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ihadlife · 15 days

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Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person who's hurting you the most.

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.”

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze.

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.”

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look.

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better.

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.”

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood.

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared.

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that.

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other.

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself.

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure.

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point.

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered.

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :(

Pathetic.

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles.

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time.

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness.

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing.

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed.

Toast bread.

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber.

Spam ham.

Canned fish.

A few packets of instant ramen.

Cheap coffee.

Two single rolls of toilet paper.

Two bottles of soju.

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items.

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles.

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise.

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career.

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone.

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file.

“No, ya were great.”

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in.

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my fuckin’ privacy.”

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.”

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction.

“Me?”

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?”

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless.

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer.

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit.

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile.

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though?

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something.

She repeated the total price to you.

Oh, right.

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet.

“Could you please add a bag to that?”

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them.

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself.

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you.

“Gold Marlboro.”

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you.

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market.

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one.

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator.

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator.

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels.

“Shit.”

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.

“Great.”

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day.

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag.

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display.

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear.

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth.

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door.

First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries.

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen.

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould.

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud.

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours.

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough.

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies.

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later.

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table.

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life.

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body.

The fact was, you were exhausted.

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it.

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him.

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

Maybe you should go see a therapist.

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine.

Your mind lingered on the image of that.

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind.

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body.

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom.

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin.

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace.

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him.

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit.

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake.

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp.

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.”

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come.

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked.

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment.

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips.

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt.

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly.

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions.

“That’s right, princess.”

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat.

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.”

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you.

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?”

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times.

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again.

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot.

“Don’t stop.”

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now.

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him.

“I’m yours.”

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it.

But you knew better.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt.

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important?

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear.

“Hey.”

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone.

“Uh, hi.”

“Ya busy?”

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible.

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie.

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.”

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum.

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?”

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call?

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.”

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye.

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic.

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later.

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from?

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well.

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now.

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime.

»»————-　　————-««

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call.

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice.

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;)

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages.

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply.

“Do you have a minute?”

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically.

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow.

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive.

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked.

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk.

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space.

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment.

“We need to talk.”

You were fucked.

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand.

When are you free? We need to talk.

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago.

Unemployed journalist.

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call.

You also considered calling your friend.

You didn’t, though.

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen.

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again.

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this.

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was.

»»————-　　————-««

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it.

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough.

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you?

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller.

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous.

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him.

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement.

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him.

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities.

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place?

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks.

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you.

“You’re sleepin’.”

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag.

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard.

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor.

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat.

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival.

“Hey.”

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it.

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing.

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you.

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki.

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it.

“Hm.” Was all he said.

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks.

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard.

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked.

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips.

He didn’t.

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture.

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.”

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle.

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.”

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan.

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.”

“And I didn’ ask.”

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was.

“Then stop actin’ like one.”

A moment of silence.

You were speechless.

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks.

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms.

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic.

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you.

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling.

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it.

“It’s alright.”

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself.

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air.

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal.

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?”

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval.

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence.

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it.

“D’ya not like it?”

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.”

Hmph.

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down.

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds.

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term.

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.”

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all.

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.”

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom.

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you.

“Change.”

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?”

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue.

“Ya look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.”

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom.

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right?

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat.

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails.

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him.

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point.

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror.

That would do for now.

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you.

It didn’t matter now.

Didn’t matter what you looked like.

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen.

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself.

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space.

“No problem.”

That was actually kind of nice of him.

Your brain whined in your head.

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward.

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?”

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu.

Should you be honest with him, or lie?

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it?

“I got fired.”

You stuffed your face with the fried egg.

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up.

“Sorry t’hear that.”

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal.

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute.

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating.

“Not really.”

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable.

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right?

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently?

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now.

Don’t be a fucking coward.

It was the right thing to do.

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay.

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though?

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes.

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.”

“Hm.”

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again.

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin.

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t.

“So ya wanna break up?”

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him.

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again.

“Fair enough.”

It was him now that looked down. You won this round.

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head.

Don’t say it.

Don’t.

“What happened?”

You winced. You said it.

“Whaddya mean?”

This was a mistake.

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later.

“Wait.”

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch.

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?”

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would.

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter.

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief.

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return.

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.”

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down.

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty.

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.”

“The truth.”

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you.

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist.

“I used ya.”

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason.

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on.

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.”

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him.

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.”

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye.

“Don’t.”

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them.

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.”

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor.

“Spend the night.”

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit.

“What?”

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement.

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod.

A masochist.

“Yeah?” He was making sure.

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that.

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment.

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest.

“Sure.”

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately.

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing.

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.”

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one.

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well.

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie.

“Real’ like this one.”

You wished he didn’t say those words.

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget.

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning.

“Ya don’t like it?”

Ever the observant.

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s fine.”

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it.

“Fine?”

Wrong answer, apparently.

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then.

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.”

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie.

“What are ya inda mood for, then?”

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine.

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect.

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately.

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do.

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more? You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss.

You were eager.

And Bakugo was just as eager as you.

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak.

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest.

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could.

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it.

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him.

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him.

“No!”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look.

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.”

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man.

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance.

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer.

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be.

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.”

»»————-　　————-««

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away.

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring.

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #bakugo katsuki angst #tw: baby trapping #ves writes

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cherrykamado · 2 years

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Speakin of yantanji.... Gosh would this man baby trap u. The way he would baby trap u.

#tanjiro.💚#loml.❣️💍#🍒 — cherry thirsts #baby trapping tw #yandere tw

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konigsblog · 2 months

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You think Konig would be toxic enough to poke holes in the condom so his darling would get pregnant? Like they're having problems in the relationship, konig feels like she's pulling away, then comes up with this "special plan", thinking that if she's pregnant, she'll need to stay, right???

cw: forced impregnation, baby trapping, afab!f!reader, coercion/dub-con. dead dove: do not eat. 🍼

he absolutely would !! it's his speciality to be a horrible, toxic asshole, constantly arguing with you over the smallest things and guilt tripping you into forgiveness. although, despite his attempts at coddling you, you're fighting back -- refusing and denying his adoration and love for you. his love is sick and twisted, yes... but, he can't show his devotion and affection in any other way, little mouse. :(

he'll usually guilt trip you into having sex with him. seeing tears streaming down his cheeks, getting frustrated with your disobedience and gripping your neck firmly, pleading for you to let him make ‘love’ to you. you give in too easily, you're too sweet for your own good, and it's causing you more harm than good...

he'd already poked holes in the condom, as he'd tried this before. constant arguments about pregnancy and starting a family, belittling and mocking you for being so afraid, that he wouldn't be a good father... you need to make it up to him, liebling-- you really pissed him off by insulting him like that. with money, protection and a whole lot of love for his future family. :(

seeing you taking his lengthy, hard cock so well made him proud, hoping that he'd impregnate you, leaving you without a choice but to stay, to be financially stable for your child, the child you didn't agree upon. you feel shaken up, as if something's wrong. your gut tells you to stop before he finishes, but könig's firm grip on your ass, and his hand over your mouth forces you to ignore your nagging feelings...

shame and guilt washes over him, but only for a few minutes. afterwards, he's daydreaming and fantasising about your big stomach, seeing you pregnant with his offspring, so he can force you to become motherly, despite that not being what you wanted. :(

#orla speaks #tw: forced breeding #tw: forced impregnation #tw: baby trapping #dead dove do not eat #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig call of duty #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig smut

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merakiui · 4 months

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The Most Dangerous Game [1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

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

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

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

“That right?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

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

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

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

He said I’d look good in the uniform.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most often do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

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

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

“Ah, you know him well.”

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

“Have you tried asking?”

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

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

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

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

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

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

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

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

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

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

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

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mushroom brownies?”

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

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

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

“I find that hard to believe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How routinely predictable of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

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

“What’re you getting at?”

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

“Moray courtship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jade—”

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

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

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

It’s just one kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

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

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

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

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

He kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s an added bonus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

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

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

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

“You literally are.”

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

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

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

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

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’d rather lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

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

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

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

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

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

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

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

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

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

“Jade.”

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

“I was just leaving.”

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

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

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

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

“It’s for Floyd.”

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

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

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

“Do you…want that with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What was stopping you?”

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

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

“Floyd, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

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

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

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

“What’s it like?”

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

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

“And you’d never leave me?”

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

“But what if someone else—”

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

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

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

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

More. More. More.

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

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

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

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

But it felt like Floyd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

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

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

“Prolly.”

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

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

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

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

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

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

“Do you think he knows?”

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

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

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

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

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

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

“(Name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

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

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

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

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

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

“Back so soon?”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… Is this for me?”

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

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

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

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

“That doesn’t sound very comforting…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

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

“Mm, nah.”

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

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

“You think so?”

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

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

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

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

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

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

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

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

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

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

“Then could I talk to him now?”

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

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

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

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

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

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

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

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

“Sure he is.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, totally.”

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

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

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

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

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on…”

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

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

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

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

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

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

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

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

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

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

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

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

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

“What should I add?”

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

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

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

“Special how?”

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

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

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

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

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

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

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

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

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

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

Still…

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

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

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

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

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

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

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

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

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

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

“Officially Octavinelle!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you, of course.”

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

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you work as well?”

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

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

“Fortunately, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he now?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

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

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

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

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

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

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

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

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

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

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“How curious.”

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

“For the right price.”

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

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

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

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

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

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

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

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never know.”

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

“Dancing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

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

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

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

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

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

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

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

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

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

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

“I could’ve told you that.”

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

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

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

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

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

“And did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It is when you follow it.”

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

“Don’t group me with you.”

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

“You’re insufferable.”

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

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

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

“Every time. Without fail.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

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

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

“Was yours not worded the same?”

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

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

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

“No, but I insist.”

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

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“Then I shall be the first.”

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

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

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

“I’ll consider it.”

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

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

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

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

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

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

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

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

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

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

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

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

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

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

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

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

“I hate you.”

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

“As if, asshole!”

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

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

second part.

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

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vampyrsm · 1 year

Text

An Ode to Lost Love.

✞ — Synopsis: What was that quote about another's silence? “Be leery of silence. It doesn't mean you won the argument. Often, people are just busy reloading their guns.” Right. You should’ve seen this coming, really, it was a little stupid of you to believe he just forgot all about you.

✞ — Warnings: MDNI. Dark content, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of murder, the reader receives death threats, yandere behaviour, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, the reader is knocked unconscious, concussion, heavy manipulation, preying on the reader, dumbification, objectification, gaslighting, non-con, dubcon (but hardly, it's a very grey area), disassociation, minimal/no prep vaginal sex, burning/marking in detail, reader vomits once due to injuries, creampie, breeding kink, baby trapping, Dabi flipflops a lot between emotions.

✞ — Word Count: 7k

✞ — Notes: This is a Dabi x female!Reader. This is my first real dark content fic. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not interact. Please take care with the warnings, it's very much a dead dove: do not eat. Posted over on AO3 too for ease of reading. I definitely do not condone anything that has been written here, I'm also not romanticising noncon or any of the warnings. Thank you for taking the time to read it, remember to take care and enjoy :)

Living in the aftermath of someone's destruction was just as you would expect; chaotic, and lonesome. You had signed up for this all those years ago but you hadn’t expected it to turn out quite like this. You were never going to get used to the stares when someone recognised you in the store, or the smashed windows of the local youth who wanted to shame someone who was tricked with the promise of something more.

Though you didn’t feel ashamed for what you had done, nor did you regret it – for the most part, anyway. Sure you had regretted keeping silent when you saw a man lose his life because of a simple mistake, you should’ve left when you realised that you were being lied to. That the man you had fallen in love with was not a misunderstood young man but rather a cruel and deceiving criminal.

The man in question? Touya Todoroki – also most commonly known as Dabi.

You hated this part of town, it was… less than decent. Run down and filled with low-life criminals who were on the run or simply just wanted to live a somewhat normal life. The walls of the buildings you pass by are decaying, unrepaired from when heroes did decide to pay a visit to the neglected parts of the cities and towns they were supposed to serve and protect.

What a fucking lie.

It’s not that you hated hero society, per se, but you also knew how disgusting some of the heroes still were. After everything Touya went through after he poured his heart out to you and the rest of the world – nothing fucking changed. Of course, it had pissed you off when they exhausted him to the point of near death before carting him off to Tartarus, they were sweeping him under the rug to be forgotten about. You attempted to reach out to the other members of the liberation but none of them wanted anything to do with you, you weren’t a villain. You were just attached to one.

The stairs up to your rundown apartment were practically crumbling with each step, you made sure to avoid the 8th step that was shattered entirely. When you first moved here, you thought it would only be for a short amount of time, just somewhere to lay low to avoid the probing questions of the heroes who wondered if you were compliant in any of Touya’s crimes. But the two-year timeframe you gave yourself quickly turned to three, then five, and now here you were eight years later. The apartment building looked the same as when you first moved in, the mysterious stain on the carpet leading to your apartment had never been removed and you’re pretty sure the world will end before it’s ever cleaned.

Your door opened with a creak, the old hinges were hanging on for dear life and you never worked up the nerve to ask the guy who let you live here to try and fix it. Of course, you would do it yourself, if it were not for the fear of breaking it entirely and having no door at all in such a shady neighbourhood. With a click of the door behind you, your entire body relaxes with a drop of your shoulders and you drop the keys in the chipped bowl by the front door.

Once free of your shoes, you trudge further into the apartment. Inside it was much nicer than outside, you had made sure to work hard to make yourself comfortable here. At first, you hesitated on decorating, the constant voice in the back of your head telling you that Dabi—Touya wouldn’t like it. But it became easier over time, as the claws he had sunk in your flesh had loosened with each passing day without him leering over you. Of course, he still lingered deep in your bones, scars like the ones he left on you would never truly go away.

You hadn’t realised you were quite so ‘damaged’ until after he was gone. When you were suddenly allowed to break the surface of the water Dabi had been holding you down beneath to see you squirm, it was jarring, to say the least. You struggled day to day wondering what to do with yourself, you had no one to direct your every move or to care for you the way he had. The first couple of years were the worst, a constant void in place of where your heart should be. You longed to have Dabi back, to card your fingers through soft snow-like hair, you missed his insufferable warmth. It had suffocated you at first until it became a comfort, something you needed to get through the day.

The letters you sent back and forth with him had helped some, the smell of smoke and ash when you’d open a new letter from him would get you through the darkest of nights. He had always had a way with his words, not many would think that of Touya, he hadn’t finished school and he most definitely didn’t have the support through his teenage years but he had taught himself how to read and write. And he was very good at it, very fucking good.

With each letter, you could practically hear his voice, the syrupy low tone that would muddle your brain and numb your nerves. Those letters had started to grow more erratic, it morphed from the loving Touya you had been privileged to know in the safety of his bedroom into Dabi, a cruel villain who wanted you to suffer just as he had. He didn’t take it easy when you told him you were starting to question the legitimacy of your relationship with the scarred man. He grew unkind with his words, the I love you turning into I wish you were fucking dead at the end of each letter.

He felt betrayed, you figured, everyone he had known had abandoned him and you were just the same as the rest of them. His final letter went into gruesome detail as to what he would do to you once he got out, how his hands may be made to burn but he would relish in watching the light leave your eye when he choked you to death. You didn’t need to read further to know he would’ve gone into detail about what he’d then do with your dead body. That was the last letter you had read, but they continued to come every fortnight like clockwork until they didn’t. You figured he might’ve gotten bored, or perhaps someone had taken him out on the inside. There wasn’t a shortage of people who would want Dabi dead.

The bag in your hand was heavy as you dropped it onto the counter of the tiny kitchen, the relief in your wrist was instantaneous and you could finally relax fully. Your eyes close for a brief moment, relishing in the quiet of the apartment with the distant sound of sirens from down on the street. It was good to be home, each trip was harder than the last with the fear of being recognised by heroes, or worse. With the safety of your home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, you reopened your eyes to begin the trivial task of putting away the groceries. But as you step further into the kitchen, it’s as if your entire body is dunked into ice water.

There’s a letter. An open letter was pinned to the old wooden cupboard with one of the knives from the rack. You don’t need to get closer to know which letter it is, the paper is well-worn and the big hearts he had drawn at the bottom are enough of an indicator. It’s the one he sent you on your birthday. It was riddled with love confessions, how he missed you more than anything in the world and when he’d get out he promised your hand in marriage. A life you wanted but knew you’d never get with a man like Dabi.

You take a step back, hip bumping into the corner of the counter to startle you into action. You whip around, ready to run out of the apartment but instead, your path is cut off almost instantly. There’s a broad chest in front of you, wide shoulders and a head of snowy white hair that you would recognise in a crowd of a thousand people. When you meet his eyes, he’s sneering down at you with a heat in his eyes that you saw moments before he would burn someone alive.

“Hello, doll. Miss me?” His voice hasn’t changed in the eight years apart, it’s still got a timbre to it that you can feel deep in the pit of your stomach. He looks bigger, somehow, the muscles of his neck and shoulders look firmer. He had always loomed over you but now he seemed even taller, swallowing the room whole with just his aura alone. Dabi must be able to see the way you’re eyeing him up, not quite in the way you had in the past but rather in a way that makes him excited; you were thinking of running.

You’re horribly predictable, he realises as you dash to the other side of the kitchen to dart around the tiny kitchen island that really didn’t give you any sort of head start. You can hear him click his tongue, then huffing a sigh before there’s the loud squeak of his boots and the thump of his bounding footsteps as he chases after you. The apartment is small, you don’t have a whole lot of room to make your escape so you have to rush past him when he starts to corner you into the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

A big mistake, you realise. He’s always been quick, and lithe on his feet and it reminded you of when a snake would strike. Fast and precise. His hands grab at your ribcage, easily swiping you off your feet before you’re slammed against the closest wall with a bang of your head on the wall. The world swirls when you try to look at him, the blue of his eyes glowing with mirth at the fact you even tried to outrun him. You’ve never been able to do it before, so what made you think you could do it this time?

“Silly fucking bitch,” He snarls in your face, the heat coming from his hands alone makes you squirm uncomfortably, you can feel the sting of welts starting to form on your skin in the shape of his hands. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you? You really fucking thought I’d forget about you?” Your silence isn’t what he wanted, apparently, as he pulls you from the wall just to slam you against it once again before throwing you to the floor. The movement has your stomach churning, bile rising in your throat when your head impacts on the floor again.

“I’d never forget about you, never.” His weight is heavy as he settles atop you, his thighs effectively pinning you beneath him before his hands descend onto your throat. His eyes are wide, manic, his lips parted in a twisted grin that makes him look more like the Devil himself. “Remember what I said to you? Hm? You remember the letters I sent?” You choke against his hands when he pushes harder, your fingers instinctively trying to come up and loosen his hold on you. “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” The spit of his words hits you in the face, but your entire head feels numb and fuzzy, your lips hurt – everything does.

“Y–” He leans in closer, sneering in your face and it does nothing to relieve the pressure on your throat. You’re going to die, he’s actually going to do it. “Yes!” you croak, hardly an audible word but Dabi hears it loud and clear. He holds eye contact as if he’s waiting for something, you’re not quite sure. Maybe he’s waiting for you to die, he had wanted to see the life drain from your eyes—

His hands come away from your throat, a too-hot hand latching on the underside of your jaw and his blunt nails dig into your cheeks. You suck in a harsh breath, choking on the sudden reintroduction of oxygen but you don’t get much longer to relish the fact you’re still alive. Dabi looms over you, the outline of his body blocks out the dingy yellow light overhead, giving him a grim outline that you have to squint at when you look up at him properly.

“Yeah? Then why’d you ignore me? Why’d you make me think you were fucking dead, or that you were busy getting fucked by some other guy like the whore that you are.” There’s a warning in his eye that prompts you to reply.

“I–I was scared!” you clear your throat uncomfortably, the confession coming from your mouth unwillingly but it was the hard truth. You were terrified of him and the things he had said to you, solely because you knew he would go through with it. If Dabi was anything, then he was a man of his word. His fingers curl harder into your jaw, forcing your mouth to open with the pressure. The look in his eye terrifies you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way his eyes bounce back and forth between your own. He’s searching, you belatedly realise, searching to see if you’re telling the truth.

“Good,” he finally says, “You should be fucking scared.” He pulls your head from the floor just to smash it back against the floor in a blink of an eye. Everything falls into inky darkness.

There’s a distant sound of water running, but it sounds like it’s miles away. Your mind starts to slowly swirl back to life, the pain at the back of your head blossoming into something fierce that has a pained groan coming from your lips.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer looking up at the ceiling of your hallway but rather at the ceiling fan in your bedroom, you’re not sure if it’s actually on or if your vision is still swimming. Nothing is quite adding up, how did you end up here? You were on the floor, and a ghost of something heavy atop of you had your mind jogging to try and catch up. But you weren’t always on the floor, something had put you there — no, someone had put you there. Dabi.

He’s not here, as far as you can tell, there’s no immediate warmth that comes with him when he steps into a room but there’s a distant smell of ash. He was still lurking. The shooting pain in the back of your head has your body jolting, muscles seizing up before they relax once the pain subsides just enough to let you breathe.

You were no idiot, you had hit your head a number of times, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were teetering on the edge between life and death. Though that doesn’t deter you when your mind finally catches up with you, you have to get out of here. If he’s not here right now, then you have a chance to leave. This might be the last chance you have.

With a great effort that has your face screwing up, eyes clenched shut, you roll yourself onto your side until your face is stuffed into the soft cotton of your bed sheets that you huff against. Your entire body felt like it was being weighed down, your muscles screamed when you slowly got your arms beneath you to push yourself up enough to stare down at the bed. Instantly your eyes lock onto the patch of still-wet blood, the stain was massive and the sight of it had your stomach threatening to empty itself. Or maybe that was the concussion.

Your feet slip on the floor when you try to find your footing, your knees colliding with the floor with a muted thud that you hope Dabi doesn’t hear. The feeling of your jeans against the skin of your knees is relieving, you knew Dabi preferred for you to be … conscious, but you wouldn’t put it past him to want something regardless of whether you were awake or not. Slowly, you get up onto unsteady feet as if you had never walked a day in your life before. Your vision swims again when you stand up straight, it feels as if your head is ten times the size it is as it lolls back in threat of toppling you over again.

But just as you’re about to fall, there are hands catching you beneath your armpits and letting your head land against a shoulder – a bare one, but your mind doesn’t quite connect the dots just yet. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You can’t do anything without me, no wonder you panicked when I wasn’t here anymore…” Dabi drawls into your ear, but his voice sounds like it’s submerged in water. He breathes in a heavy exasperated sigh, his body jostling yours. “C’mon doll, let’s get you cleaned up. You made such a mess.”

There’s no room to argue, not that you would be able to form one with how your tongue tingles and your throat burns. Dabi is anything but graceful with the way he drags you towards the bathroom, uncaring for your feet that slip or bang against the corner of the shoddy old wooden door as you pass by.

There’s a bang of a door and you’re submerged in sticky warmth, the steam from the bathtub filling the room to the point where you can’t quite see more than a few inches in front of your face. With a shove and a push, you find your hands pressed into the slippy tile of your bathroom sink, your mind still too foggy to control your extremities and you find yourself pressed against the cool glass mirror.

You can feel Dabi’s eyes on you as he watches you struggle to get your bearings, your forehead pressed to the glass is soothing against the deafening thunderstorm in your head. His fingers are long when they wrap themselves carefully around your throat this time, pressing into the bruises you weren’t aware had already formed from his previous attack. Your head slumps back against his shoulders and you can just make out the glowing blue of his eyes as he stares right back at you, it always felt like he had the ability to stare into your soul.

“Look at you…” He coos, voice a soft contrast to the harsh voice from earlier. His spare hand cards through your hair, brushing past the gash on the back of your head that has you wincing. “My poor baby, you did this all to yourself.” Had you? You supposed he did have a point, you did ignore his letters, and you did try to run when he always told you to never do it. If you weren’t so stupid you might’ve avoided this, you shouldn’t have turned your back on him.

His burning fingers slide up from your throat until he grabs at your jaw once again, angling your head to stare at yourself directly in the mirror. Even through the thickness of the steam you can see you look on the verge of half-dead, there’s no life to your eyes, no usual glow to your skin. It’s horrifying to see yourself looking like a different person entirely. You were no longer you, but rather you were reduced back to the role of being Dabi’s plaything. Dabi hums deep in his throat as if he can hear the sluggish thoughts rolling around in your mind, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“Look what you did to my baby, my doll. She’s all broken and for what? Because you forgot your place?” He clicks his tongue, chin withdrawing from your shoulder until he’s drawn back up to his full height and you can just make out the look on his face. His nostrils flared, lips drawing into a grim line and eyes half-lidded. “Maybe I should do you a favour, remind you of your place.” Dabi spins you on the spot, steadying your whirling head with both of his hands before he takes a careful step back and you can’t help but wonder if he plans on reminding you of your place by finally putting you out of your misery.

“Strip.”

What?

“Don’t make me do it for you, you won’t like it.” It’s a very clear warning, blaring sirens and red flags. You have to blink hard, will your mind to work with your trembling hands that attempt to grab at the bottom of your shirt. It feels like an eternity goes by until you’re dropping the shirt onto the floor with a wet plop, your eyebrows furrow at the sound but when you attempt to look down your vision swims again – “Useless.” Dabi grumbles before his warmth is pressed to your front, the smell of forest fire smoke choking you.

His fingers are quick and precise when they undo the buttons of your jeans before they’re shoved down your thighs, pooling at your ankles and Dabi is at least courteous enough to let you hold his forearms when you climb out of them until you’re left in just your underwear.

As if appraising a piece of art in a museum, Dabi lets his eyes slowly trail over flesh that he had seen an endless amount of times in the past. His head tilts slowly, regarding the swell of your breasts in the cup of your bra and the softness of your stomach, the way your hips pudge a little from the tight elastic of your plain underwear.

Still engulfing your personal space with his heat, he lets a hand slide up along your side, pressing dangerously into your ribs to hear the sharp inhale of when his fingers brush into bruised skin and muscle. Cerulean eyes level with your own when he inches around to the back of your bra, his fingers seemingly hardly move before the straps slip down your shoulders and the cups slacken on your chest. He plucks it from your body, letting it drop to the floor before his fingers trail back around to your front.

He keeps his head tilted, gaze redirected down to your chest and he can’t help but wet his tongue in anticipation. You had always been his most prized possession, the most beautiful, a masterpiece that was all for him. Those same too-hot fingers trail along the underside of your breasts, feeling the weight of them before groping one much too hard in one large palm. His fingers curl cruelly, squeezing as if it were a stress ball and all you could do was take it, your face crumpling in pain much to his delight.

“I trusted you, y’know.” He all but mumbles, gaze not lifting from the way your tit spills between his fingers when he gives another squeeze. “I thought it would always be me and you, against the world or whatever the fuck they say.” His thumb and index finger mercilessly pinch your nipple, tugging on it harshly to pull a pitiful cry from your mouth.

The sound has his eyes flicking up to yours, watching the way your lashes clump with unshed tears and how you’re not even attempting to stop the saliva dribbling from your lips. You really were so pathetic. Dabi chews on his scarred bottom lip for a moment, tossing over a thought in his mind but instead he opts to move his fingers to your neglected nipple, pulling and tugging until you’re a snivelling mess.

“‘M sorry!” You sob, the volume of your voice makes your head throb and the tears falling in fat streaks make your head feel heavier. “I’m sorry, Touya! Please, I–I didn’t know what to do without you.” The use of his name makes his eyebrow twitch, jaw clicking in place when he glares at you. It’s a low blow, to use his name like that and he knows you know that. He had always forbidden you from using that name unless you were given permission.

“Last warning, doll. I’m being nice here. You don’t get to use that name when you betrayed me.” His words have your mouth closing, bottom lip wobbling in an effort to keep yourself from openly crying in front of your tormentor. He would only ridicule you for it, tease you and see how far he could go before you broke apart from his words alone. Dabi doesn’t wait to pull down your panties next, the material dragging and scratching at your skin until they’re pooled at your feet along with everything else. “Turn around.”

And you do. You wordlessly turn, letting your hands brace on the sink once again before you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You somehow looked worse, the snot and saliva made you look quite like the snivelling petulant child that Dabi spoke to you like. There’s a clink of a belt before it hits the floor, the dropping of your heart into your stomach threatens to tip you over the edge.

A boot kicks your ankles apart, uncaring for the way you flinch at just how hard he kicks you. You’re perched over the sink, your stomach twitching every time it touches the cold porcelain. Dabi had only ever forced himself onto you a handful of times in the past, at the start of your “relationship”, he always soothed your tears and hushed your refusal with false promises hidden in between his sickly sweet words.

Over time the lines blurred between him forcing himself onto you and you willingly opening your legs for him when he asked for it. It pleased him to see you listening to him, and he became ‘softer’ if that was a possible word to describe a villain like him. Time spent with Dabi got easier when he was softer, it actually felt believable when he whispered into your ear at night how much he loved you, how much he appreciated you and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. It was hard to distinguish his lies and the truth when he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

A searing hot hand pressed to your bare ass has your mind jolting, bile rising momentarily in your throat until you lean into the coolness of the sink once again. Those same fingers that feel as if they had come from the depths of hell brush their way down over your sensitive skin until they find their way between your thighs. And much to your embarrassment, you’re wet. Biology was a cruel mean thing, your body was still hardwired to react to the man of your nightmares lest you want to face the consequences. Your bottom lip wobbles, thankful for the fact Dabi is preoccupied with his new discovery.

His laugh is loud and boisterous, almost manic with the way his eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re fucking wet. I knew it,” he breathes in hard, pushing his hips flush with your own and you can feel the twitch of his leaky cock between your cheeks. “I knew you missed me, I knew you still loved me. This pussy never lied to me, unlike someone.” His words sting, a jab directly into your heart.

He sounds hurt, upset that you’d actually try to lie and hide away from him. It has fresh tears pricking your eyes, how could you hurt someone like him? Someone who loved you so devotedly.

Long deft fingers prod and poke between your thighs, pulling your lips apart crudely to watch the strings of arousal snap and cling to your thighs. He’s still chuckling deep in his chest, elated with the newfound knowledge that you still want him in such a carnal way. He circles your clit in clumsy patterns, enough to have your thighs tensing up and hips arching into the pleasure you’re unwillingly receiving. But the thing about Dabi is—

He’s not a patient man.

The tip of his cock pierces your unprepared hole, the pain shoots from deep in your pelvis and ricochets up your spine until it tingles at the base of your skull. Your hands help brace yourself over the sink, your head drops down and you’re vaguely aware of the way your throat aches with a scream. His fingers find a home in hidden bruises, the sting of his metal staples heating against your skin is familiar. Dabi had always been big, thick and unforgiving with the piercings that he adorned. Each of the barbells digs into your velvety walls, his hips so flush with yours you’re not sure where you end and he begins anymore.

“Fuck, missed this too much. Thought I’d never get to feel your cunt wrapped around me again.” His words are vulgar, but they spark something to life in your brain. Something you hadn’t quite considered until now. Just how was he here? Last you heard Dabi was never getting out, he killed too many people and committed far too many crimes to just be let loose on the world again.

Though you never got to air the question, his hips drawback until they’re smacking back against your ass. The pace from there on out is brutal, the tip of his cock bullies itself into your clenching cunt until it hits against your cervix. Each tap feels like you’re being punched in the gut, your lips parted in a soundless scream.

The pain was too much, the ache in your head was getting steadily worse and the back-and-forth thrashing of your body was making you woozy. “D–Dabi…” You try to speak, the words slurred with the saliva that dribbles from your parted mouth and drips into the sink.

“What?” He snarls, grunting with the effort of how hard he’s fucking you.

“Hurts.” You reply with a gasp, his fingers instantly latching around your throat until you’re pulled up to face what you assume must be the Devil leering over your shoulder with the most disgruntled expression on his face.

You can smell the burning of flesh before the pain registers, the sizzling hardly audible over the sound of his hips slapping against your abused rear. “Yeah? Maybe it’ll teach you a fucking lesson. Next time you think about trying to leave me, you’ll remember how much it hurt.”

His fingers squeeze tighter around your throat until you can’t breathe, the horrid stench of marred flesh the only thing flooding your system when you desperately try to suck in air. Then you’re falling forward, your forehead plummeting with force against the mirror and you think you hear it smashing over the deafening ring in your ears. It feels like your head is being held under a pillow, like someone has pressed two large hands over your ears and held you there. Your throat burns, for a lack of a better word. The flesh bubbles and hisses with a reminder of Dabi’s words.

You’re not quite sure how much time has passed until you work up the strength to lift your gaze to the now-smashed mirror. The first thing you notice is the blood trickling down from a gash on your forehead, trailing down along the bridge of your nose until it meets the plumpness of your lips – filling the cracks with a metallic taste. Then you see it, the burn, it’s gnarly.

The flesh is hardly recognisable as flesh, it looks like butchered meat. It’s blistered already, layers of the skin open for the world to see and the sight finally does tip you over the edge. The bile doesn’t burn quite as much as the 3rd-degree handprint on your throat as you spill the contents of your stomach into the sink.

Dabi groans in anger, snarling as he retches you away from the sink and throws you onto all fours on the floor. “Disgusting fucking whore,” There’s something wet pressed to your mouth, a sponge you realise, as it drags roughly against your mouth until he forces it into your mouth. The scouring pad scrapes along your tongue, replacing the taste of vomit with soap. “Always making me clean up your messes.” Then it’s gone as fast as it came, your body being shoved and pushed until your back is against the bathmat and you’re staring up at Dabi who seems to be kneeling already between your thighs.

He wastes no time once again in pressing himself back inside of you, the stretch this time nowhere near as painful but it reignites the old ache of when he first forced himself inside. Your heart aches when you stare up at him, silhouetted by the flickering dim light of the bathroom bulb. It makes the white of his hair glow, angelic your brain supplies, but he was anything but an angel. His hands grab at your thighs, forcing them back until they uncomfortably press into your chest. The angle makes it hard to breathe, the furious pace he sets is agonising.

But your body is betraying you once again, the lewd squelch of your pussy is giving you away. A deep dark and twisted part of you has missed this, missed him. Missed the way he would fuck you like it was his last day on earth, like he had something to prove. It has an involuntary whimper leaving your throat, and of course, Dabi perks up at the sound – whilst he didn’t care much if you were silent the entire time, he always enjoyed the cute noises you’d make for him and only him. His eyes find yours, and you’re sucked into the endless expanse of the blinding blue Hellfire.

Dabi has a new goal in mind now, to fuck you the way he knows you liked to be fucked. His hips roll a little more fluidly, finding the old rhythm from all those years ago that surely would have your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your lips parting to sing him the most beautiful of songs with your moans. You don't disappoint him either, not when his thumb joins the fray and rubs languid circles against your puffy clit. The initial contact and stimulation have your hips jerking, fighting against the hold he has on you but it’s futile; he has you pinned beneath him much like a wolf would with its prey.

“There she is,” he grins when your fluttering eyes meet his, that contempt and confusion you had held onto for so long being replaced with a glassy look in your eye that must be lust. “There’s my fucking girl. Missed you so much baby, missed your cute noises. Y’gonna give me more, right? It’s the right thing to do, after all, you did hurt my feelings.” He still looks angelic angled over you like this, the shadows of his face almost hiding the glinting staples and scars that cover most of his body now. You can’t help but nod at his words, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

Dabi groans at your assent, fucking into you somehow harder. The slap of his heavy balls against the rim of your ass is loud, the sticky sound of his hips meeting yours fuels your own impending orgasm.

Of course, Dabi knows it’s coming too, his thumb presses firmer against your clit and moves a little faster to edge you closer and closer whilst he drops his hips just enough to have the tip of his cock hitting that squishy spot that no one but him has been able to reach.

You can’t help but gasp and squeal, your back arching off of the floor until it slams back down when your orgasm hits you like a train. It’s violent, shakes through your bones like an earthquake would through a building. Your toes curl uncomfortably in the air, your thighs twitch in an attempt to close them to bar the man still torturing your clit from causing you any more pleasurable pain.

“Enough,” you try and push his hand away but Dabi never listens, he bats your hand away with a harsh slap that has your skin tingling in pain. “You’re gonna take it, like the good girl I know you are.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can,” He grapples your still twitching thighs until they tighten around his waist and then he’s diving down to your face. His breath is hot against your face, the smell of cigarette ash suffocates you.

“I know you can. Now kiss me.” He demands, and the fear of not obeying his command in such a compromising position has you indulging him. Your lips press against his, you work hard to try and keep yourself dispassionate but it’s impossible when he does the thing with the tip of his tongue – drags it along your bottom lip so delicately until he pries you open, lets the smooth expanse of his tongue coax yours out until he can suck on it.

The steadily rising heat of the kiss engulfs you, douses you in an indescribable warmth that you can’t help but lean into the familiarity of it. It’s intoxicating to let go of that fear, to detach yourself from the person you had become in the eight years of solitude and recede back into the one who was simply in love with a man who was willing to burn down the world at her feet. But you’ve never been allowed to live in the illusion you formulate to ignore the harsh reality of things, Dabi would never give you that luxury.

His lips part from yours with a wet smack, saliva coating your lips and he grins again. The staples in his cheeks almost look like they might split as he stares at you, splayed out with a faraway look in your eye when you stare up at him.

“Gonna cum inside this beautiful pussy,” he breathes, eyes coming to life when your eyes slowly start to refocus on him and the words he’s letting spill from his saccharine mouth. “Fill you up nice and good with my cum, get you pregnant so you can never fucking leave me.”

What? Is that what he wanted? You squirm in an attempt to get away from him, but he keeps you uncomfortably pinned in a deep mating press whilst his cock bullies itself deeper – you hadn’t even noticed the way it was twitching so harshly in the depths of your pussy until now. He was too close, he was really going to do it—

“Oh fuck, yeah, squeeze me like that baby. I knew you wanted me to breed you.” You don’t, you don’t want to be trapped with his child. It’s the ultimate thing he would hold over your head until the end of time, you could never escape him if you gave birth to a child that had the same dangerous eyes as his. “Aw, doll, don’t cry. It’s okay, I won’t leave you to raise the brat on its own. I’ll be there, always.” You hadn’t even realised you were crying until he mentioned it.

The groan that rumbles deep in Dabi’s chest and vibrates up through his throat is something you would never, ever, forget. It was a sound that meant only one thing; he was about to cum. You feel the twitch before the first spurt of molten cum paints your insides. That burn of your insides is something you had grown accustomed to after the time spent with Dabi, he had said it was because of his quirk. Everything about him was just hotter.

He holds himself balls deep in your dripping cunt, uncaring at the shuddering sob that shakes your body at the realisation that he’s going to keep his promise of making sure you get pregnant. The thought has your eyes closing, your head far too sore to think about what might just happen if you were to get pregnant with Dabi’s child.

Your body is limp when he effortlessly picks you up eventually, tucking his hands under your armpits before your feet are placed in something cold and wet. Your body starts with a jolt, your skin pricking with gooseflesh before you’re forced to sit down in the bathtub. Just how much time had passed for the bath to grow cold?

A warm chest is pressed to your back, pulling you effortlessly between long defined legs and arms loop around you like a safety belt. Dabi holds you there, his fingers stroking delicately along the skin he had bruised and marred not too long ago. You could almost fall into the allusion of him being a lover, a man who was simply giving you the aftercare you need.

The bath bubbles around you with the raising temperature, his skin is too hot for you to be laid up against like this and you can feel the staples burning their way into your flesh but you can’t find the strength anymore to fight back. He pushes you forward slightly to reach for a washcloth, dipping it into the scorching water and slowly but carefully dragging it along your bloodied skin. He doesn't go near the wound on your throat.

It feels like no time has passed at all since he left you and now, those eight years apart squashed into nothing when he noses his way into your hair and breathes in.

“How did you find me?” You speak eventually, Dabi remains silent for a moment and that only makes you worry more.

“I always knew where you were. You shouldn’t trust everyone you meet.”

And if that wasn’t the truth.

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