concern for you. Jiung’s very reassuring and quick if you’re feeling like time isn’t on your side, but then again, he does get a little demanding because he doesn’t want anyone to catch on. Walk with me here. If you’re occupying a secluded area together where you can’t be so easily seen he starts getting more handsy, already so adept and trained to your liking he’s good at making quick and efficient moves. Will have one hand on your throat to hold you in place while fucking you from behind, his other hand keeping your tiny skirt flipped up onto your lower back so he can watch the way you pathetically try to push back to meet his hips with a mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about just yet. Quick and efficient. Jiung likes seeing your skin, how messy you get, it gets him off. He knows you like the feeling of his fingers gently pressing at your airways, and if not, well he’s doing whatever he can. Like I said, trained to your liking. He doesn’t act on impulse a lot, but sometimes the need to fuck you is much too overbearing to resist, especially when you’re wearing something that makes it so easy for him to get to you.

“Jus’, stay li’ that.” He slurs over the sudden influx of saliva that puddles behind his teeth, watching how you comply with every ounce of your being. You’re so stupid, so pretty and obedient to his every word, it’s as if this is the culmination of every carnally linked thought collapsing under the weight of the sheer amount of desire he bears.

His tongue swipes out at his lips, wetting them soft, raw in a way that makes his flesh stick to yours like the kiss was never meant to be broken. His jaw falls slack as his tongue collects the sitting liquid before he swallowing it back down. The authority over your body he knows you’ve relinquished to him far long ago only adds to the vitality of his arousal, you’re nothing but fuel to an already recklessly burning fire.

His hands roam, skimming over every inch of skin you give, which isn’t a lot compared to being in the comfort of his room, but is adequate enough for the given circumstances. Your body bends to his directions in just the right angles that has you completely on display for his eyes. Admittedly the skepticism you feel about being secured away by others eyes and presence is high, but his touch is so good it’s hard to care as much as you should when he’s running a warm gentle hand over your ass, his cock being pumped in his other.

Briefly he brings himself towards you so he can run the head of his cock against you, collecting your slick that’s leaked out for a smoother glide for when he finally starts easing himself inside.

The initial press into you has you panting hotly, “Ji’, please hurry, ‘fore someone finds.” The adrenaline makes the two of you sweat profusely, your brain a little melted due to the heat and the words and the way he shapes you with his hands, but the sticky sensation covering your skin and transferring to his has never been more welcomed.

His index and middle finger nudge at your bottom lip at the same time he aligns himself with your entrance, the feeling of his tip finally being where you need it to be makes you shudder, lips parting enough for his long fingers to enter. “Quiet then.” He huffs, his tone annoyed but strained more by the unreal feeling of your cunt taking him in, melding to his shape.

His head drops, but the pleasant fizz in his gut urges him to keep moving despite the clarity of acknowledging that if he stayed still for just a few more minutes without any further effort of friction he’d already be meeting his end.

“God you’re awful, so close to cumming ‘nd I’ve— hm’fuck, bar-barely.. done a thing.”

⋆ H. Intak

Sometimes he just knows when he’s going to be a little distracted by you and what goes on under his clothes during your time spent out together, whether it’s during important events, casual outings, or a fancy date, he just knows you’ll have him stirring and restless before you’re even halfway through the night. Therefore, he suggests that you help maybe… oh I don’t know, make things a little easier for him? Wearing tiny, revealing, even if only slight— flimsily structured clothing is one thing, but wearing panties that have equally the same easy to manage shape, there is absolutely no possibility of him being able to hold out. Intak doesn’t get frustrated with you, he wholeheartedly enjoys watching the way you indulge him with light hips and the repeated effort of drawing his attention to your mouth. My man is a muuunch! He is not afraid to allow himself to be played with, anything that’ll have you dragging him away to be even more possessive.

“There’s a reason there’s a slit there, stupid.” Intak nods with a deep breath exhaled through his nose, the seam of your new panties torn further apart then they were meant to be. You feel him on your skin— just below your navel as he endures your name calling and criticism. He knows that he can’t say anything to you, there’s nothing he wants to say when you’re spread out for him on the bathroom counter like this. Your ass hurts and complaints leave your pretty mouth more than any kind of praise you have to offer him, but god is he so delighted that you gave him just what he wanted.

Even though you’re objectively upset, huffing and puffing above him, —and not in the way he wants— you can’t help but pity him a little. Poor thing is so greedy, like he’d never have another lick of your pussy again. You’re sympathetic to your lover, really you are, he knows it when your gentle fingers start raking from the back of his skull up to the crown of his head, further disturbing the thin cast of hair gel he put in that morning, if only he knew how pretty he looked like this though, your slick coating his cheeks and chin, closed eyes and his dark pretty lashes fanned out over his skin.

Your hand brings him back down to where he was previously levelled, and you don’t need to tell him to get back to it before his tongues already licking out, dragging the soft muscle all up between your folds, flicking out the tip of his tongue to directly hit against your bud. “‘m sorry, won’t do it again.” He says, breathy and gentle, a small smirk on his face that you know means he’s enjoying it. Every little bit.

“I ca- I can leave right.. now, ‘f you’re gonna keep being a, being a dick.”

His smile only grows as he moves back in to get more of his mouth on you, sucking your clit between his lips, he shakes his head, and with a soft sensual pop as he backs away, “‘ll stop,” he whines, quite similarly to the whistle level pitch dogs meet. “Baby please, I’ll stop right now, promise.”

⋆ H. Shota

#1 oversized shirt + panties enthusiast! Soul will deliberately go out of his way to somehow get his sneaky little hands under your shirt, but it’s hard to tell what he’s after a lot of the time. He tries to be considerate of where the two of you are and who you happen to be with, but then again it does slip his mind a lot and he will try to get under your shirt without thinking about the consequences of it later on, it’s just a habit that’s embedded itself in his everyday life. He’s so used to getting a feel of the soft weight of skin in the palm of his hands whenever he pleases, or calmly pulling your panties to the side so his spot covered fingers can massage at your slit. The countless amount of times he’s come up behind you when you’re unsuspecting, his hands dragging at your waist until they’re disappearing up and under your shirt. Sucking wetly at the side of your neck as his fingers pinch gently at your nipple, his other hand going a different direction.

It’s too late, you know you aren’t able to stop him from freeing himself from his jeans. The unbridled sense of lust is already so evident in the spasms of your thighs that there’s not an ounce of refusal taking root anywhere in your body. You’re mutually too far gone for any good sensible decisions to be made, and having sex in the living room of Shota’s shared apartment doesn’t seem like the worst thing you could ever imagine doing in the heat of the moment.

Your arousals already coating his middle finger as his zippers pulled and he’s tucking the band of his underwear down for his cock to free. Shota rubs the pad of his middle finger against his thumb, spreading your slick before he’s thumbing down the pearls of precum over the head of his cock with a sharp breath taken from between his teeth.

You should’ve known from the start that sitting on his lap was going to doom you, especially facing the tv with your back to his chest since it only made the access to your already soaked cunt easier for him. It was innocent and mindless. Until it wasn’t.

You should’ve known. Not a lot of things can maintain Shota’s undivided attention, but a random show running in front of him while simultaneously playing with your clit always managed to keep him quiet the longest. The only issue is it only went on behind closed doors, closed locked doors. “Move back,” he curtly directs, already panting like a dog in expectancy and he’s not even inside of you yet. His hands grab at either side of your hips firmly as he helps guides you from behind. “can sit now, please.” His voice softens, but is still just as sweet in your ear as it always is no matter how impatient he can get— it’s unnecessary, but the politeness is a sweet touch that makes you feel even hotter.

The second he’s placed himself to line up with your entrance he’s faltering, his tight grip on your sides falling slack and twitchy. You swoop in flawlessly to take the lead, fingers reaching down to keep his cock in place as your hips fall slightly back and down, stuffing him inside of you quite easily— to the point where he’s already fighting off his orgasm and you’ve only just bottomed out. You seem quite composed on the other hand from what he can see, softly rotating your hips to get a better taste, pulling up the backside of his shirt so he can get a good view of what you’re doing.

Shota’s feet plant flat against the floor, hips shifting and muscles twitching mercilessly as he tries to stave off his orgasm for just a little longer. You have him sweating and weak, like his body suddenly turned all muscle to mush. “Y/n, ple’… Y/n, Y/n..” he whimpers, eyes squeezed shut and his head buried in your neck, trying to put the biggest distance between him and his peak, but nothing he could do would possibly work when you start really moving on top of him.

Talking during sex is never his biggest concern, but when you’re fucking him like this the filter of his gentle voice and teasing nature completely slip, all he can really do is repeat your name, over and over because for right now it’s the only thing he knows. He does his best for you, to allow you to make more of a silent mess over his denim clad thighs, but eventually he comes to the conclusion that there is no fighting anything off when you’re the one giving it to him. So he pins up the bottom of his shirt onto your lower back with warm hands, letting both visual and physical aspects take him under.

⋆ K. Jongseob

It’s a conjoint effort as to how fast things progress, from mindless innocence to intended teasing, but neither of you ever seem to really- truly dislike it despite the shy smiles and feigned cluelessness. Seob is very adamant when it comes to… finishing things, a lot of things, but especially you. Sometimes he does get a little sidetracked from tending to you, but he always comes right back to where he left you without forgetting a thing. He’s a sucker, so easy to rile up. The most effortless yet effective way to do it is wearing no panties under thin bottoms, he can’t refuse you, especially when you’re rubbing yourself along the length of his dick and he can feel how quickly you soak through the thin fabric and it meets him halfway through. It’s filthy, the mess, the sticky textures, and he just loves it.

“Can’t be.. doing this.” You utter through a drawn breath. You can’t recall how many minutes have passed but if the joints on your hands aching means anything, it’s that it’s been awhile. They’re on the verge of locking and falling limp, but god he feels so good and Seob can’t help it either, your head being tipped back with a parted mouth, savouring the stimulation that the fat of his tip provides your body— your need, that he knows has been sitting hot and slick since before he even stepped through the door.

He only finds your meek attempt to put an end to your pathetic grinding against him cute, sweet even. He smiles, teeth only slightly peeking out from behind his soft lips as he watches, “Mmh don’— don’t wanna stop now.” he whines back, giving you a better feel as he purposely lifts up his hips.

“Have time, princess jus’- hm’fuck.. keep goin’.”Seob begs.

The act of grinding against his clothed dick is filthy, wet, and you can feel how much of a sticky mess the both of you make every time the air catches at your skin, but the hot stimulation overrides any other concern that may have lingered prior to being seated on top of him. Seob always knew how to help you let loose, enjoy yourself, even if it meant willingly allowing you to use him however you see fit, but right now, he’s never been more impatient for you to take him out of his sweats.

“Baby, babybaby!” he babbles, his words quickening with every pull and press of your hips, the urgency in his tone evades you until his hand is spreading against your lower stomach with a stiffness to his arm that prevents you from pushing forward again. “‘nside, plea…se, need t’be inside before.. fuck, b’fore I cum.”

Unsurprisingly you adapt faster than he can fully comprehend, all he sees is the quick moment of your hand pulling free of your loose fitting bottoms and he’s being sunken onto. It’s cute how he bites at his fingers, trying to abate the airy stir in his chest that means he’s a little closer than he thought he’d be, but you feel so good, look so, so devastatingly good that he doesn’t care, you could use him even after he’s far gone. It doesn’t help any that you were so fast to put him inside of you, adjusting to his size so perfectly, giving him what he wanted the second he said it.

ᰔ sminiac’s P1Harmony M.list <3

[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.

[axelsagewrites]

Greetings!

I hope you don't mind me sliding in your ask box! I want to request Ivar x fem!reader, who suffers from a condition named vaginismus.

Vaginismus is a condition where the vagina cramps so hardly, that penetration is very painful. It can get treated by mental therapy and slowly getting comfortable with sex. It's mostly caused by traumatic events.

I seek for some wholesomeness combined with Ivar. You don't have to focus on any smut part if you'll feel uncomfortable, sole comfort would be enough!

Feel free to decline! Remember to drink enough and have a lovely day! ❤️

Ivar the Boneless*Does It Hurt?

Pairing: Ivar x f!reader

Word count: 1830

Warnings: insecurities, mentions of painful sex, mentions of shitty exes, make out, fingering, f!receiving oral, p in v sex, Ivar wanting to get revenge on the crappy ex, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Being with Ivar was the best decisions you’d ever made there was only one small issue. You'd never actually *been* with him. its not that you hadn’t had sex before, but it always just seemed to hurt. You’d tried in the past to just push through the pain, usually at the guy’s request, but you were done being in constant pain for someone else’s benefit. Which is partially why the rumours about Ivars’s bedroom mishap didn’t bother you.

You knew it was something he was insecure about and you’d assured him countless times it didn’t bother you. so, one night when you were making out sitting in his lap and you felt something hard pressing into you. You were a bit shocked to say the least. It must have all been nerves but now you were the one who was nervous. It’s not like you didn’t want to do it with Ivar you were just scared.

Ivar’s hand slowly trailed up your leg, stroking over your thigh, till he was squeezing your hip as you moaned into the kiss. You had been with Ivar for a while now, but you had never been *with* him. your hands crept down his shoulders till you were squeezing his muscular arms. Despite the taunts some people liked to make you could feel something hard grinding against your leg.

He broke the kiss but only to trail some down your neck, going between nipping and kissing the sensitive skin. It felt like bliss. His hands slowly began to tug at your skirts, pulling them up so he could feel the soft flesh of your thighs but when you felt him try push them apart you couldn’t help but clamp up, your body going rigid.

Ivar paused his movements, pulling away to face you after a moment, “Is everything okay my love?” he asked. There was a mix of emotions behind his eyes; insecurity, lust but most presently concern.

“I-I,” you began to stutter making Ivar move his hand from your leg to cup your jaw.

He stroked his thumb gently across your skin, “Have you never…?” he asked, voice trailing off.

You took a deep breath before shaking your head, “I have its just,” you said as you sat up in bed, Ivar moving to sit beside you are holding your hand, “It hurts whenever I have before,”

“Hurts how?”

You sighed as you decided you may as well just tell him. the last guy you had told just rolled his eyes and left to find someone else for that night, but Ivar waited patiently as you explained, “Whenever I’ve tried to have sex it just kind of hurts? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not that I don’t want you,” you said, squeezing his hand, “it just feels like it won’t go in and when it does it just- “

“Hurts?” he said cutting off your rambles, “it’s okay love. We don’t have to- “

“But I want too, I swear I do- “

“I believe you,” he cut you off, moving to hold your face gently. Ivar placed a soft kiss to your lips instantly calming you down, “Is it just when things are going in?” he asked, and you nodded. His eyes moved to scan your frame as his hand moved to rest on your thigh, “We could always try something else,” he said, eyes moving to meet yours with a glint behind them.

You felt your cheeks begin to heat up, “I know men don’t actually like that stuff- “

“What idiot told you that?”

“This guy I used to- “you paused when you saw Ivars’s jaw tense, “It was a long time ago but some of the things he said just kind of stuck with me I guess,”

“Like what?”

You took a deep breath before spilling out, “That guys don’t like that kind of stuff and it was my problem not his. How it was my job to get him off and not the other way around and if I was broken then there were other ways to do that- “

Ivar took your hands tightly in his, making you pause, “No. it is not a job or a chore or anything else. You are not broken. You are just different,” he said, moving one of his hands to rest over your heart, “We both are. That’s what you used to tell me,” he said, his voice low. “You were there for me when no one else was. I want to be there for you. whether we have sex or not and whatever sex is to us. We take it at our pace, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered back, half on the verge of crying as Ivars other hand moved to cup your cheek, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

Well, it was supposed to be gentle, but you found your lips moving faster and soon you’d moved to straddle his lap as his hands gently squeezed your hips. You could feel his bulge through his trousers and you grinded against it softly making him groan into your mouth.

“Lay on your back,” he mumbled against your lips. you went to speak but he cut you off with a kiss, “trust me,” something about his eyes staring into yours entranced you and soon you were laying down as his lips travelled down your jaw and neck.

You were still in your dress, but his hands soon pulled it up till it was around your waist as he kissed down your collarbones. You felt your body tensed as Ivars’s hand inched closer to your core. “We’ll go slow, okay? tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered. You nodded quickly and sucked in your breath when you felt his fingers push against your clit.

He moved them in slow circles as his lips sucked at the sensitive skin of your neck. Little moans escaped your lips, and you heard Ivar chuckle when your hips began to buck. You whined when he pulled his fingers away but watched with fixed eyes as he shuffled down your body till his hot breath fanned over your cunt.

Ivar began to kiss your inner thighs, leading a trail up to your core. When his tongue licked up your cunt you couldn’t help but gasp. It soon turned into a moan however when his mouth wrapped around your clit. Your hand quickly found his hair, tugging on it gently which only seemed to spur his movements on as he groaned against your cunt sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel a strange new sensation growing in your stomach. “Please,” you murmured, “Don’t stop,” you began to beg, and Ivar had no intensions of stopping anytime soon. he moved down till you could feel his tongue poking at your hole, easing in so he could gently fuck you with his tongue while his nose rubbed against your clit.

The sensation had you gripping his hair tightly, your hips bucking inadvertently as you grinded gently on his face. Ivar locked his arms around your thighs, stopping you from wiggling away as he continued his merciless assault on your cunt till, he felt your thighs squeezing around his head.

A stream of profanity and his name fell from your lips as you felt yourself crash over the wall. Ivar didn’t move however till he was sure you’d ridden out your peak. When he did pull back his eyes were dark as he moved to kiss your lips hard as you moaned into the kiss.

His fingers trailed up your slit before gently pushing the tip of his finger in, “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered as he pushed further in, curling his finger inside of you making you moan. it hurt a little but not enough to want to stop. You might scream if he stopped as he began to slowly fuck you with one finger before slowly adding another.

His thumb moved to rub circles over your clit, and you could feel another peak quickly approaching, “Ivar?” you mumbled against his lips.

“Yes love?” he asked, pulling away with panting breath.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said, taking him by surprise as his eyes went wide.

He quickly tried to cover up his reaction, “Are you sure?”

“Please don’t make me beg,” you pouted but it just sparked a joy behind his eyes.

“Maybe I’d like it if you did,” he said, pulling his fingers out which made you whine until you saw him pushing his trousers down, releasing his painfully hard cock.

He moved till his tip was lined with your hole when he paused, “Tell me if- “

“I will, I promise,” you said, grabbing his face and making him look you in the eyes, “I trust you,”

His eyes went soft for a moment before he nodded and slowly began to push in. he stopped when he saw you hissing as you adjusted to his size but kept going at your encouragement. “Fuck,” he gasped as he pushed the last bit in, “You feel so good,”

You waited a moment, adjusting to the size before moving your hips. Ivar quickly got the hint and began to set a gentle pace. That was till your legs moved to wrap around his waist and Ivar began fucking you faster, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he moaned your praises in your ear.

His hand moved between your bodies, finding your clit as he rubbed fast circles into your abused nerves. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin which only made it harder for him not to cum right then and there. But he did his best to hold off. You however felt your second orgasm quickly approaching and soon your cunt began to squeeze around his cock as you hit your peak, mumbling his name over and over as you did.

The sight of it, the feeling, it was too much for Ivar as he gripped onto the bed tightly as he pumped his final few thrusts before spilling inside you. Ivar collapsed on top of you in a panting heap. His head was resting on your chest as you rubbed his back gently. “Did I hurt you?” he mumbled through half closed eyes.

“No Ivar, it was perfect,”

Ivar lifted his head with a soft smile, “No you were perfect,” he moved to lay next to you, pulling his shirt over his head to use to clean you up before you settled into bed to cuddle. It was a perfect silence. Well for a few moments, “Who was he?”

“Who was who?”

“The man you were seeing before,” Ivar said making you turn to look at him.

Your eyes scanned his face, but he could hide his emotions when he wanted to, “Why?” you asked sceptically.

“No reason. Just think we should have a little talk is all,”

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[alphajocklover]

So I just finished my 3rd year exams at university (hopefully I did well enough to make it into a 4th year and go for an Master's of science) and as soon as I get out near the crowd to celebrate a guy bumps into me and I broke my phone. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind until I saw he was pretty built, he must be on some university team for something. He felt awful apparently and he gave me his old phone as an apology. It came with this InstaJock app thing on it. I dunno what it is but I kinda wanna load it up...

Another instance of a jock giving someone a phone with InstaJock already downloaded on it. Another instance of someone doing something with InstaJock that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s unprofessional to say something like this, but this is driving me crazy. Why would a jock give away their phone? If they wanted to turn you into a jock like them, they’d just send you the app! If they wanted to give you a new phone for real, they’d have wiped it before giving it to you. I guess it's possible they forgot, but InstaJock is super important to the users that get transformed into jocks. Even with how stupid jocks can be, I doubt they’d forget about the app that literally changed their life. So… why?

I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier Instajock posts that someone has been messing with people using this app. Using it in unconventional ways to mess with people, spreading false information about the app, and even making knock offs of the transformative app. My first thought was that it had to be The Master. Not the Doctor Who villain, to those who get that reference, but someone I introduced to you all in a recent post. He’s the creator of Instajock and the mastermind behind my Uncle’s transformation and kidnapping. He’s an incredibly powerful figure in the Transformation Community, even more than I’ve told you. Most people who know about transformations are scared to mention him, even other TF Reporters are, and most powerful people or groups who work with transformation either do business with him or stay out of his way. But… I don’t think he’s the one behind this. He likes to mess with people, play with his victims like whoever is behind this, but if he wanted to do that he could just add features to the actual InstaJock app. He had no reason to do things in such a roundabout way. Which makes me think… it’s someone else.

Whoever is doing this has an intimate knowledge of the app, so It has to be someone involved with InstaJock, someone besides The Master. Maybe someone who works for him? Even he couldn’t have programmed the entire app on his own and added in the magical elements without help. Plus he isn’t one for upkeep, so he’s probably having someone else run the site for him. They also have to be someone with a lot of nerve to mess with The Master, maybe someone who they’ve hurt personally. On top of all of that it’d also have to be someone the jocks would listen to. Maybe someone who worked on InstaJock that The Master fired, a former employee?

I can’t be sure of who's behind this yet, but I do know that whatever they’re trying to do with you isn’t good. When you press that app, you won’t just be turned into a jock like a regular InstaJock user. It has to be something… special. Something that would benefit, or would at least interest the person behind this. Maybe you’ll turn into a copy of the jock who gave you the phone, become their perfect twin? Maybe something else will happen entirely. I can’t be sure.

If it’s not too late, send me the phone immediately. I can put it somewhere safe, and I might be able to protect you from whoever's doing this. If it is too late… Well I hope you enjoy whatever happened. Being transformed against your will sucks, but being a jock can be fun, even if it isn’t your choice.

**3 stories in one day, all InstaJock? I must be on a roll! I hope you guys liked this one! There are still more mysteries and more transformations to discover! Stay tuned!**

[voltronisanobsession]

Hii, I hope you are having a good day or night! I've recently read your platonic yandere voltron things. And I was wondering if you would make some more headcanons? Or stories with platonic yandere? Here are some ideas you could write either a few headcanons or a story about, for if you have low inspiration. Kidnapped reader with platonic yandere voltron, maybe by an alien species who wanted to help the reader? How would the team react? What would they do? Or maybe the reader get really sick which isn't easily cured cue the panic from the team? Again, just so you know I really like your work! So keep up the good work, and thank you for making your works in the first place! Take good care of yourself, and stay hydrated!

Yandere Voltron’s Reaction to Reader being Taken

O M G DONT EVEN PLAY WITH ME RNNNN!!!! I absolutely LOVE yandere voltron like they’re so fun to write for🤞😜 I love the idea of the group just going crazy if reader were to escape UGHH

tysm pookie, take care of yourself too and ENJOY THIISSSS

OK YOU JUST SPURRED IDEAS INTO MY HEAD

I can already imagine the group going crazy when reader suddenly gets swept up right from their grasp out of nowhere by some random spaceship

I know you said some kind of an alien species taking reader but hear me out

It’s LOTOR AND HIS LITTLE GROUPIES OOOOO

It’s painfully obvious that you’re the real star in voltron seeing as how possessive and protective they are of you, hiding you away whenever danger is nearby

So it only makes sense to Lotor to just kidnap you as leverage for his plans

Little did he know that you would be THANKING him for taking you away from the group lmao😭

Imagine your tied up and homeboys getting ready to explain his super mastermind plan to you when all of a sudden you start rambling about how good it feels to be away from them

“Nothing personal, you were the only thing holding that sad excuse of a team together, so I needed you out of the picture for now.” Cue smirk

“UGH THANK GOD! I was literally starting to lose my mind in there, you have no IDEA how needy they all are.”

Now cue a dumbfounded Lotor

He was not expecting reader to be so relaxed considering how he just snatched you up out of nowhere

You’re just chilling while looking around his ship, maybe making conversation with his generals

You finally get a break from the constant attention and possessiveness, ANYTHING is better than being around the group

While you’re happily talking your voice away with Lotor a group, everyone in the castle is freaking the fuck out

It’s bad enough that they let you slip away from their grasp, it’s worse knowing it was Lotor who took you away💀

We all know how Lance feels about Lotor so I think he would have one of the more extreme reactions to you being taken away

Probably starts pointing fingers and starts blaming everyone for not being able to keep you safe

Lowkey begins targeting Keith because it’s somehow always his fault when something goes wrong💀💀

Lance might even starting crying and wailing out for you with Hunk when the situation finally hits him

Keith is also another one to have a more violent outburst during and after your disappearance

He’s someone I see with strong emotions that he doesn’t know how to handle yet so we already know how he might act

Agitated? Yes. Scared? For you, yeah. Furious? Oh honey absolutely.

Keith might have almost caught you too, but he didn’t. He’s so angry with everything and mostly himself that’s he’s pushing everyone else’s buttons, trying to convince the group that the only right choice is immediately going after you

He’s too anxious now that you’re not in his line of sight, making him kinda desperate to get you back again

Hear me out but I think the calmest ones would PROBABLY be Shiro and Pidge

Now I’m not saying that they’re CALM but they have the nerves mostly in tact

They’re already trying to locate where you are with the secret tracker that have on you so it doesn’t really benefit them to try and blame someone for what happened to you

Pidge’s hands shake while she’s working her whizz tho. She has to type, erase, and retype every now and then because of how nervous and anxious she is

She’s so used to having you around that now her brain can’t function properly without you

She doesn’t want to lose you like how she lost her brother and father so Pidge is trying her best to have a one track mind

Shiro on the other hand is more level headed

He really does try to calm the group down as best as he could but with Lance and Hunk crying, Keith yelling at them to get up and do something, Pidge taking a long time to track you down, and Allura and Coran seemingly in an entire different universe, he can’t help but feel the pressure of this disaster falling on his shoulders

This man is ready to just end Lotor when they find him like I’m not even joking

Everyone is getting on this man’s nerves and knowing that you’re trapped with Voltrons enemy doesn’t really make him feel any better

Hunk might even strike fear into Shiro while he’s babbling on about if you’re hurt or not, if they’re torturing you to get any information out of you etc

Poor Hunk is a flood gate at this point. One moment you’re right next to him and the next you’re not

He’s having a complete meltdown in a corner, maybe trying to comfort himself with a small picture of a selfie you both took together

This dude is already imagining all these terrible scenarios you could possibly be in which makes him feel even more terrible

Quite literally feels like he’s gonna throw up now when he begins thinking about how he’ll never see you again

Allura and Coran are surprising quite and calm during all this

They’d keep to themselves but know that they’re going through some extreme inner turmoil

It’s kind of like Allura disconnected herself from the world ever since you’ve been taken

Her skin itches to run out and grab a pod to find you herself but she knows it’s a brash idea

The only thing she does is mull over the idea of making Lotor regret messing with Voltron

BUT TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORTT

They are willing to do anything to get you back, not caring for the description they’ll leave along the way

The longer your gone the less control and stability they’ll have as a group

Desperate and irrational are some words to describe them during your being away from them

They will stop at nothing to have you back with them, some more destructive and violent than others

No one holds back when getting you back from Lotor, leaving his ships wrecked and forcing him to put his plans on pause as he recovers

Who knows, maybe him and his group might’ve grown similar possessive feelings towards you as well with the time you spent with them? HMMMM

[levisjinchuriki]

enemies — toji fushiguro

summary — you can talk back all you want, but toji knows how to shut you up

warning — nsfw!, rough!toji, dom!toji, mean!toji, degradation kink, toji calling the reader names, spanking, hatefucking, overstimulation, fingering, enemies with benefits, toji being arrogant, afab reader, sub!reader

“you always this fucking annoying?” toji growls as he presses your chest against the wall of your apartment. you’ve been going at it all day and toji’s had enough of your smart mouth. 

you laugh dryly and look over your shoulder.  “maybe if you weren’t such a piece of shit, i wouldn’t have to be” you retort. the words come out sharp, laced with venom that only fuels the fire between you two. toji’s attitude, his arrogance, has been getting on your nerves all day, and your patience has finally snapped.

the smirk that tugs at his lips is anything but amused. it's dark, and it only makes your blood boil more. 

“you always have something to say, don’t you?” his voice is a low growl in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls your hair back, forcing your face to the side so he can see your expression. “you think you can run your mouth and not get what’s coming to you?”. 

you try to push against him, but his weight is overpowering, his body a solid wall of muscle that you can’t move. “fuck you, toji” you spit, anger burning through your veins.

“oh, you’ll get that too” he promises, his free hand moving down to roughly yank your pants down to your thighs. his palm lands hard on your ass with a crack, the sting immediate and sharp, drawing a gasp from your throat. “but first, you need to learn some respect”. 

another slap, harder this time, and you jump at the feeling. as much as it stings, it also excites you.

you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing another sound from you. but he knows. he can feel the way your body jerks with every touch. he can feel the heat pooling between your legs even as you fight it. you’re at his mercy, and the worst part is that some twisted part of you wants it—needs it. the anger, the violence, the degradation. it’s the only way to burn through the hate you both feel.

toji grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “you want this so bad. acting like you don’t, but your body’s screaming for it” he sneers. 

you glare up at him, refusing to give in, but the way he’s looking at you makes your knees weak. he knows exactly how to break you down, and he enjoys every second of it.

“you always talk so much shit” he growls, his voice rough as he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “but when it comes down to it, you’re just a brat who needs to be put in her place.” he yanks your head back, forcing you to arch for him. “isn’t that right?”. 

his hand comes down again with more force, the impact leaving your skin burning. each slap is more punishing than the last, and yet, with every strike, you feel yourself slipping further into the twisted pleasure of it.

“is that all you got?” you ask, your voice breathless but dripping with defiance. you know you’re provoking him, pushing him to his limit, but you don’t care. you want it. you need to feel him snap.

he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, voice rumbling deep in his chest. “oh, sweetheart” he mocks. “you’re just asking for it now”. toji chuckles darkly, low and deep, a sound that sends a strange mix of heat and fury rushing through you. 

your skin is on fire, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he delivers blow after blow. the pain blends with pleasure, your body responding in ways you don’t want to admit. you bite your lip to hold back your moans of pleasure, to keep from giving him the satisfaction of hearing you break. it’s the way he’s controlling you, dominating you, that makes your head spin.

toji presses his body against yours, trapping you completely between the wall and his overwhelming presence. "you're all bark, no bite" he mutters, voice almost casual, but his eyes burn into you. he’s daring you to prove him wrong.

your skin is hot under your palms. "you’re the one who’s all talk" you taunt, though your breath hitches. toji leans in to plant a sharp bite to your neck. he isn’t gentle—he never is. his teeth sink into your skin just enough to hurt, marking you, claiming you, in the most violent way possible. you hate that your body responds to him. 

“keep pushing” toji warns, his voice dark and dangerous as his hand trails down to grip your ass roughly. “you’ll see how much talk i am”. 

another slap, sharp and loud, makes you gasp. you don’t answer, and that only spurs him on. his hand comes down again, and again, the blows harder, more punishing with each strike. toji knows you too well. he can feel the way your hips involuntarily move back against him, the way your legs twitch with every slap. he chuckles darkly, his hand stilling for a moment before he leans over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “i bet you’re dripping right now, aren’t you?”. 

he doesn’t wait for an answer. his fingers slide between your thighs, and the noise he lets out when he feels how wet you are sends a shiver down your spine. “fucking knew it” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “you act like you don’t want this, but you’re just a needy little slut, aren’t you?”. 

his words make your stomach twist, shame and desire mixing together that leaves you dizzy. you hate that he’s right. you hate that your body betrays you like this every time.

he rubs the pads of his fingers against your clit in circles. “look how desperate you are. so fucking wet for me already” he teases you. 

a moan escapes your lips despite yourself, your body reacting to his touch even as your mind screams at you to resist. but it’s impossible. the way he’s touching you, the roughness, the control—it’s everything you crave. your body always reacts to him. even though you can’t stand each other, there’s something about the hate between you that makes him great in bed.

he doesn’t ease into it, pumping his fingers into your hole. his fingers are enough to stretch you out, making you crave more of him. 

“toji!” you gasp, your breath catching as he inserts his thick fingers inside you without warning. the sudden stretch makes your body tense, hips instinctively pushing back against him. his fingers pump relentlessly, stretching you in a way that makes you crave more—more of him, more of this intensity. each stroke is deliberate, filling you with an aching need as his fingers curl inside you.

toji’s lips curl into a sneer, his voice cutting through the haze in your mind. his hand moves faster, fingers plunging deep and stretching you wide, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room. “being so obedient now and all i had to do was shove my fingers inside you” toji laughs, voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your body respond. afab readerbitting, ssub!reader, you want to scream at him, to throw another insult his way, but the words dissolve into nothing as his fingers curl inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your legs tremble. the pace is brutal—no tenderness, no teasing—just rough, unforgiving strokes that have you writhing. your body arches, a strangled moan escaping your lips before you can stop it. your walls clench around his fingers involuntarily, and his smirk only deepens.

you try to bite back another moan, the heat in your core building with every punishing thrust of his fingers, but it’s useless. the friction, the way his fingers stretch you, the filthy words spilling from his mouth—all of it feels so good.

“come on, sweetheart” he encourages you, his fingers brushing against that spot in a way that makes you gasp. “give it to me. i know you’re close”.

your body trembles, caught between the need to resist and release. it’s humiliating, the way he’s in total control, the way he’s reduced you to this—desperate and teetering on the edge of your high so quickly.

but as much as you hate it, you know he’s right. you’re close. so damn close. and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

your hands press against the wall, nails digging into the plaster as you lose control. your orgasm overpowers you, every muscle in your body tensing as you come undone around his fingers. toji’s hand doesn’t slow, milking every last tremor from you as you convulse around him. it’s intense, almost too much, but he doesn’t care. he keeps pushing, keeps taunting, wanting you to lose yourself completely.

you slump against the wall, trying to catch your breath, but toji’s not done with you yet. he grabs you, bringing you toward the couch and pushing your chest against it. your head spins, but the fire in his eyes and the roughness in his grip send a thrill through your already exhausted body. he’s not giving you a chance to recover. he’s going to use you and you’re going to let him.

“you gonna behave now?” he taunts as he wastes no time shoving his cock into you, stretching you and filling you completely. you can’t help the cry that rips from your throat as he sets a punishing pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. his grip on your hips is bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucks you with no mercy.

“oh, you like that, don’t you?” he growls, his voice rough with exertion. “you like being treated like this. like the little whore you are”. your vision blurs as his words hit you, each degrading insult sending another wave of heat straight to your core. you want to deny it, but the words are lost in your throat. 

your mouth hangs open, gasping for air, as you take all that he gives you. every thrust of his hips feels like it's pulling you apart, a relentless rhythm that leaves you helpless against the pleasure building deep inside you. toji’s pace is brutal, unrelenting, and all you can do is surrender to him.

you reach a hand back to push against his abs as you hear the sound of your skin slapping together. toji tisks and leans into you, his chest pressing against your back as he wraps his bicep around your neck in a headlock. “c’mon, you’re a big girl” he teases, his voice low and dripping with condescension. “you can take it. you always do”.

you moan, gripping his forearm and bicep and digging your nails into the hard muscle as you tighten around him. he pulls you back against him while nipping at the skin where your neck and shoulder meet.

“toji” you whimper. your heart races, pounding against your chest as you feel the heat of his breath against you. he thrusts deeper at the sound of your voice, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. a groan escapes you, and your grip tightens on his arm. your body arches against him, instinctively pushing back for more.

“taking me so well– shit” his whispers against your skin. toji takes what he wants. his grip on you is bruising, his pace relentless, each stroke driving you closer to your high. he’s thrusting into you hard and fast. it’s brutal, and it’s exactly what you want—what you need. your breath is ragged, your body trembling as you try to hold onto whatever shred of control you have left. the way he’s pounding into you, the way he’s talking to you, degrading you, it’s too much. you can feel yourself breaking, and you hate him for it, for knowing exactly how to push you to the edge.

“i hate you” you manage to gasp out, though the words are weak, broken by the pleasure coursing through you. your trembling voice betrays the lie in your words. 

he hums, low and cruel, his grip tightening as he fucks you harder. “no you don’t. you fucking love this”. he punctuates his words with sharp thrusts. 

your walls tighten around him again, another orgasm tearing through you so violently you can’t make a sound. your nails dig deep into whatever they can find—his forearm, the cushions beneath you—as every muscle goes rigid. your eyes squeeze shut from the overwhelming intensity of your release.

but toji doesn’t stop.

even as you ride out the high, he keeps going, his relentless thrusts pushing you past the point of no return. the overstimulation is maddening, every touch making you whimper and moan for him. you’re shaking, helpless as you drip onto the floor beneath you.

you hate him. you hate him so much.

but as you stand there, trembling, raw, and exposed, you know you’ll end up right back here again.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please send a request!!

creds: @elryisia

[sushiwriterhere]

in a heartbeat

summary: "Maybe he just didn’t need the fanfare, maybe he needed to ditch the plans and just hand the rock to you over Chinese takeout and let that be it."  rating: explicit (no minors!) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 3.9k warnings: very fluffy, PiV (unprotected), no use of y/n.  notes: this is my first fic in a while and im fighting writers block something awful. this is not proofread :( pls lmk what you think <3! my other works are here part of the coming home to you universe

four days before.

“I’m gonna go out for drinks with the girls Saturday.”

“Uhhh, you can’t.”

Did he need to loop your coworkers into the proposal plan too? Phoenix having dragged it out of him so they could all help was bad enough. Bradley could feel his headache building behind his eyes. He tried to avert eye contact to make the conversation feel natural, instead focusing his gaze on the onion he was trying to caramelize. 

“I can’t?”

Bradley’s never been controlling, never tried to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with, and certainly never with that particular tone in his voice. He heard the mail you were inspecting drop onto the granite countertop as you turned your full attention on him.

“Why?”

Fuck.

He could hear the way your eyes were narrowed from the uncharacteristically steady tone of your voice, the way one eyebrow was raised expectantly. 

In the back of his mind, Bradley also saw the picnic blanket, candles, and bottle of your favorite wine stashed at Mav’s. There were the flowers he had to pick up and arrange on Friday while you were working, the homemade meal Javy promised him that he needed to grab on Saturday around midday. 

“I made dinner reservations at this new place down by the beach, and the only time they had was Saturday evening.”

“And you forgot to tell me until now?”

Bradley didn’t forget. Not about these types of things. Ever since your first date, Bradley had been nothing but proactive. He planned dates, cooked meals, doted on you. Forgetting just wasn’t like him. 

“Made the reservation this morning and you seemed busy.” He finally met your eyes and he watched as your gaze softened and you turned back to the stack of mail.

“Bradley Bradshaw you are a sap.”

And the moment passed. 

You and Bradley had talked about marriage, you have. You’d talked about it enough for him to know what kind of ring you wanted, that you wanted a small, intimate ceremony, and that you’d lost more than enough sleep over whether to invite your parents. You’d talked enough to know Bradley would probably have the Dagger Squad as best men (people?) and that he’d let Phoenix be part of your bridal party if you wanted, that he wanted Mav right there next to him, and that there would be an empty chair for Goose and Carole. That was one thing. 

Getting down on one knee and actually going over that line? That was another. 

The rational part of his brain had always insisted that you would say yes, that you also knew from very early on, if not the beginning. The unhelpful part of his brain kept telling him the ring was the wrong size or that a seagull would swoop down and steal the shiny thing right from his fingertips before you could even say no.

three days before.

Bradley’s checked the ring at least six times since he, Javy, and the other guys came into the shop. The sound of the velvet clicking back against itself then sliding open again was starting to grate on his nerves, but he wanted to give Bradley the benefit of the doubt. He remembered what it was like, that lump in your throat, the way his brain tended to keep him up about every disagreement, every time he should’ve apologized instead of stewing on his anger. 

Javy, instead, choose peace. He watched calmly as Bradley opened the box again, and brought a finger up to trace the gems before deciding against it.

Doesn’t want to smudge it.

There was clearly something on his mind, because the ring had been paid for months ago and the re-sizing and adjustments were included in the price. But there Bradley was, stuck to the shop floor, looking like he was trying to decide between getting sick right there and maybe saving it for the trees outside the shop’s doors.

“What’cha thinkin’ about there, Rooster?” Jake sidled up to Bradley’s side, voice a low murmur, as if trying not to startle the man. 

Regardless, Bradley jumped slightly, jostling the open box and the sound of the box snapping shut echoed harshly around the showroom. Bradley looked like he might’ve decided on getting sick inside. 

“Should I get a second one? What if she doesn’t like this one?” 

Across the room, a sales associate perked up just slightly, clearly looking to score on another guy so nervous he looked like a ghost. Vultures.

“Bradley, my man, we’ve been over this a thousand times. Phoenix got her Pinterest, it’s all a certain style, and it’s definitely the perfect ring.” 

Jake and Bradley had begun to get along, rather begrudgingly at first, then very amicably, after the mission and Jake saved Bradley’s life. Seeing him comfort Bradley was something else though, Javy acknowledged. It was kind of nice to have that tension dissipate from within their team.

“But what if I need another perfect one?” 

“Are you gonna propose to her twice?” Bob had popped up on Bradley’s other side, silent as ever. “Usually there’s a second one for the wedding, but I’m here for a bit of a new tradition.”

At that, Bradley deflated a bit. The box in his hands clicked open, then shut again.

“No, no new tradition.” He murmured, before slipping the box into his pocket.

two days before.

Bradley knew Mav loved him, but he wasn’t sure how much he would after this whole ordeal. They must’ve run over the schedule at least a thousand times, forward and backward, even while flying over their comms. At this point, Bradley was sure he had the entire Dagger Squad reciting the plan in their sleep. He hoped he at least wasn’t, he didn’t need you to be clued into anything. 

“Nothing has moved since the last time you were here. Go home, Bradley.” Mav’s voice carried through the house as Bradley unceremoniously burst through the door. 

He’d started leaving work fifteen minutes early last week, just to double check that everything was in its place, that nothing had broken or spontaneously combusted. It was just enough time for him to stop at Mav’s place on the way home, do his round, and make it home around the same time as usual so as not to rouse suspicion. 

“I’m just–”

“Just checking yeah, get outta my house Bradley and go be with your fiance.” Mav had rounded the corner into his back room, all bathed in sunlight and a picture-perfect reminder of why people loved living in California. 

He was the picture of relaxed domesticity, dish towel over his shoulder, spatula in one hand that he was clearly thinking about hitting Bradley with as he paced the room and ticked things off on his fingers as he murmured to himself. 

“You’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet, and I happen to really like that rug.” Bradley stopped walking but the way his fingers twitched at his sides clued Mav into the way he was clearly still running through the run of show in his mind. 

“She’s not my fiance yet.”

“And she never will be if I murder you for breaking into my house and giving my wife a heart attack.”

“Penny’s not even home at this hour.” 

Mav had never seen Bradley like this. He’d missed graduations and recitals and all the shit you don’t get to see as an estranged god-father, but he’d done enough wondering about what he was like in those moments to have come up with this scenario. Bradley truly was the perfect mix of Goose and Carole–all Goose’s easy romantic energy, ever creative, ever attentive, and just as much of Carole’s eye for detail and desire for things to go right. 

“Bradley.”

Mav watched as the fight eased out of Bradley’s shoulders and his hands relaxed at his sides, “Right. Sorry.”

“Look son, you don’t have to be sorry for wanting this to go right. And you’ve only got a little of sorry to be about starting to drive me insane.” At that, Bradley cracked half a smile and Mav considered that a small success. “You like this at home?”

A sharp laugh echoed around the wood-paneled room, “Oh absolutely not. She’d know in a heartbeat.”

“Well, then you have your answer.” The gears were turning at a million miles an hour as Bradley tried to decipher what he meant. “She knows you in a heartbeat, which means she knows how she feels about you. And we both know what that means for Saturday.”

Bradley nodded, the picture of relaxation and ease all at once. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

one day before.

Bradley was starting to think the gash on his finger was some sort of awful omen, something terrible that had been awaiting to reveal itself until the last moment. He’d arranged flowers for you probably a million times at this point, had even done it blindfolded (only cheating a bit so he didn’t lose a finger) just to amuse you. Now, as he stared at the blood bubbing up from his middle left finger where he’d just stabbed himself with the scissors, the entire thing felt like some sort of cosmic joke.

He’d never doubted that he wanted to marry you, not even when you’d argued or insisted on shoving your ice cold fingers and toes up against him in the dead of night. Not once had he wavered since that initial thought in his brain, and he was even more sure when he went to open that fucking bank account that he’d been diligently adding a sizeable portion of his paycheck to. (What? He wanted to be sure he could afford exactly what you wanted, DeBeers advertising campaign be damned.)

Maybe he just didn’t need the fanfare, maybe he needed to ditch the plans and just hand the rock to you over Chinese takeout and let that be it. 

The only thing keeping him going despite all his nerves, aside from his deep love for you, was the way you’d once leaned against him when the two of you were spending a week away in the mountains. Overlooking something that felt like it was right from a postcard, you’d told him exactly how all the little romantic things he did made you feel. 

“Every time you buy me flowers, I get this little feeling in my chest, like something curling around my heart.” Bradley remembered keeping himself from making a joke, something about heart attacks, trying not to break the moment as the fog hung low over the trees. 

“From the moment you picked me up for our first date and insisted on opening the car door, bringing me flowers, they all make me get that little squirmy feeling that no one’s ever given me before.” You had pressed yourself to his side but not met his eyes, as if your confession was too powerful, too heavy to make when looking at him, “And some of it’s because I’m a sap at heart and you somehow know what I want before I do, but some of it’s just because it’s you Bradley. Always has been, always will be.”

The words said next would keep him going in his darkest moments, kept him together on long deployments, kept him pushing through every moment of doubt in the planning process.

“So if you ever decide to propose to me, even if it’s just you asking me over coffee, just know I’ll get that feeling, just because it’s you.” 

At that, you’d turned to face him, shifting so you could hook your chin over his shoulder where he turned his face to yours. He could see every lash, every spot on your face that he loved to press his lips to when you were too sleepy to protest. You’d graced him with a tiny smile, somehow just a bit melancholy, but all too loving. 

Bradley shook his head, clearing the memory as he scrambled to keep his blood from spattering on the countertop. He was going to have to grit his teeth through the pain of using a liquid bandaid so the pictures weren’t ruined by a regular bandaid. 

You’d compromised on drinks being Friday, so he had the evening to himself. All the time in the world for flowers, for a barbecue at Javy’s (home cooked meal to be picked up that night instead of Saturday morning), and for waiting up for you to text that you were ready to go home. 

the day of.

Bradley thought he’d be blinded by panic, or doubt, now that he was counting down hours and minutes in place of days or weeks. Instead, all he felt was a sense of serenity, almost like he was floating through the motions. 

The day started like every Saturday he’d had since you moved in and he’d been granted a relatively permanent station at Top Gun with Mav and the rest–you pressed up against him, your hair tickling some part of his bare skin, and the type of bone deep satisfaction with life that came with going to bed with a full belly and the love of his life at his side. He stared up at the ceiling fan as it made its lazy rotations and thought about how today was marking the difference between two parts of his life. 

After today, there would always be a time before the proposal, and after. 

The morning was lazy as you insisted you didn’t have a hangover but let Bradley cook you a plate full of turkey bacon, gently scrambled eggs, and a few hashbrowns. He knew you would be fine by afternoon, and after that excited to hang out at the beach before dinner. 

He was sort of counting on it. 

Apparently he’d underestimated your ability to bounce back because the way you draped yourself across his bare back was a little less than innocent as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his stomach. He slowed the way he was chewing the last of his hashbrown as you pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot under his ear. 

“Good morning, Bradley,” You crooned lowly.

“Mornin’.” 

His stomach jumped as you ran a nail over one of his nipples, and kissed at his shoulder. Tilting his head to the side to give you more room to work with, he took a slow drink of his water. 

Maybe he wanted you to work for it just a little, what with how badly he’d been stressing these last few weeks. 

And work for it you did. The light drag of your nails just barely there on his stomach and arms had him getting hard faster than he thought was humanly possible. But there was just something about the warmth of your chest at his back, the thinness of some shirt you’d stolen from him doing little to hide the swell of your breasts, that did it for him. Hell, it was really just that it was you that got him going. 

“I missed you last night.” You whined, just a bit, as he finally turned around on the barstool and gathered you into his lap. 

You could definitely feel the way he was hard against the soft give of your thighs, but somehow in that moment, all he wanted was you near. Sensing that somehow the moment had maybe passed, you curled in his lap and stretched your arms around his shoulders, apparently just content to be touching him.

“I missed you too.”

The way your lips met his was almost as natural as breathing, and then the moment wasn’t so innocent anymore. Your lips slotted against his as you kneaded at his arm muscles and part of Bradley was incredibly satisfied that you were enjoying just how much effort he put in at the gym. Sure, he had to be fit for his physical, but how hard he went on his biceps and shoulders was purely for your benefit. 

When the two of you finally stumbled back into the bedroom, Bradley thought he might pass out from how hard he was. Everything about you was amplified somehow. Your skin was softer and the gentle scent of whatever perfume you’d worn last night filled his nose. The give of your hips and thighs was easier and all he wanted was to sink his teeth into you and never let go. You might even let him.

Sprawled underneath him you looked like a goddess, bathed in the rising morning sun, nipples gently peaked as your chest rose and fell. 

“I love you.” 

It was so tender in comparison to the way you sat up and worked a hand inside Bradley’s boxers to grab firmly at his cock. He groaned as you shoved at the little clothing the two of you were wearing and in a moment, your skin was a beautiful contrast to the crisp white of the sheets. 

Bradley made to go down on you but you kept his face in your hands, “Been ready to go since I watched you scramble those eggs.”

He couldn’t hold back the way he barked out a laugh, that one was new. “The way the white and yolk were combined really do it for you?”

You smacked at his chest indignantly as he propped one of your thighs over the crook of his elbow, “Your back and arms look nice when you whisk, you asshole.”

You weren’t so huffy as he slid into you, gentle as ever. Bradley knew he wasn’t the biggest ever, but he also knew he wasn’t anything to scoff at either. He kissed away any discomfort he could see on your features til you rocked your hips up against his insistently.

“Give it to me like you mean it, babe,” Grinning all cheerfully, Bradley cursed under his breath as he felt you bear down on him.

After that, there was little to be said beyond whispers of I love you and the occasional swear word. Sometimes sex between the two of you was raunchy and heated, and other times it rounded out his Saturday mornings in a way that left him sated like nothing else. Sometimes he thought it might be better than flying. 

You came first, digging your nails into his shoulders and breathing his name in repeat. The feeling of you squeezing around him did little to keep him from coming and besides, the way you scraped your nails down his chest and begged him to let go definitely did him in. 

Clean up was quiet kisses and gentle shoves in the direction of the en-suite bathroom, Bradley making sure the water wasn’t too cold for you as you peed. (It was the little things.)

-

Fuck what Bradley had thought earlier about being serene, he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin. Holding your hand as the two of you made your way down the beachfront towards the space behind the Hard Deck, you were chattering on about some coworker’s baby shower and Bradley was focusing way too hard on not absolutely eating shit with the way the sand was shifting under his feet. 

In the distance, he could see the candles and the picnic blanket like a homing beacon. He couldn’t see Mav or Javy or anyone else, but he knew they were all hiding somewhere, ready to burst from the shadows in excitement. Harvard was also brandishing a camera even though Bradley couldn’t see any hint that he was around–turns out he was a more-than-amatuer photographer and had volunteered to capture the moment. 

“Bradley, what’s all this?” Your voice reached a winded sort of pitch as the two of you finally reached the set up.

It was perfect, and part of Bradley finally exhaled. The picnic blanket from your fourth date, the little tea candles doting the beach, and the bouquet of flowers resting at the corner of the blanket, right within Bradley’s reach.

Gently dropping your hand, Bradley picked up the flowers and pressed them into your hands. By now, you’d clearly caught on that something was happening because your eyes were wide and slightly teary, and there was a ghost of a wobble in your lower lip. 

Tan suit be damned, Bradley dropped to one knee and pulled out the velvet box that had been burning a hole in his pocket since before the two of you had gone out to dinner. (The dinner reservation had actually been real, to his credit.)

“Oh my god,” you whispered, bringing a hand to your mouth in a way that betrayed the way your hands were shaking. 

Bradley inhaled deeply, before popping open the lid of the box and letting his eyes flick down to where the ring was sitting, nestled right where it was supposed to be.

As if unable to stop yourself, you opened your mouth and blurted, “If you’re about to ask me what I think you are, the answer is yes. A thousand times yes.” 

Blinking up at you, Bradley didn’t move a muscle as you kept going, “Oh my god wait you probably have a whole speech, I’m so sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

Distantly, Bradley heard a shutter clicking but neither of you broke eye contact as his face broke into a huge smile. He kept going according to his plan, the unspoken understanding passing between the two of you that you’d never live that down.

He said your first name like a prayer, before launching into the speech he’d rehearsed for months now, “I have loved you since I met you. I love every part of you–your laugh, the way you’re passionate about your work, the way you love everyone around you with such intensity. I love you when we argue, I love you when we’re together and apart. You consume my every waking thought, and grace me with your presence when I dream. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want to bicker about how we go through junk mail, the right way to parallel park, and what show we’re going to watch on Thursdays for however long you’ll let me. I want you by my side for the good, the bad, in sickness, and in health.” He said your name again, before asking the question he already knew the answer to, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my god yes.” 

Miraculously, Bradley slipped the ring on your finger without incident, then gathered you up into his arms and pressed your lips together. His cheeks were wet with your tears. 

“I love you so much, Bradley Bradshaw, you are my everything,” You choked out when he set you down unable to stop yourself from sticking your hand out in front of you and crying harder when you saw the ring of your dreams adorning your hand. 

“I can’t believe you said yes before I asked,” He breathed before pulling you into him to kiss you fiercely one more time.

-

“She said yes before I even opened my mouth,” Bradley chuckled as you giggled by his side, hands never leaving the new ring on your finger.

“That’s not nearly as bad as you were for the last three months,” Javy crowed, and the crowd was in uproar as Bradley attempted to defend himself. 

Above all the noise and the lighthearted teasing, Bradley knew one thing–he was happy. And you had said yes.

----

tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @bradshawburner @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @joaquinwhorres @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch @seresinsweetie @notroosterbradshaw @kmc1989 @peachystenbrough @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @wkndwlff @waklman @blue-aconite @thedroneranger @bibitches-r-us @sunlightmurdock @laracrofted @jupitercomet - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are luv <r bradley. pls lmk if you'd like to be added/removed

[another-lost-mc]

KARASU x gn!Reader 1k Words | NSFW | Making Out | Dry Humping | Marking -> Prompt: “You don’t know how long I waited for that.” [ 2K Event Masterlist ]

When you wanted to have a relaxing date night with Karasu, he invited you to his home. It was in a quiet part of the Devildom, close enough to the House of Lamentation that he could walk you home after, but far enough way that it felt more intimate.

The added benefit of Karasu's home was his lack of roommates. The brothers were far too nosy and demanding of your attention for his liking, and it set his nerves on edge. He couldn't relax knowing at least one of them was hovering nearby.

Since the early days of your friendship, he compiled a list of human world television shows and movies that you liked or recommended. He used his contacts at Akuzon to special order the titles that weren't technically available for sale, and he had a substantial collection waiting for you to choose from when you visited.

He preferred the historical dramas best. He found sci-fi movies equally amusing and frustrating; he giggled at the dated special effects and rolled his eyes at the technical inaccuracies. He was indifferent to musicals and animated films, but he watched them if you wanted to watch them.

He insisted (like always) that you pick tonight’s film. Afterwards, there’s an empty chip bowl on the table and the credits are rolling quietly in the background. He turned off the lights before he put the movie on. You're both bathed in the static glow of his television and the moonlight trickling in through the windows. One of his arms is draped over your shoulders and you're both smiling and pretending that neither of you are misty-eyed after that particularly tragic ending.

"I've seen this movie a dozen times and it still makes me cry," you admit with a laugh as you wipe away the tears stinging your lash line.

"I'm not usually this affected by films, but despite it's sad ending, I found the movie overall was very enjoyable," he admits quietly. He pulls you closer and sighs against your temple.

Normally this is the point in the evening where he announces it's time to get ready so he can walk you home, but neither of you want to move. There's a slow realization that you've built something of a routine together, and it gets more difficult each time you have to say goodbye.

You know if you stay too late, one (or some) of the brothers will make a fuss about it. You’re not sure what they’re concerned about. You're still enjoying the shy intimacy of your relationship with Karasu and the most you've done together is share sweet, chaste kisses when you found moments alone together, but—

"I like having you here," he whispers. His quiet confession feels shockingly loud, or maybe you feel that way because he's admitting to you what you're too shy to say to him.

His hand rests on the cushion between you, and you cover it with your own. He still hasn't looked at you properly, but you can tell when he shifts his gaze to your fingers that slowly stroke his. You're not sure if you're trying to comfort him or tease him or invite him, but when he finally looks up, there's something hopeful shining in his dark eyes.

He makes a soft sound when your lips meet, and your noses brush together when you try to slot your mouth more comfortably against his. The kiss is hardly scandalous—it’s not desperate or sloppy, and you're not trying to curl your tongue with his own—but heat still blooms inside you. You don't even realize you're whimpering into the kiss until he pulls back and gasps your name.

He stares at you so intensely that you think you've overstepped, but he cups your cheek before you can look away and utter an apology.

"You don't know how long I waited for this," he murmurs. He licks his lips and you subconsciously mirror the movement; he stares at your tongue and you watch his throat bob when he swallows.

He surprises you when he leans forward. You expect him to kiss you again, but he moves shockingly fast; he swings his leg over your lap and when you blink, he's straddling your legs and leaning forward on his hands. You're caged between his arms and you can hear his fingers clench the leathery material of his couch on either side of your head.

When he finally comes to some sort of decision, he pushes away from the couch and leans back slightly. The shy, hesitant demon you know seems to fade into someone more confident, more sure of what he wants. He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and folds them carefully before he tosses them aside. He rolls his shoulders and you're awestruck when his wings unfurl behind him. They surround you like a black feathered veil, and all you can see is him.

His crimson pupils seem to glow in the darkness; they draw closer when he leans his face towards you again, and his chest just barely presses against your own. His fingers hover over your cheeks and he strokes them so gently with his fingertips like he's still in awe of you.

"We have a bit more time," he says thickly, and his voice is rougher and deeper than you've ever heard it. Your hand curls around the back of his head so you can tangle your fingers in his hair, and when his mouth crashes against yours, the kiss can only be described as hungry. His movements are unskilled and rushed at first, but the slick glide of his mouth moving against your own grows more confident, more daring, and you swallow each other's desperate sounds.

He cradles your head so gently, even when his hips start grinding down against you. He moans against the skin of your neck when he licks at your pulse point and dares to leave a little mark there for you to find tomorrow. You roll your hips against his to find friction to take the edge off your own blazing arousal. His gaze turns predatory and you move together in the feathery darkness he made for you.

By the time he walks you back to the House of Lamentation nearly an hour later, both your lips are kiss-swollen and desire still surges like a current between you.

(He had to change his pants when he slid off your lap; you were too embarrassed to admit that your thighs were warm and sticky from his ministrations too, but part of you liked it. The satisfied tilt to his smirk when he bid you goodnight gave you the impression that he liked it as much as you did.)

[padfootreggie]

Nemesis

Luke Castellan x OC

Warnings: daughter of Athena reader, smut, enemies with benefits, threats, hickeys, rough sex, makeouts

Summary: Valerie was practicing her archery until a boy decides to flirt with Luke's girl.

I whine finally sitting up, my sister had woken me up for breakfast. Quickly I grab my orange camp half-blood shirt but its shrunk in the dryer "fuck- Annabeth do you have an extra shirt?"

Annabeth sighs "you got paint on the last shirt I gave you Val, I don't really want to" I groan "I'm sorry again, please pleaseee"

She ignores me, I groan putting on the shirt. It's actually kinda cute. Then I change into my last pair of pajama shorts and sandals.

I start running to get some food. Hopefully they didn't finish me. I sit at my cabins table grabbing some grapes.

Some people stare at my outfit, sure it's a bit tight but what can I do? Oh well, I'll do laundry later. I can feel some special person staring deeply into my soul, of course it's stupid Luke

He glared at me angrily, staring me up and down before going back to his happy facade. I yawn finishing my breakfast.

Soon I walk off to the place I love most, the archery field. I grab a bow and arrow, and start shooting. I'm wrather good at archery now.

I practiced a lot over the years I'm been here, I've been here since I was 15, now I'm 18. Luke decided to walk over with that annoying smirk on his face.

Sure Luke is attractive, but something about him just gets on my nerves. He's so talkative and looves to annoy me.

I work on my practice, trying to find what's wrong with my form. Until I hear this grating voice "Hey princess" a boy from Ares says.

He's been trying to get with me for a month. He's a know player, but he's so pretty. I force a smile on my face batting my eyes "hey, Christian" my voice suggestive and innocent.

Christian smirks watching my body "so how's everything going?" I turn my body away trying to focus on practice I mutter "alls fine, and you?"

He goes closer and closer until our bodies mesh together. I notice Luke glaring, I smirk making eye contact as I slightly grind against the boy.

Christian moans in my ear. I feel so icky, but if it gets on Luke's nerves I'll do anything. Luke walks over intimidating Christian with Luke looking furious despite his usual fake personality.

The boy who was practically needy for me becomes distant. Luke smiled "you mind if I take Valerie for a second Christian?"

Christian scoffs but nods, obviously disappointed that Luke came. Luke practically drags me away to Hermes cabin.

I huff "Luke where are you taking me? Let me go!" Trying to act like I'm mad but I'm enjoying this. Luke is extremely possessive over me.

Since I'm 'his girl' all we do is hook up though, can never actually be together...right? The cabin is empty, still messy and cluttered.

Luke pushes me onto his bed grunting "why was Christian practically fucking you out there?!" I whine being pushed down.

"He went to me, Luke it's not my fault!" I pout, yelping when he pulls down my small shorts.

He whispered "and wearing this shit? Your begging for me baby you know how I hate others seeing what's mine!"

I cackle "I'm 'yours?' You can't even be near me in public!!" He huffs "you know what I fucking mean Val"

Luke rubs my clothed clit, my purple panties drenched in arousal. I whine as my puffy pussy is rubbed by Luke.

Pulling down my panties he stares at my shirt angrily "fucking gods such a small shirt, baby it's like your trying to make me fuck you on the tables out there. I bet you'd like that huh? Letting everyone know who you belong to?"

I bite my lower lip whining, he unzips his jeans just enough to take out his dick. I moan at the sight, he's so needy. His tip a pretty pink.

Pre-cum leaks down his cock. It's been so long since we've done this. He pushes into me, not caring if I'm hurt or not.

Moaning my back arches, he fills me up so goodly, it's like he's made for me. His hips piston into my throbbing pussy.

Luke breathes out "been a long time so fucking tight for me babe." My back arches, and my toes curl. Sweat drips down my forehead.

It never takes him long to make me cum, it's been such a long time without cock I could cum in seconds I swear.

A tight feeling forms in my stomach, I'm so close. Luke fists my curls, pulling tightly. I moan and whine louder, showing him I'm close.

He goes faster if that's possible he growls "would he ever fuck you like this Val? Huh?" Me being fucked dumb I can't answer.

I shake my head no, a whimpering mess. My pussy tightens around his veiny dick. Making me cry out, Luke bites my shoulder.

He groans going harder, I love his sounds. They make him seem more human as he pounds into my dripping pussy.

I whine, back arching. I cry into his neck. "L-Luke I'm sorry! I won't talk to him ev-er again I swear I swear!!"

Luke only laughs feeling my squirt on his cock, he covers my mouth with his large hand "Quiet Val, don't want a camper to hear you hm?"

Lewd moans, and big slaps fill the cabin. After maybe 45 minutes I'm pretty sure I came 4 times, I'm so overwhelmed with pleasure.

I cry out "Luke I'm so-sory ple- n'more!!" I'm just mumbling words, stuttering and whining. Yet he keeps going. Luke whimpers "who do you belong to baby?"

Mumbling and crying I finally answer "you!! Luke C-Castellan I be-brlobg to you!!" He groans Cumming on my stomach, it's drooping down my sides from how long he's held in.

He lays his body on mine groaning. He kisses my cheeks, and neck for a while. We fall asleep both knowing we'll hate each other again in the morning...

--------------------------✩-------------------------

A/n: I hoped you liked this! It's so fun writing stuff like this bc sometimes I get butterflies from my own writing😭 who wants more Valerie?

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

[nburkhardt]

Of Scissors & Wild Curls

Trying to beat out my writers block by writing an au troupe I absolutely love reading and haven’t written before. Just a heads up, it’s in modern times just so I don’t have to worry about being accurate to anything in the 80s ✌️ (this was stated on June 16th, when I started it)

anyway enjoy!

It’s the worst day of his entire life.

Right now. This is absolutely the day to end all bad days. It’ll be in his autobiography, it’ll be written in news articles and maybe a movie someday.

He wants to die a million deaths, truly.

It’s The Worst.

…. Or he might be exaggerating a bit. Just a little. Really, it’s not the end of the world.

This time at least.

Look, he’s had a long ass week and had a fight with some idiot taking pictures of him absolutely not falling on his ass. And the record label just told him that they need at least another album before letting the band take a much needed break.

Also, if he’s being truthful here, his writers block is a killer.

There’s a wall just planted in his brain, cutting off any and all lyrics the band needs for another fucking album.

Where was he again? Oh, worst day of his life.

“We’re going to stop in the next town, maybe we can find a place to- help?”

He groans and throws his head back, looking over at Gareth, “dude, my hair is a fucking disaster. There’s no helping that!”

Gareth crosses his arms with a deadpan look, “Ed, I think you’re overreacting a little. It’s just a little piece of gum! It’s not even that far in your hair, maybe this can be a little-“

“Don’t say it!”

“-trim”

He glares at him, “a little trim? This piece of shit is near my goddamn neck, Gare! I CAN FEEL IT! That fucking asshole did it on purpose too, I just know it!”

There’s a little five foot asshole out in the world, that’s his number one enemy now. Slapping him on the back with a “great show, my man!” Before walking away with a snicker. At the moment he didn’t think anything of it, too busy focusing on the fans around him trying to get his attention. His adrenaline and energy buzzing too much to realize something off with that guy.

He didn’t even notice it, it was a goddamn fan to point it out. Because they felt it when they took a picture together.

See? Worst day ever.

Right now they’re in the bus already moving onto the next city for the next concert. He isn’t even sure what’s the next one, all he knows is his hair has fucking gum in it and it’s the worst thing to ever happen to him.

“I still think you’re overreacting just a little, look, maybe there’s a way to get it out without cutting anything. We just have to find a place, there’s a two day break before the next concert. Ok?” Gareth pulls his hands away from his face, “Chris even told our driver to be on the lookout for places already.”

Sighing, he leans back and looks at his best friend, “I guess you’re right”

“I’m always right, dude.”

Rolling his eyes, he gets up and decides to take a nap face down because there’s no way he’s making it worse and getting stuck to his sheets.

Okay so, he’s overreacting a little bit. But he’s been growing his hair out for years now. It’s the perfect length and just wild enough that everyone knows him just by the hair.

It’s his thing, okay?!

A phone is slammed down and he flinches before looking towards the front, “did the phone kill your dog? Or was that-“

Robin whipped her head around a pinched look on her face, “that was goddamn Fran asking for a perm, I swear to god I don’t know how you deal with her! She actually had the nerve to praise you about letting her go so long without paying! She’s scheduled for Friday, because and I quote ‘my hair is straight as a needle’ she doesn’t do shit with her hair, Steve!”

He shakes his head and grabs his water before walking towards her, “Truthfully? I kinda zone out when I’m working on her hair.”

Robin blinked at him before she burst out laughing.

Being one of the only hair salons in their tiny town has some benefits, which is taking some customers that only pay after ranking up to nearly $300. That and he can hire anyone he wants and having a crew of just their friends is a perfect way to deal with the few crazy customers they get.

Oh, and he gets to hang out with them all the time while doing something he actually loves.

When he decided to go to cosmetology school instead of whatever place his dad wanted, he didn’t think he’d end up here. Honestly. His mom told him there was a chance it would go no where, that it’ll just be another thing to add to his list of hobbies.

Baseball, basketball, swimming, drawing and lastly cutting hair.

According to his dad, all of that was pointless. Well, not basketball. To his mom, it just made him look good for future partners. Thankfully their opinions don’t matter to him much anymore, they’re long gone from this tiny town and he’s twenty five now.

Really, he doesn’t need their support or opinions anymore.

“Woah! Dingus come here!” Robin calls out without needing to, the shop is small and he’s just at his station, “there’s your dorky kids jumping around like actual kids”

Rolling his eyes, he stands next to her to find that; yes across the street is the kids- now teenagers jumping around some parked bus. He can’t quite make out what’s on the bus, his vision is shit with letters even with his contacts in. Whatever they’re excited about is probably related to their dragons game.

So definitely nothing he’d understand. Right?

His attention is drawn away from the teens because of the door opening, he spins around with a smile already on his face. “Hello, do you have an appointment today?”

Standing half way in the door is a tiny blonde with a high pony tail and clearly not from around here. He pretty much knows everyone in Hawkins, or at least he knows everyone that comes into his shop.

This person definitely hasn’t been in before, she is adorable though. Totally Robin’s type, actually. Glancing at his best friend, and yep, there’s already hearts in her eyes.

“Hi! No, actually I wanted to see if you did have any openings?” Tiny Blonde smiles and he can see her glance at Robin, “either of you?”

If he could, he’d totally leave Robin to handle this by herself. It’d be pay back for when she ditched him at the bar a few weeks ago, but he’s not that petty. “Technically she can’t cut or color anyone’s hair, but I’m free later. I got a person coming in like twenty minutes. What did you-“

“Actually, it’s for a friend of mine!” She shakes her head and pulls her phone out, glancing at it and typing something quickly before looking back at him, “Can you do like a quick, consult maybe? Not like now, but later?”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin nod her head as if she’s the one going to do it. Rolling his eyes he smiles and moves to the appointment book, taking a quick glance he can technically squeeze in something. “Just a consult?”

“Maybe a trim if all goes well, we could even come in tomorrow if you can’t today. We did just get into town, I’m sure my friend will understand if you can’t” her phone beeps and he can’t tell but it seems like she’s grimacing at whatever was sent, “or maybe you know another place?”

Technically he could send them somewhere else, but he’s curious plus from the glare he can feel from Robin- he glances at her and yep, she’s glaring a hole in his head.

He doesn’t need to ask her that she wants this pretty blonde to come back.

“Nah, you can come back at four. We can chat and figure out what needs or can be done.“ he smiles at her before handing over an appointment card, “I’m Steve, by the way. That’s Robin”

She takes the card with a smile, “Oh! I’m Chrissy, you don’t realize how much this will make my friend’s day. We’ll see you then, it’ll just be you two, right?”

“Yep! See you in a few hours!” Chrissy flashed a bright smile at him then Robin before opening the door and walking away.

He doesn’t even bother looking towards Robin to tell her, “You’ve got it bad”

There’s a loud shriek and then a laugh as Chrissy walks away. She smiles before looking down at her phone to text the good news.

‘Best news of your life right now, four o’clock. Dummy’

‘THANK YOU ❤️🖤’

It’s inching closer and closer to four and Steve isn’t sure if Chrissy just forgot or that her friend decided it wasn’t worth it. Either way, he’s going to clean up now because it’s been a long day and all he wants now is to drink some wine while relaxing on his couch.

He’s listening to Robin vent from across the salon, while cleaning the mirrors. “Despite how pretty she is, if they don’t show up soon I’m closing this place up!”

“It’s not even officially four yet, Robs.” He laughs and turns away from his mirror to clean the chair, “we have like five minutes before we give up on it.”

Robin let’s out a groan, spinning around to point at him with a glare, “It’s Friday night and I have plans, Steven!”

“I hope these plans don’t involve me, Robin. I have to be in here at fucking eight in the morning, I’d like to get at least five hours of sleep” he glares over at her, “the last time we went out and I had to work in the morning, I almost didn’t make it in”

Because of Robin’s loud laughter he nearly misses the door opening, he bounces up with a smile, “hi can I- Chrissy!”

Standing by the front desk is of course, Chrissy along with her is a tall guy with long wild curls standing next to her. He has a pair of sunglasses on and his hands shoved into the leather jacket he has on.

“Hi guys, sorry we didn’t get here sooner there was a crowd and this one couldn’t get passed it withou- ow! Eddie!” She glared at the man, Eddie apparently, and rubbing her arm.

It’s confusing but he’s not going to question it, his relationship with Robin is weird, probably weirder actually. So instead of questioning that he moves closer, “it’s fine, we were just cleaning up real quick. We said just a consult right or did you figure out what you wanted?”

Wordlessly, the two of a conversation right there. Hand movements, head nods and shakes before there’s a bright satisfied smile on Chrissy’s face appears. Eddie looks not upset per-say but definitely like he lost whatever was said in their conversation.

“Yep! He’ll do a trim, but there’s a little problem. You see, someone decided to put gum on his back and-”

Robin’s laughing again while he’s just horrified for Eddie. He can’t help but feel bad for the hair, well, maybe Eddie too. But he hasn’t said a word to them yet, still standing there with his glasses on and now crossing his arms with what looks like a pout on his face. Chrissy’s still talking about the gum and how it’s ruined Eddie’s day and they couldn’t figure out any other way to get it out.

He shakes his head, moving towards his chair and patting it, “well, I can’t figure anything out until you’re sitting in the chair and I get a closer look at the hair”

Eddie looks between the chair and Chrissy, before moving towards him and sitting in the chair. Sunglasses still on his face, a pout very much there as well. Up close, his hair is even more wild than he originally thought. The curls are a mess, that’s clear as he sticks his hand to figure out how much the gum is stuck.

It’s not too terrible, definitely bad but not enough where if he does cut it out, the hair wouldn’t be much different.

There is however, the fact that this guy is clearly not taking proper care of his hair. For as wild as it is, the curls are frizzy and not defined.

“Good news, I could cut the gum out and you’re hair won’t lose too much length or I could also try getting it out using some oil without taking scissors to your hair.”

“And the bad news?”

“You’re not taking proper care of your hair, these curls could be so much more”

He hears Chrissy let out a giggle and Robin’s definitely laughing with her, but his gaze is on Eddie, who’s mouth drops and nearly rips the glasses off to show that his eyes are wide with shock.

Steve can’t help himself, he smiles and lets his own little giggle out.

Eddie looks absolutely ridiculous and Steve might know him, like, at all. But he’s definitely someone he’d like to know eventually, being this dramatic over a little comment? That’s someone worth knowing, he thinks.

———

Ending it there lol.

Wanna know what’s funny? I started this to get out of my writers block and ended up getting it WITH THIS.

So I used wip wednesdays/weekends to push myself along and finally after also talking with @i-less-than-three-you & @strangersteddierthings I’ve decided to make this a two parter! I get to share what I already wrote AND give myself a way to write them actually getting together.

I also wanna shout out @artiststarme for helping me a bit too! They gave me a few suggestions and helped out so thank you to all three of them 🩷 you all are amazing and I love you!!

Tag list! (If you’d like to be added let me know)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you

@yikes-a-bee @sc00ps-ahoy @geekymagicalpotato @thesuninyaface @penny00dreadful

PS: if you made it this far you get to know that the thing with someone not paying until the bill is up to $300 is a true fucking story. There’s a lady that comes into my work (a hair salon btw) and gets away with coming in for a hair wash or color or perms and doesn’t pay! Idk why my boss continues letting her do this but she does 🤷‍♀️

[maria-tries-to-write]

Being betrothed to Aemond Targaryen would include:

A/N: I’m coming to the conclusion that there’s no way I can write something simple and short. Also, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

SUMMARY: A glimpse of the beginnings of your marriage with our lovely eye-patch maniac.

WR: f!reader, abusive relationship, yandere!aemond, mutilation, dragons, kidnapping, murder, forced marriage and misogyny. I tagged this with TW so you can avoid this kind of content.

WORDS: + 3.1k

There’s only two scenarios where Aemond Targaryen would accept being betrothed to someone:

First case scenario: it will bring him benefits.

Second case scenario: he is completely obsessed with you; and unfortunately, it is the second option.

His obsession would kick at first sight.

Maybe he spotted you while touring trough King’s Landing; maybe he caught you sneaking out of a ball; or he saw you at the Street Silk, who knows!

The fact is, when Aemond got his eye on you, there’s no turning back.

It doesn’t matter if you are a noble, royal or even a commoner; damn, even if you were a whore, he would pull his strings to set your marriage as soon as possible.

Everyone that would go against him, conveniently disappeared or were properly bribed.

In conclusion, there’s nothing stopping your marriage, and Aemond couldn’t be more delighted.

You and your family were very surprised to receive a raven from the Queen herself, inviting you to visit the Red Keep; and not thinking twice, you were already packing your things to meet the royal family.

When you got off the carriage, you were shocked to see prince Aemond himself waiting for your arrival at the Keep’s doors.

He didn’t hesitate to take your hand and place a kiss on its back, while keeping the eye contact.

“Delighted to formally meet you, my Lady.”

You were taken aback by his flirtatious behavior, but the same could not be said about your family, which were marveled by the prospect of their daughter getting the attention of a prince.

So, during the small council, there was little convincing to make your parents agree with a betrothal between you and Aemond.

Seeing your uneasiness, the eye-patched prince put a reassuring hand above yours, while offering you a gentle smile, which were not able to calm your nerves down.

At first, the prince would do anything to win you over: he would gift you with books he have read, the most expensive jewelry or even dresses with the assistance of his mother.

However, there was not enough books, jewelry or dresses that could brush off the creepy vibe the one-eyed prince gave you.

It felt as if he was constantly observing you, which was true, but you didn’t knew it yet.

Everywhere you went, you could feel his cold stare on your back. Even at your sleep, you could sense a presence inside your bed chambers, watching you sleeping.

It was at one night that you finally caught him: he was laying at your side, curling one of your locks between his fingers, while intensely observing at your sleeping form.

You wanted to scream, but Aemond rapidly shushed you, caressing your terrified face:

“Shhh… there’s no need to be afraid, my love. I’m only taking care of you.”

Aemond lulled you back to slumber, but you were not able to rest that night: all you could dream of was his intrusive and obsessed gaze upon you.

After that night, the one-eyed prince felt your sudden distancing, and to say he was not glad would be a understatement.

You immediately felt the consequences of your reclusion: previously, prince Aemond would try to hide in the shadows while stalking you, but now, he would stay planted at the back of every room, shamelessly.

He couldn’t leave you alone just for a second, and when he couldn’t stalk you himself, he would send a guard of his trust to follow you everywhere you went.

His stalking behavior lasted until the next week.

You woke up to the felling of your cheeks being stroked softly. When you opened your eyes, you weren’t surprised to see the prince laying on your bed, again.

You couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Why? Why you? What he would gain with torturing you?

Seeing your tears, Aemond collected them with his thumb while trying to calm you down.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you?” you could not help but question him between sobs.

“Shhh… isn’t it obvious? Because I love you, ever since we first meet.”

The day of the wedding finally came.

You were woken up by your handmaidens who instantly started to dress you for the ceremony.

You were almost done when Otto Hightower himself entered your bed chambers, demanding everyone to get out of the room, leaving only the two of you alone.

The king’s hand locked the door, assuring that you could have some privacy. Then, he quickly sat on one of the many chairs, bringing it in front of you, so in that way, you could talk properly.

“I know you don’t want to marry my grandson, my Lady.”

The tone Otto used sounded more like a statement of a fact than a question, giving you no chances to reply or lie.

Otto sensing you wouldn’t say anything, continued with his speech:

“Well, at least we have something in common: me neither.” Otto seemed to be glad by your reaction. You couldn’t believe what he was telling you. If he was against your marriage, why didn’t he spoke up weeks ago?

“…why now?” you’ve managed to push the words out of your mouth. You were so exhausted with all of that situation, you just wanted to wake up from this living nightmare.

“Sadly, I know what type of man my grandson is, my Lady. Days prior your arrival, everyone that disagreed with the ceremony went missing or suddenly changed their minds. Very convenient, if you may ask me. I know the prince is involved in this affairs, so I had to act carefully.”

Otto gave you some minutes so you could digest all the new information you had. He could see pure fear blooming in your eyes, finally realizing how deep in trouble you were at getting yourself involved with the prince.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, fearing for your own life. Remembering all the nights before where you caught Amond on your room, finally hit you how easily he could have killed you, or worse, and how no one would do anything about the matter. The more you thought about it, more nauseous you felt.

“Why are you here now? I’m getting married to your grandson in a few minutes” you stated, exasperated.

Otto suddenly got up from his chair, bringing you up as well by your shoulders. Looking deep into your eyes, he continued:

“Now, my Lady, pay attention for what I will tell you: now it’s your best opportunity to scape. Everyone is waiting for you at the venue, meaning the palace is almost desert. You’ll scape through the Keep’s underground, and go unnoticed by the guards. There’s a boat waiting for you at the beach that will sent you to a safe place. You have to make a decision now: run away and live your life freely or stay, and pray to the Gods for your safety.”

A rush of adrenaline ran through your veins. You couldn’t believe that it was actually happening, finally an opportunity!

Otto smirked triumphantly while staring at you: it seemed like a flame that died long ago resurfaced in your eyes, lightening with hope.

“Okay” you finally decided “thank you for your help, my Lord” you thanked, lightly bowing at him.

The hand huffed in response “Don’t get the wrong idea, my Lady. I’m only doing this because we have mutual interests.” you gulped at his statement “Ser Cole will lead you to the boat. I must go now, we don’t want them to get suspicious, do we?”

Not waiting for an answer, the lord hand leaved your room. You didn’t waste your time, immediately collecting only your essencial objects on a tiny bag.

At the time you were finished, you heard a knock on the door. Your body instantly went rigid, but the voice coming from the other side relaxed you:

"It's me, Ser Cole."

You opened the door in a hurry, startling the knight. Recovering from the first shock, the man asked if you were ready. Receiving a nod, Criston showed you the way.

You went down stairs and more stairs, drowned in a deafening silence. Sensing your uneasiness, Criston started to small talk “You are making a wise decision, my Lady.”

You looked up, surprised by his initiative. Feeling pressured to not let him talking to the walls, you retorted “Why do you say so? Any girl on my position would threw themselves at the prince. And here I am, being ungrateful with my family, running away like a coward.”

You felt shame washing over your body: you were such a crybaby. The prince didn’t even done anything to you. You heard so many stories of men violating their betrotheds, and Aemond was nothing but kind to you, even going as far to court you, gifting you with only the best money can buy.

“You are not being a coward by running away, my Lady. In fact, you are being very brave. You have so much to lose. By leaving, you will lose your comfortable life, your heirdom, titles, family and friends. You will never be able to come back. But even so, you chose to leave. A bold decision. To be honest, I respect that.”

You were surprised by his statement. Seeing things from another perspective made you feel a little better with yourself “Thank you Ser Cole, for your kind words.”

The knight looked at you, smiling softly “That’s simply what I think, my Lady. And please, there’s no need to call me ‘Ser’, just call me by my name.”

You smiled back at him, giggly “Well, than you must call me by name as well. I’ll lose my titles very soon, anyways.”

You finally reached the Keep’s underground. Cole opened a gate, letting you pass through first, like a true gentleman. Thanking, you stared to talk again “Have you ever had to make a decision between stay or leave, Criston?”

You tried the foreign name on your tongue. It didn’t felt that awkward as you expected it to felt. Criston didn’t seemed to care, either.

“Yes, I have.”

“And what was your final decision, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I stayed.”

Your look of confusion was evident, Criston almost thought it was funny. “Why?” you asked.

The man seemed to lose some of the glow in his eyes, and for a moment you feared that you messed up, but to your relief, he answered shortly “Unfinished business.”

Being a little apprehensive at prying it over, you just asked for the last time “And after that, have you ever thought about running away again?”

Seeming tired of the same topic, Criston answered after a deep sight “Maybe once or twice. After a while, being a knight didn’t make much sense to me. Did I really deserved to be called a knight to begin with?”

You finally got out of the undergrounds, reaching the beach. The sea was surprisingly calm, with a soft breeze.

Criston enjoyed the pure air after spending long minutes with no proper circulation of oxygen, breathing deeply. Smelling the slight salty notes the water gave to the atmosphere, he put his feet on the sand.

You observed him vibing to the beach’s weather. One more time, you decided to make another decision.

“Have you finished your ‘unfinished business’, Criston?”

Said man turned to you, remembering why he were there in the first place. Slightly adjusting his sword on his belt he answered, a little gloomy “Yes, I have. But, after some time, I realized that it wasn’t enough motive to make me stay. It felt like a waste of time.” he chuckled unhumored.

Feeling a little more bold, you took a step forward, surprising the knight. Reaching for his hand, you finally asked “So, run away with me. If we go together, at least we would have one another. Besides, now that I know the prince’s true colors, you are in deep trouble if reaches to his ears that you helped me scape, and I surely don’t wish to take this burden with me. Please, Criston, leave with me.”

“I—“ the knight’s could not be finished when a huge paw stepped on both of his legs.

Criston screamed in agony, feeling the unmerciful pain shooting from his broken bones. You saw blood oozing under the beast’s paw, and how desperate the man tried to break free.

Watching that scene, you took several steps back, only to hit against a hard surface. Hands reached your arms, caging them on a bruising grip, nails digging deeply at you skin.

You were violently turned, finally facing your betrothed, Aemond himself.

The colors instantly leaved your face, eyes dramatically shooting open. Fear engulfed your whole being while trying to keep breathing.

“There I was, happily waiting for my soon-to-be-wife… and suddenly came to me that the bride was nowhere to be found!”

His voice escalated along with his temper, which was running thinner with time. You finally woke from your catatonic state, now struggling under his hands.

“I was so worried about you! I even rode Vaghar myself to find you, because I couldn’t bear the thought of you being in danger!” he screamed at you, now holding your face between his hands, nails digging in your cheeks.

His eye was glazed, while his nostrils flared up. There was so much anger storming inside his iris, a wish to kill and destroy anything and everything “And what I find? My filthy whore of a wife running away with her paramour!”

He caught you by surprise when he fisted your hair, dragging you to a good distancing, then throwing you to the ground.

“This affair ends now.” he stated, walking in Criston’s way.

Realizing what he was up to, you yelled “Aemond! Please, don’t!” only making Vaghar roar at you, quieting you on the spot.

The dragon let the knight go, stepping away, giving the prince space.

Due to the blood loss, Criston couldn’t distinguish the figures before his eyes. Feeling the absence of the beast’s paw, he tried to sit up, but was roughly kicked to the ground by Aemond.

Being stepped on his chest, he started to cough blood “You though you could run away with my bride and not suffer the consequences of your betrayal, Ser Cole?” his laughed maniacally “Now you’ll burn to death, little knight”

Now by your side, Aemond caught you between his arms, forcing you to face the scene before you: Criston Cole laying on the ground with his legs smashed to pulp, with Vaghar not far behind.

“I want you to watch this moment, darling” he calmly whispered next to your ear “so you can remember what will happen to the people you love if you ever try to scape again”

“Dracarys.”

You woke up on your bad chambers, with a killing headache. You groaned, disturbing Queen Alicent from her thoughts.

Seeing you conscious, she walked to your side with a doting tone “My sweet child, how are you feeling?”

You frowned, worsening the pain on your head, something was different about your vision, but you couldn’t pin point what “Weird… and the worst headache ever”you tried to rub your eyes, but Alicent was faster, catching your hands.

“My dear, I know you probably don’t want to see him, but you must understand that I must—“ “There’s no need, mother. I’m already here, but I appreciate your efforts”

You froze when your heard his voice. Turning your head on the pillow as best as you could, you spotted him o the door’s way.

Watching him made you trigger the past events on your mind: your scape, Vahgar, … and Cole. Now, clearly agitated, you searched for Alicent, who was now looking at you with a sorrowful look.

Aemond approached his mother, kissing her gently on her temple, softly saying “You may leave now, mother. I need some time alone with my bride.”

Not looking back, the Queen left the two of you alone.

The room seemed to decrease in temperature. Refusing to look at him, you felt the edge of your bed deepening. Aemond interlaced his hand on your, but you did not attempted to pull it away.

“I wanted to see you” he began “see how you reacted to everything.”

You scoffed at him, but Aemond choose to ignore your sassiness, letting you do as you pleased, for now “You burned someone in front of me, how do you think I am?”

“Oh darling, I weren’t talking about that.” “What do you mean than?” “You have no idea, do you?”

The more confused and agitated you became, more your headache increased along with your desperation “What do you mean? What have you done?!” you demanded, tears already blurring your vision.

With utmost calm, Aemond helped you get up from bed, guiding you to your mirror. A silent scream scape your horrified lips.

Your head and left eye was expertly bandaged, explaining your migraine. Over the fabric covering where was supposed to stay your eye was stained with blood. Seeing your reaction the prince embraced you on a back hug “I thought killing the little knight was enough punishment, so I was merciful enough to knock you out before giving you my marriage present”

Calmly, the one eyed prince unwrapped your bandage, reveling now your mutilated face: your now hollow eye socket was accompanied by a cut that ran through your eyelids “I took your left eye so we could match. Now we can say that we complete each other” he smiled enamored at you through your reflection, swaying you side to side.

You were reduced to a sobbing, hyperventilating mess. Aemond cooed at you, taking a box from his coat’s inside pocket. Opening it, you saw with your remaining eye a huge sapphire with an “A” engraved on it. If it weren’t for your actual situation, you could admire the beauty of the jewelry, but now you could only morn for the loss of your eye.

Aemond continued to speak, solemnly ignoring your screams and desperate cries “Now we are twinning” he commented lovingly, taking off his eye-patch for the first time.

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Wanda Maximoff - An MCU Rant

Sorry not sorry, I will ride the Wanda-ain't-shiitake train till the wheels are worn out. I do not care what her fangirls say. And if you're legitimately going to be so overly offended just from me disliking a FICTIONAL character, I highly suggest you click off, make some tea, and watch a Ghibli movie.

How many times does it need to be said? Just because someone suffers from some form of (small or big) trauma, IT DOESN’T GIVE THEM A PASS TO DO EVIL SH—

I really REALLY sincerely hope there's lore or bits I'm missing here (and if so, PLEASE tell me because I WANT to be wrong so BAD). But from what I know and remember, I feel as though I have every right to be disgusted with who Wanda is as a person.

It frustrates me so much how this carmine-colored narcissist will whine about people being scared of her, but she does stuff only a scary person WOULD do.

Purposefully setting the Hulk off so you could use him as a wrecking ball on innocent civilians in Johannesburg during Age of Ultron? Seems scary as heck.

Literally warping the universe itself to hunt and kill a teenager who did nothing to you during Multiverse of Madness? Seems scary as heck.

Brainwashing an ENTIRE town JUST so you can live in delusion about your man not being dead during Wandavision? Seems DOUBLE scary as heck.

Don't even try to defend what she did in Age of Ultron. Even if she supposedly didn't INTEND to have civilians killed, she sure as HECK didn't seem all too sorry that it happened. She wasn't ‘regretful’ that she did it. She was only ‘regretful' when Bruce confronted her on it. She has the nerve (the utter AUDACITY) to hate Tony Stark for the same CRAP that she does (if not worse, which let's be honest—it’s worse).

At least Tony Stark DIED out of an effort to save everyone, whereas Wanda usually tends to only help others when it benefits HER.

Wanda is nothing more than a Multiversal brat with a god-complex and no one can tell me otherwise. If something does not go 100% her way, she completely acts out and throws a reality-warping tantrum.

“Oh, but she tried to fix everything in Wandavision!”

Yeah, only after finding out she was BRAINWASHING people!

How the FREAK do you reality warp an ENTIRE town (especially at the large radius she used her magic) and expect NO one to be under mind control? Would you NOT try to fly around the premises to see if ANYONE else was there?

Once again, even if this was an example where she didn't INTEND for it to happen, then that proves another great flaw that she has.

Wanda hardly (if ever) thinks through her actions. And then when her actions bite her in the butt, she has the nerve to be surprised. Wanda almost never (and I'm being generous here) considers how her actions harm or affect others until it turns around and affects HER.

She did not deserve Vision, he was too good of a man for her, sorry not sorry.

Just the stuff she did BEFORE Multiverse of Madness ALONE is enough to not like her.

Let's not even get into the fact she never ACTUALLY apologized to Bruce Banner for everything she put him through. All she said at most when he confronted her is, “I know you're angry…”

Oh wow, REALLY? I couldn't POSSIBLY understand why Banner would EVER be angry at you for essentially brain-raping him (going into his mind and memories without his CONSENT) and using his worst fears against him to trigger Hulk so you could use him like a personal killing machine, further lessening the very few support systems he already HAD. She should feel grateful Banner didn't immediately throw her through a wall upon seeing her.

“But she became an avenger and helped them in Endgame!”

I could not give less of a DOOKIE about the fact she did that. Wanda fighting Thanos was literally the ONLY option she possibly had if she didn't wanna turn into dust along with the other half of the population. Sure, she also did it because she was forced to kill her boo BECAUSE of Thanos, but let's be honest—she would've had to fight him regardless. Her handing Thanos’ butt to him (while a very cool scene) doesn't prove JACK about her character.

The fact she ever BECAME an avenger after effectively traumatizing the MAJORITY of them is mind-boggling to me.

“Oh, I'm sorry I weaponized all of your traumas against you for my own personal gain because I wanted to work with a genocidal robot, can I join you guys?”

“Sure, Wanda! Come into the team and we'll pretend like you didn't do a darn thing!”

(The fact this isn't even ALL that she's done is absurd, I can still keep going—)

Don't even get me STARTED on Multiverse of Madness. And before anyone tries to say, “She did it so she could have a reality with her children!”

BRO, HER KIDS WEREN'T EVEN FREAKING REAL—

Wanda Freaking Maximoff wanted to murder a TEENAGER all for some children that were not even ACTUAL people. And when she did have them, didn't she make them FIGHT against the military in Wandavision or am I mistaken (which I VERY MUCH hope I am because what the he---)?

I do not care whatsoever what her reason is or what trauma she went through. Attempted murder of a minor (ESPECIALLY in this case, a minor who didn't even do anything) is inexcusable to me.

There is no way in frog fingers you guys are ACTUALLY trying to justify and/or downplay a grown ADULT trying to murder a CHILD (because that's what America was—a CHILD).

(Her and Miguel O'Hara would get along GREAT, when's the collab--)

And by then, she had ALREADY brutally murdered a whole bunch of people and probably corrupted the multiverse even FURTHER than she already had.

It wasn't until an ALTERNATE version of her (who ACTUALLY had her kids) told her to sit the [BLEEP] down (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get my drift).

Wanda is NOT a victim. Is she a good villain? Yes. But this witch isn't a victim. Not anymore at least. She doesn't apologize for her actions. She doesn't take responsibility. She doesn't reflect on what she does.

And even when she DOES finally do ANY of those things in ANY capacity, the damage is already done. In fact, it's not JUST done, it's also BURNT inside the oven causing smoke to go everywhere.

There is no rhyme or reason you could pull out that will convince me to be anything short of angry with this character and I'm so tired of her fans trying to defend her just because she was a lab rat and lost her man.

Once again, it's not bad to like a character that does awful stuff. But please, for sanity sake, STOP acting like they're a lost little angel BECAUSE you like them. I know they say "hurt people hurt people" but that still doesn't justify doing bad stuff just because bad things happened to YOU.