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#but it's not that simple and love is an active choice every single day

angelisverba · 6 months

Text

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles.

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it.

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her.

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by.

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again.

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-”

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 5 months

Text

A Study of Silence

Summary: Your life of married bliss is failing. A moment of heated arguing finally reveals the reason Natasha is pulling away from you, so you offer her the choice: stay or leave?

Word Count: 862

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warning: Angst

A/N: I wrote this at 1am when my flatmates set the fire alarm off, so forgive any mistakes lol. It's loosely based on 'Fluorescent Adolescent' by the Arctic Monkeys.

»»————-　★　————-««

Silence. Then the occasional turning of a page. In your mind, there are three types of silences: a comfortable silence, a suspenseful silence, and an awkward silence.

This fell firmly into the third category, but you made no move to change it - wondering instead how and when such an activity – sitting silently in your wife's presence – had turned from comfortable to awkward.

It hadn't happened just in this session: that was doomed to awkwardness from its start - but a month ago? a year ago? It was hard to recall a single moment of comfortable bliss outside of the early days of your relationship.

Everything had seemed so bright: an Avenger falling for a simple mechanic, a match made only in your dreams… though sometimes you wondered if it should ever have gone beyond that. She'd promised to quit her job for you, retire herself to deskwork upon marriage. "I want to do it," she had promised, "my love for you overshadows any job I do, and if this means I'm not spending months away from you and you're not spending months worrying, then it's an easy decision."

You swore your life to her then, showed her your love and your devotion. That love never faded. But where did it go wrong?

"My love?" you said. The redhead didn't look up from her book; you tried to see what it was, but she maintained her senses enough to shield that from your sights. With a sigh, you continued into the silence, "I was thinking maybe we could cook together tonight?"

She looked up now, fingers sightlessly marking the page. "Again? Didn't we do that..." she trailed off, searching for a memory, a recent excuse.

You finish her sentence for her: "last month? Yeah. I thought we could maybe do some bonding this month too, but nevermind."

"Y/N, we can-"

"You're clearly not interested, Nat, I'm not going to force you, so go hang out with your old Avengers buddies again and I'll make dinner alone."

There was a bite to your words that you knew you'd later regret, but in the moment you couldn't bring yourself to care. Fighting had become the only sure fire way to end the stagnant silences, and these days, neither you nor Natasha were afraid to use the method.

"You always do this," Natasha seethed, "they're my friends. I used to spend my every moment with them, living together, working together, everything! And I gave that up for you! You want me to give up even seeing them too? Would that finally be enough?!"

The silence fell again. A fourth type: one of contemplating, one of heated feelings and unwitting confessions and, finally, understanding. You understood. In her anger, Natasha had revealed the secret to it all, where it had all gone wrong.

You softened your voice, speaking quietly as if your wife were an injured animal, easy to startle. "I didn't make you give that up. I don't want you to give up more and I don't want you to blame me for your choices."

She stayed silent, though her jaw tightened and her eyes focused on a point behind you. You didn't have to turn to remember which picture lies there.

"I love you, Natasha," you confessed again, knowing it could be a last confession. "I love you and I want only the best for you. And if you miss the superhero days, the risk, the team, everything... if leaving that and marrying me is the mistake that's making you miserable, then I'm giving you the chance to undo that mistake. I don't want to be the reason you live your life in nostalgia and regret."

You didn't wait for her to respond, what was the point? Her gaze was still fixed on the picture behind you: the team in its heyday, when they were still young and wild and disorganised. She clang to until she got sentimental, forgetting that you had been the one to take the photo, right before Natasha became the first of the group to settle down.

Her response would come soon enough, you knew, so you went to your room and waited. You hoped for the eventual knock on the door, the long awaited conversation, then either the forgiveness or the conclusion. You hoped all through the evening, even as you cooked by yourself, ate by yourself, and slept by yourself.

A night with the Avengers might have been what she needed to make her decision.

Natasha Romanoff came into your life with a burning passion and a humanity to her that few people could ever achieve. You expected it to last forever, but come morning you realised the truth: Natasha Romanoff was a spy born and raised, and no amount of humanity can ever erase that from her.

Her ring was on your bedside table in the morning, the house left in a state of suspended silence. Natasha herself was nowhere to be found, disappearing like a spy, with no words spoken on the matter.

She had made her choice, just as you had made yours.

You loved Natasha too much to keep her; she loved you too little to stay.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #reader insert #fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #ikan writes

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thehighladywrites · 3 months

Text

𝖠𝖢𝖮𝖳𝖠𝖱 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖧𝖢’𝖲

summary: being girly in a world full of haters can be hard sometimes! I mean, people hate all the time. but these males don’t let any disrespect towards you slide. They protect you through and through 👀

warnings: fluff, tw:beron😒

amara’s note: this went from being an azriel fic, to rhys and azriel, to batboys, to batboys+lucien and finally all of them. Honestly idc bc i love all of them🤭🤭

Rhysand

Fashion bf x barbie doll gf

I can’t think of anything more cuter than being his doll.

The man does everything for you,

Picking out materials for dresses, designing them for you, working with a private seamstress to bring his visions to life

He knows you best and always supplies the cutest, girliest outfits ever

This man is so attentive and caring, he doesn’t even have to ask what you want to wear, he just knows. It’s like you share a brain

Rhys absolutely loves it when you ask for his advice on hairstyles and fashion choices. He literally goes into designer mode and fixes you up reaaaal nice

When you guys are in the Hewn City, you don’t care, you still wear your pink girly clothes bc who’s gonna say anything to the high lady?

Sparkly accessories, high heels, pretty makeup and cute hairstyles is your trademark.

Rhys loves that you are super girly, he likes the dynamic of him being dark and mysterious and you being bright and bubbly

He protects you like crazy, no one is even managing to say something insulting to you bc rhys takes care or it before the sentence even forms in their mind

Cassian

brooding bf x sunshine gf

This combo is top tier

At first, Cassian might've thought you were a bit too cheery and too involved in yourself. I mean, who else has a massive stash of fragrances, lotions, sparkly jewels, clothes, tons of bags, and enough shoes to fill a closet?

Also, who in the world is that insanely cheerful? There are a million things to focus on, and you're there pondering over matching shades of pink and which bag to wear for the day.

He tries to keep his distance, but you're so inviting and warm that he just melts and falls head over heels in love.

Cassian also falls in love with how much you care for yourself and how adorable you look every single day.

You notice how you’re always seeing him always in plain, simple athleisure or leather. So, you take matters into your own hands and whisk him away for a shopping spree, upgrading his entire wardrobe. Despite his potential, he's been stuck in a rut of black, plain, and boring clothes, and you're determined to change that.

After just a few weeks of being together, this guy has a full-on skincare routine, knows how to coordinate outfits flawlessly so he looks very put together and handsome

He has even mastered the art of silky-smooth hair thanks to you. You've truly leveled him up in every way.

Everyone can't help but notice how much more refreshed and attractive Cassian looks, and it's making you second-guess your decision to help him level up because now, people are hitting on him even more.

Azriel

Scary bf x shy gf

Top tier combo again

No one really knows how such polar opposites ended up together, but suppose they do say opposites attract.

Azriel is stoic around everyone who isn’t the direct inner circle. He lets loose around his found family but even more so around you

Really, he is super comfortable and funny when you’re alone

Azriel notices how soft spoken and kind hearted you are very early on

He is very attentive and your style is actually first thing he notices

The frilly skirts, cute tops, styled hair, cutesy nails and an aura that screamed femininity

He considers his daggers as accessories while you wear cute headbands and ribbons in your hair

Azriel’s fav activity is watching you get ready for anything, whether it be for bed, an event, in the mornings or date nights

He just adores watching your moves, how much effort you put in, the different techniques you use and how you pamper yourself

Pride fills him when he sees how relaxed and put together you feel and look. There is nothing he likes more than seeing you happy with yourself

I also believe az can be traditional and likes the dynamic of having a girly girl mate, or you being all feminine and sweet while he is more masculine and protective

Bro let’s actually talk about protection

No one, I mean absolutely no one, insults you and gets away with it. No matter how snarky the comment, Azriel deals with it.

You’re not as confrontational as him and often hide behind his wings and that makes him even more protective if possible

You always calm him down when someone says something, and he listens to you. If you don't want him to deal with it then and there, he won't ever confront someone in front of you.

Azriel just handles it later, putting fear into people for even daring to approach you.

He wouldn’t do anything remotely scary or frightening in fromt of you. Azriel keeps his work and personal life separate, especially from you

Az couldn’t dream of accidentally putting you in danger, so he never, EVER drags you into his work

You’re not stupid, you know the toll his work takes on him so you are there for him without being too involved, you know how to cheer him up from whatever he is doing behind closed doors

Eris

Arrogant bf x dark feminine gf

Power couple through and through

Eris is canonically extremely well dressed and that makes this dynamic so special

Eris adores splurging on his seamstresses to create matching outfits for both of you.

Best dressed couple in Prythian, hands down

You two are fashion icons, inspiring countless people. People look up to you as their inspiration. Established luxury brands pay you handsomely to flaunt their designs at balls, where all eyes are on you.

Speaking of matching, y’all have matching smirks and cunning mind, and since you’re mates, you have a way of communicating and plotting without anyone knowing

Before, while B*ron🤢 was alive, Eris was ridiculed for having soft hands, clean nails, and good hygiene, which always disgusted him. Why was being clean looked down upon? It disgusted him, knowing that people purposely rather be dirty than clean

Everything got better when you came around and his father passed away. Finally, he had someone who didn't judge him, someone who actually encouraged him to look his best.

You often sit in his lap, plucking his eyebrows as he wears a face mask, his hair pushed back by a cute alien headband.

You often also get manicures, and at first, Eris was like, "This is where I draw the line." But when you suggested just a clear coat and cleaning the nails, he went along with it.

No one knows though. That's the only compromise; I mean, he's still the High Lord, and people can't know he gets manicures. He'd be ridiculed for some stupid macho reason.

Anyways, when it comes to protecting you, no one does it better than him. Not only will he destroy the person with his words but he will blackmail and psychologically torture them. It might seem mean but that’s the price of people not properly respecting their High Lady

Lucien

calm bf x hyper and outspoken gf

you are an absolute sweetheart, there is no one that hates you in the slightest.

In this scenario, I think you're known for rescuing stray animals. It's not like collecting Pokémon cards; instead, you're the person who steps up when there's a stray kitten in need of care.

You definitely live in a cute cottage in the woods with him, not worrying about anything with him there

Your house is an explosion of adorable decor, with pink accents everywhere you look. It's filled with super cute and girly decorations in every corner.

When you start dating Lucien, he notices how hyper you are and how you juggle multiple tasks at once.

Lucien is like your calming anchor, keeping your energy balanced and the vibes serene.

One of your biggest hyperfixations is clothes. Whether it's dresses, coats, pants, shoes, fabrics, or makeup, anything feminine is right up your alley.

And Lucien makes sure you don't overexert yourself, always looking out for your well-being.

Since you're so hyper, you're sometimes loud in certain moments. It really hurts when people tell you to shut up and calm down.

lucien doesn’t let it slide tho

This man defends you however he deems necessary, whether it's with his words or hands.

Just know, he always has your back, no matter what.

No one is suffocating your light and energy if he has anything to do with it.

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azullumi · 1 year

Text

wanderer and tighnari — boyfriend messages ☆彡

summary — phone calls and messages exchanged between you two.

characters — wanderer and tighnari (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, modern au, established relationship, no use of emojis in text ; headcanons

word count — 704

note — i wrote this on a different time compared to the first part so the approach in writing is different! ^^ i'll be working on requests later on

WANDERER

Midnight calls. Late night texts. Random crack of the dawn messages. Everything that happens on a whim, you name it. The peak message activity between you two happens late at night until dawn and the time that you two would stop talking will depend on your plans or schedule for the next day—you have classes? You'll either fall asleep in the midst of talking or finish the conversation by 2 in the morning at max. It's the weekend tomorrow? Expect that the two of you would either be awake the whole night, doing something together and talking to each other, or sleeping quite early to make up for the hours lost from the past few days that you should have been asleep.

Being mean is the embodiment of his being and sarcasm is the mother language of his tongue. Even in texts with the restrictions of expression as it's all locked behind and washed down to just simple letters in a rounded-corners rectangle, he is able to express and convey the tone and feeling he wants to show—hatred, disdain, confusion, and everything.

One thing that he loves to do is to just be a little gremlin, sending random images or messages in class that either distracts you because you're trying to think of what it means or because you'll end up talking to him— your attention will be all directed to him and he loves it. He knows the effect he has on you and completely takes advantage of it because why not? The opportunity is there so why not make the most out of it?

Despite all of that, however, he still looks after you. Yes, he might be a little mean at times and he could act like some sort of menace but he cherishes you and loves you. It's just like when you'll mention how you want something on that day and he'll show up later on with that thing that you want in hand, messaging you to open the door even if it's already late at night—he'll end up having to stay over and sleep at your home.

TIGHNARI

Have you eaten already? How about breakfast? Did you drink enough water? Did you skip your meal again? Oftentimes, you find yourself being asked by your own mind if you're talking to your doctor or your boyfriend—though you do appreciate how he looks after and cares for you, making sure that you're eating properly and staying healthy, bringing you food and everything when you didn't get to eat earlier that time because you were busy and didn't have time to, or when he'll look after yourself every single time that you are sick and you have to listen to his nagging especially when he'll learn that you did something which put you in that situation.

He's just always so worried about you that he checks on you as much as he can—much more if you're a reckless and careless type of person. It just feels like it's one of his nature to look after his loved ones, especially you and though it can be overwhelming at first because you might think that you're being bothersome to him, trust me, he doesn't think of you like that, you're not some troublesome thing to him and he's doing everything on his own accord. It just puts his mind at peace and his thoughts silent knowing that you're safe, healthy, or away from harm—and knowing that he's part of the reason for those makes him proud of himself.

Even through his messages, you could feel the gentleness in his tone or way of speaking in general—his choice of words makes up for all of it despite not having the habit of using emojis nor emoticons. Perhaps it was also the way he adds sweet and affectionate messages in between like him telling you that he loves you after greeting you good morning.

He's very considerate of your feelings, always taking it into account before he does something. He's the type to message you and update you on what he's doing, telling and informing you if ever he'll become busy so that you won't wonder why he is not replying to you quickly or answering any of your calls.

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screeblees · 4 months

Note

Hello! I love your work!! Can I please request a really lovesick yandere who starts killing people to try and get their best friend/crush to get scared and rely on them more, but their darling is so stupid they don’t even bother to think it could happen to them and isn’t affected at all by the murder spree their yandere is on?

I feel like that’s be amusing to watch.

Lovesick ! Yandere x Oblivious ! Reader Headcanons

Hi! Thanks soo much!!

I love this request and I really hope I did it justice!<3

Sorry it took so long to answer, been quite busy over the holidays but wanted to get something out for New Year's Eve!

Lovesick ! Yandere is Gender Neutral and Oblivious ! Reader is also Gender Neutral

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!!<33

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who has been your Best Friend for so long at this point that they think you’re practically in a relationship.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who always thought you were a little clueless and were happy to wait for the day you notice them romantically just as they had done the first time you called them your Best Friend.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who realises they have to take matters into their own hands and be a bit more forceful once you begin dating in high school, whilst they turned down any confession sent their way.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who begins simple, manipulating convincing you to spend more time with them, come with them to that place you wanted to go, do that activity with them, not whoever you were briefly with.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who stalks you on every single date you go on, and snaps whilst watching you on your most recent date as you let whoever you were with kiss you.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who realises whilst watching one of your favourite horror movies together that fear, trauma bonding and such scenarios always bring couples together in movies and so it should work on you, too.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who wants with all their being for you to come running to them after hearing about each murder, terrified of the big bad killer and the only thing able to comfort you is being enveloped in a hug from them, with your head tucked into their neck as their arms wrap around you, their words and touch the only safe space after everyone else you know is dead or missing.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who begins their killing spree with those in your classes who can’t seem to take a hint from your Best Friend’s possessive hand placements every moment they’re with you, and instead lets their words become a little too friendly.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who wants to build the stress and anxiety in you, and have you break in their arms as the string of murders slowly get closer and closer to you, socially.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who has long since had a list of people close to you, containing every touchy classmate, and useless ex, as well as your friends both distant and close to you. All arranged in order from how close they are to you, and crossed off as they all begin disappearing one by one.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who initially plans not to hurt your immediate family… unless they - for some reason - suspect your dear Best Friend and try to force a larger gap between you than the one they were trying to fix in the first place, then your loved ones won’t be so fortunate.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who thinks that you just didn’t see the news or pay much attention to your surroundings, they already knew you could be pretty oblivious at times.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who overhears a conversation between you and their next target, said target bringing up the increasingly violent murders, sharing their fears, whilst all you have to say in reply is a dismissive “Oh yeah, I heard about them,”.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who decides to ask you for themself one night while having a sleepover, “Aren’t you worried you could be next?” the police had officially announced it being a serial killer that day, “Me? Nah,” is all you had to say, too invested in the activity of your choice. Confused, your Best Friend probes further, “But…don’t you know all the victims personally? What if the murderer is someone close to you?” You shake your head dismissively, “No way, it’s definitely a coincidence,” you say without a hint of sarcasm, completely unbothered.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who plays with the idea of having you come across a body, to really shock you and make you realise how real what’s happening is, and how close it is to you.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who can’t quite understand your intense denial of your relation to the murders, are you trying to avoid the topic? Maybe to stop yourself from breaking down?

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who was surprised one night on a call with you where you brought up the topic first this time, complaining about your most recent group project partner going missing because now you have to do it all by yourself.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who took the opportunity to spend time with you and be your replacement project partner despite not taking the class it’s for, remaining confused at your flippancy in bringing up the “tragedy”.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who can’t decide in the end if you’re really this oblivious (stupid), or if you know and just don’t care. Although they do fantasize at the thought of you secretly knowing that your Best Friend is the one behind everything and feeling safety in knowing that this is all for you. Either way, your Lovesick ! Yandere is elated.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who loves you all the more despite your confusing reactions and ruining of their plans. All they want is every smidge of your attention and you to be as obsessed with them and their safety as they are with yours. It all makes you more lovable, though, like a big dumb puppy.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who continues with their killing spree despite it not having a direct effect on you as they quickly found it discouraged those around you - those that are left, at least - to begin avoiding you as people started collecting the dots and spreading rumours. Nobody else approaches you anymore, not that you seem to notice though, too busy rambling to your Best Friend.

❥ Lovesick ! Yandere who is just as pleased with this outcome as the one they had been aiming for when they started their rampage. All they had really wanted was to become the centre of your world once more...

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

yandere!Azul thought 4: what starts as a contract for no strings attached intimacy soon turns into something complicated when you find yourself swept up in a certain cecaelia’s charm, unaware of just how deep his love swims.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, contractual fwb, mention of blackmail, attempted sexual assault (from nameless student, not azul), obsession, pregnancy mentions, characters written as 18+)

“It’ll be easier if you stop struggling,” Floyd grumbles, his fingers digging into your arm with so much force you think he might snap the bone. “Jaaade, tell our shrimpy to stop squirming so much!”

Jade smiles at his brother’s whining, feigning blissful ignorance to your current predicament. “It would be in your best interest to relax. Broken limbs are not a pleasant experience.”

“Neither is kidnapping! I already told you I didn’t do anything. I never even signed a contract.”

“Not yet.” He peers down at you, challenging you with a single yellow eye. “Although we can’t ignore it when a precious friend fails to heed Azul’s summons. That’s not very polite, is it? And since you’ve chosen to be oh-so-cruel, we have no choice but to resort to similar treatment.”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, brows furrowed in annoyance. “You’re the worst.”

“I don’t think you qualify as the best in this scenario.”

“Azul just wants to have a simple chat with you. No need to be such a meanie,” Floyd adds, forcing you upright when you begin to drag your feet. His sharp teeth wink at you when he grins, and it’s enough of a threat to cow you into temporary submission.

As you allow yourself to be escorted through the grand, aquatic halls of Octavinelle, where you pass fellow dorm members going about their day through a magnificent glass tunnel, you know deep in your heart that this ‘simple chat’ will be anything but simple. They hardly pay you any mind; most avert their eyes as to not get caught up in whatever nonsense you’re currently bound to. The Leech twins are enough of a repellant. Stay away if you value your skeletal structure and unblemished skin, their combined presence boasts. You stare at the ocean that sprawls beyond the confines of the dorm, its depths dark and spiraling and tempting.

I wonder how much force you’d have to apply to the glass before it shatters, you think, coveting a means of acquiring superhuman strength to test your curiosity. Maybe the glass can’t be broken after all and I’d end up looking as graceful as a mer-turned-human trying to walk on land for the first time.

You’ve learned that it’s not so frightening to be approached by the Leech twins when you’re on pleasant terms and they’re not actively tugging you along like you’re nothing more than a weightless rag doll. Unfortunately, this is their usual treatment of those who try to evade payment or break the terms of their contracts. Even though you haven’t done anything of the sort, they’re still pulling you into the gilded lair that is the Mostro Lounge. Apparently—according to your most benevolent friends at Octavinelle—ghosting Azul is just as sinful as cheating your way out of a contract.

You try to stay away from the suspicious dealings that happen in Azul’s VIP room when you can, but it’s only a matter of time before it catches up to you. Perhaps this is your day of reckoning and you ought to start counting your blessings and penning a will with what little time you have left.

Aside from ignoring him, you’re not sure why he would be so insistent on meeting with you. Azul’s ire is not something you wish to toy with, lest you enjoy the coils of two dangerous eels. You surmise you’ll get your answer to every burning question once you’re seated in front of him, listening to the twins’ footsteps as they click out the door.

There’s no time to get a breath in before Azul’s own confidence fills the room like hot air, stifling any excuses you might’ve had at the ready. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and, with the lenses glinting under the dazzling light, he declares, “Let’s make a deal.”

What a greeting. He’s really something. You’d throttle him if you could, but then you’d probably find yourself at Floyd’s mercy as he returns the favor.

“Not happening.”

Azul sighs and runs a hand through his silver hair, so deceptively soft it reminds you of clouds and candy floss and cotton—gentle things that shouldn’t contain razor blades. And yet, when it comes to Azul, he’s a sea sponge full of hidden tricks and sharp objects. But right now he’s not wearing his fedora or coat, and he’s a portrait of defeat as he looks into your eyes. An inkling of sympathy bubbles up in your chest. It must be tough managing academics, a café, and everyone’s wishes in order to maintain a benevolent façade. But you know better than to feel bad for Azul Ashengrotto—someone who would trade you in an instant if it was to his benefit. So you find yourself slumping in the chair, no longer interested in the deal he’s trying to proposition or the sad image he’s carefully manufactured for your discerning eyes.

I should’ve known this was his goal. Was it really worth dragging me out of Ramshackle for?

“I ask that you hear me out.”

“If you had Jade and Floyd bring me here—against my will, might I add—just so you could get me to sign one of your scummy contracts…”

“I can assure you it will be worth your while.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “All right. Fine. But make it quick. I’m hungry.”

It can’t hurt to hear him out. Or so you think.

He grins, but there’s something lurking in his elated countenance that puts you on edge. He leans forward, hands steepled and elbows propped on the surface of his desk. Azul is in his element—a businessman profiting from shiny half-truths, and you’re the poor soul he’s ready to entrap.

“It seems you run a special sort of…trade among the student body here.”

You raise a brow. If he intends to squash your side hustle, you won’t allow it.

“Don’t tell me the services I’m offering are stealing your customers.”

“Certainly not.” He chuckles, but the amusement does not reach his eyes. “Sex sells. I couldn’t possibly compete with such a grand industry.”

“Get to the point, Azul.”

“Very well. I would like to enlist your services for myself.”

“I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. Let’s see the contract, then.”

Its golden shine nearly blinds you, so bright you could mistake it for a miniature sun. The terms have been written in neat, curling script. At the very bottom of the document that tempting line sits, empty and awaiting a signature. You scan the words, but none of them truly register within your mind.

“You had a field day writing this one,” you mutter. “If you wanted a handjob, you could’ve just asked. I shouldn’t have to sign a contract for a simple exchange.”

Octavinelle’s charitable Housewarden bristles at your forthright statement. “That is not the point! Did you even read the clauses outlined in the contract?”

“Not really. Care to elaborate?” You bat your eyelashes at him, lips turning downward in an innocent pout.

Rolling his eyes, he says, “In exchange for your services, I will grant any wish or desire you may have. Whatever it is—no matter how complicated or outrageous it seems—I’ll see to it.”

You swipe the contract from off his desk and read through it closely. This time the sentences click and you eye him with suspicion. “In other words, you want casual sex. This wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“If you consider it from both sides, it’s mutually beneficial. Sexual endeavors have been proven to reduce stress, improve one’s mental and physical health, and—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get that, but I’d only be servicing you. According to this clause, I wouldn’t be allowed to see anyone else for however long this deal lasts.”

“That’s only fair, is it not? If I dedicate my time to meeting your demands, you should dedicate your time to servicing me.”

“That’s not how this works. Besides, if I wanted to toe the line of lustful romance I’d have come to you already.”

“Oh? Are you saying I’m a prime candidate for what you humans call ‘holiday flings’? Well, (Name), I’m honored. Truly. You know you can always come to me if—”

“And now you’ve made it to the bottom of the list. Congrats.”

You glance at the contract once more and frown. There’s no denying that some of these terms are questionable. Not only are you unable to service the other students, you’d also have to keep the relationship a secret. You suppose Azul still wants to retain his current reputation without the tarnish that comes with a contractual fuck buddy. Who are you to decline, though? It would be reasonable if it weren’t for Azul’s tendency to cheat others and find tight loopholes to slip through. And he’s attractive enough. It’s a tempting exchange: sex for money, food, academic help, anything at all.

“Is there a limit to the amount of wishes you’re willing to grant?”

“We’ll do it this way—one wish for every meeting. You’re free to be as greedy as you’d like with your wishes. I suggest you make the most of this offer. It’s only available for a limited time.”

“Huh. That’s…weirdly generous of you.”

“I’m delighted you think so.” He indicates the pot of ink sitting atop his desk. “Well? Are the terms acceptable? If they are, just sign on the line and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Hold on. I never said I’d sign your contract. It’s not a bad offer, but I don’t want to subject myself to your wrath or the Leech brothers’ methods of…negotiation if I break any of the terms. I like my bones healthy and intact, thank you.” You set the contract scroll back on his desk, content with your decision. It’s better to play it safe, no matter how intrigued you are. “If you really want it, just pay me and we can—”

“That’s not enough,” he snaps. You’re not sure if you heard correctly because moments later his dark expression brightens and all traces of envy vanish like a curtain of rain parting to reveal a rainbow. “I understand your hesitance, considering my reputation has its shadows. But what is a risk without its possible reward? I can assure you these terms are honest and sincere. It’s in the writing, after all.”

“So it’s just a contract for sex? I don’t have to act like your girlfriend or anything?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Your narrowed gaze pierces him, as if to peer at the core of his soul, but you can’t dissect his angle. It’s difficult to imagine Azul’s contracts as straightforward deals with no strings attached, but then again he’s still just like the rest of the students here. He has his own cravings and you’re the only female on campus, a blessing that has come with its fair share of boons. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to go through with this. You might even be able to procure lots of premium tuna for Grim and some promising study guides for your friends, who most certainly need it after their most recent scores.

“If I sign this contract, how long would this arrangement last?”

“Two months.”

“Two months,” you parrot slowly, tasting each letter. “Two months?”

“Is that not agreeable? I’m certain I can offer you much more than whatever pocket change the others give you.”

It’s a fair point. You’re not trying to sell yourself cheap, but you’re not picky either. You’re willing to accept any form of payment, even though Madol is always preferred. After all, you need to make enough for you and Grim to be able to afford the expenses of campus life. This deal with Azul could easily solve some of the monetary issues you’re facing, especially since Grim’s bottomless stomach is the reason your budget is dwindling.

He sits there, hands clasped, and waits patiently for your reply. Awkward tension thickens in the air as the both of you stare at one another, challenging the other to speak up. Eventually, Azul decides to fill in the empty silence with his own smooth voice.

“In exactly two months, it’ll be the fourteenth of February. Or, coincidentally enough, Valentine’s Day. That is when this deal shall come to an end, regardless of where we may stand. You won’t owe anything. That’s something I can promise.”

“Not unless I violate the terms. Speaking of which, some of them are…strange.” You indicate a specific clause hidden amongst the paragraphs of swirling cursive. “Like this one. I’m not allowed to say ‘I love you’ once the contract has been signed. Why’s that?”

Azul follows your pointing finger and hums as he reviews the paragraph. “It would be troublesome if you fell for me. Using that pretty voice of yours to confess your true feelings—what a devious scandal! All of the students who lust after you would be utterly heartbroken and we can’t have that now, can we? It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity.”

“You really hold yourself high, don’t you? I’m not in love with you, so don’t flatter yourself.”

It’s difficult to make out most of the words in that clause because they’re all bunched up and connected with fancy loops and curls. Even though you consider yourself to be somewhat decent at interpreting cursive, the writing on this contract is almost foreign to your eyes. You’re not quite sure what happens if those three words are spoken, but it can’t be anything positive if it’s outlined so extensively.

“It’s all right if you refuse,” he adds. “Although it would be a shame if your private endeavors intersected with your school life. Good grades are not easy to come by if you slack, but I’m sure you’re aware of this.” His smile is sharp and wicked. You feel it’ll cut into you if you stare for too long. “Should you find yourself in the academic deep end, you’re more than welcome to come to me. I’ll always be here to assist you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It would be even more unfortunate if the fools who believe in your fake love learned of your nonexistent loyalty.” He tilts his head, amusement waltzing across his face like a ballerina on a glittering stage. “Photographic evidence is very reliable. I wonder how fast those bridges will burn once they realize you’re only with them for materialistic gain. Love is not easy to come by, but you seem to dish it out with ease. Isn’t that curious?”

“Now you’re just reaching. You don’t have any photos.”

“Perhaps you’re correct and this serves as an empty threat meant to coerce you into signing.” He pushes the pot of ink towards your reaching hand, fishbone pen within your grasp. “But that also means there’s still a chance they exist. It would be fry’s play to let something so fragile slip from my hands. I imagine every romantic who’s clung to you like seaweed won’t enjoy the sight. A scorned man is rather troublesome, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Some of them pay a lot! I need that money. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Who am I kidding? Of course he’d do that to me.

“It can be avoided, so long as you provide your signature. A small price to pay to prevent irreparable damage.”

Seconds tick between the two of you. Your gaze drifts from him to the contract.

It’s not so bad, the tiny voice in the back of your head pipes up, and you don’t have the heart to smother it. It speaks nothing but the truth. Two months can get you a lot. Expensive things, Grim’s premium tuna, yummy snacks, resources to cover rent and maintenance... And all you’d have to do is spend an hour or two with him.

“Okay. All right. Fine! Two months and that’s it.” You swipe the pen from his desk, dip its pointed tip in the ink, and scrawl your name on the line. “You’re lucky I’m desperate.”

“Desperation is a businessman’s closest ally.” He meets your fierce glower with a bright smile. The contract is snatched from your hands and rolled up, an important document that will no doubt find its home in the darkness of his vault. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to what’s to come.”

You wish you could say the same.

Two months. It’s an odd timeframe for something that shouldn’t have an exact timeframe at all, but this is purely contractual and you can’t expect this exchange with Azul to last forever. You suppose that if you accept your temporary fate and agree to the role you’re meant to play the days will pass quickly—fleeting moments that dissolve like sugar on your tongue. And it might even be enjoyable if you focus on the good things rather than the dangers lurking beneath the charming surface.

Azul calls you into his VIP room four days later. It’s quite the hassle walking to the Hall of Mirrors and excusing yourself from every conversation that springs upon you. You never realized just how many guys you’ve formed one-sided relationships with, and it’s a thought that lingers in your mind as you polish off what remains of a bag of gummy candies.

By the time you’ve arrived at the Mostro Lounge, seated before Azul and awaiting a command like a well-trained pet, you’re already reflecting on the contrition that comes with hasty decisions.

Let this be a lesson learned, you tell yourself. Think a little more before acting.

“So.” You admire the shell lamp on his desk, if only to occupy yourself. It curls into a smooth, cream-colored spiral. “What do you want? Office sex? A blowjob? Want me to hold your hand while you work through all that paperwork? I’m good at moral support, you know.”

He narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “The winter holiday is approaching. I’m assuming you have no plans.”

“None at all. You’ll probably go back to the Coral Sea, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not deal with the ice and frigid, sunless waters unless it’s absolutely necessary. Besides, I couldn’t leave you here while we’re in the midst of an arrangement. What sort of gentleman would I be?”

“How chivalrous.” You roll your eyes. “But it’s boring to stay on campus if everyone’s going home for the holidays.”

“Are you proposing we go somewhere?”

"It would be fun. I’ll bring Grim and we can go somewhere cozy. You can make that happen, right?”

“Of course I can,” he says flatly. “Must you bring that nuisance, though?”

“Grim’s my friend. You can bring Jade and Floyd if you want. I don’t care.”

His gaze shifts from you to the papers littering his desktop and you realize you’ve lost him.

“Or we could go. Just the two of us. Make it a private trip…” Every syllable is like acid in your mouth. “A resort would be nice.”

“Most resorts are booked for the holidays. It would be difficult to make a reservation now.”

“Then we’ll stay here.”

Somehow this feels more like a discussion between indecisive lovers instead of two acquaintances who are now contractual friends with benefits. Perhaps this entire act is nothing more than a circus and you’ll be destined to spend the next two months with a metaphorical clown nose and a gnawing sense of idiocy.

“If you’re truly invested in a resort trip, I could see what’s available. The timing is poor, but there’s always a way around these things.”

“It’s not a big deal. Staying here won’t be so bad either.” You fidget in your seat, not accustomed to casual talk with Azul. The both of you aren’t best friends, but you aren’t complete strangers either. You were there to witness his rise and fall firsthand and it’s something that brought the two of you slightly closer in the aftermath. But you wouldn’t say that you hang out with him as often as you do with your other friends. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

Azul glances up at you from his paperwork, pen poised in his delicate hand. “Not quite. We have yet to discuss boundaries.”

“I think I’d be okay with anything as long as it’s safe and we talk about it beforehand. What about you?”

“Anything related to my mer form is off the table.”

It sounds like he might add ‘for now’ to that sentence, but he shuts his mouth and continues to write.

“That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.” You flash him an encouraging smile. “If it makes you feel better, we can take this thing slowly. We have two whole months, after all.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a terrible idea...”

“We don’t have to rush into anything if you’re uncertain...or inexperienced.” Your compassionate grin quickly morphs into a playful smirk. “Making a fool out of yourself wouldn’t be a good look for you, would it? An inexperienced Azul must be a marvelous sight to behold.”

“I enlisted your services, not a clownfish who likes to run her mouth,” he says with a scoff. “And I’m plenty experienced, I’ll have you know.”

“With your hands and imagination, I’m sure.” He shoots you another look and you raise your arms in surrender, a laugh spilling from your lips. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be serious from now on.”

“You are so—” He shakes his head. “Honestly...”

The way in which he practically sighs the word sparks an odd sort of curiosity within you. You’ve never been privy to Azul behind closed doors—the Azul who tears his heavily guarded walls down when he has no need for masks. If you could pry him open like a clam and peer at the vulnerable pearl that lies within, you might come to understand him more than you did before. You hope that’s what you’ll glean from doing so because even though you’re bound to him via contract you want to get a better analysis of him.

“We have to start somewhere,” you say, admiring the way his hand moves effortlessly across paper. You’d like to charm him into comfort because, despite the nature of this agreement, you wish to be comfortable, too.

He risks a sideways glance at you, trapped between paperwork and persuasion. His fingers tighten around his pen ever so slightly and you don’t miss his searching eyes as they come to rest on your lips. You shed all of your apprehensions at once because this is business and you can’t let fear cloud your sensibility as you move forward in your performance, seeking his approval and satisfaction. A deal is a deal, after all, and your signature is a testament to that.

No turning back now.

“Do your kisses taste like salt, or will they be sweet like sugar?” It’s a silly question—an icebreaker, if anything—but it has him quirking a halfhearted smile. Part of you hopes he’ll divulge more details on the nature of his kisses, even if the act of kissing is something you’re well-versed in and have done enough times for it to be routine.

“You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

You rise from your seat. Each deliberate step brings you closer to Azul until, eventually, you’re standing before him like a sinner on trial. He gazes up at you and there is a hint of subdued anticipation in his expression. When his hand finds the small of your back, your fingers ghost over it and guide it to your waist. Azul squeezes your hip, almost experimentally, before he yanks you onto his lap.

You lean in until your nose is touching his, legs straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck.

“This is okay, right?”

“Of course,” he murmurs, nearly dazed as his fingers trace your hip, mapping the curvature like a painter’s expert brushstroke. “It’s more than okay.”

“Captivated so soon? I guess my charm really is irresistible.”

You wink at him and he responds by tilting his head to seal the distance between the two of you. His kisses do not taste of the briny, tumultuous ocean. Rather, they taste of tea and you envision an overgrown field of wildflowers as you savor the floral notes on his lips. His other hand comes to rest upon your back as he holds you against him, unwilling to let your bodies part, and your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers running through silvery locks with exploratory intent. Azul sighs into your mouth, melting like a glacier.

“Well?” His lips are centimeters from yours. You curl a strand of his hair around your finger, enchanted by its softness. “What’s your deduction?”

“Tea. And not the cheap kind.”

His trademark smirk tugs at his lips. “You taste of…candy.” As a cheeky afterthought, he adds, “The cheap kind.”

“You’re right on the money, but maybe the benevolent Azul Ashengrotto is okay with cheap.” You pluck his glasses from his face and gingerly place them on the desk behind you. “For today, at least.”

His sarcastic retort is swallowed in another smoldering kiss, and as your panting breaths are stolen by greedy lips that pursue your own whenever you pull away for a momentary respite, you can’t help musing how good he is. In the back of your mind, you ponder whether he’s had practice or if this is all some primal instinct that’s been embedded since birth. It’s hard to imagine Azul locking lips with his pillow as if it’s a real, tangible person, and it’s a humorous thought that spurs you onwards in your endeavors. You tug on his hair, intending to dig as deep as you can in search of every touch Azul finds pleasurable. You seem to have found the correct spot, for he grips you more forcefully, groaning against your teeth.

By the time you’ve mussed his hair and shared more than a few sloppy kisses, you separate yourself from him. His arms shoot out to hold you in place and his glazed eyes hold a strange glint of fear—as if he’s just come down from a glorious high and has fallen prey to encroaching paranoia.

“Someone likes kissing,” you tease, evading his hand as he reaches for your uniform shirt with the intent to tug you against him for the passion he so desperately yearns for.

He hums his agreement and allows his palm to find the side of your face instead, cradling it as if it’s fragile porcelain. His thumb traces your jaw in smooth circles and you lean into the warmth, unaccustomed to such a careful touch. The fabric of his glove is a welcome embrace.

“You’re soft.” The mumbling is wrapped in honeyed cumulus. “So soft…”

You’d be softer if he disposed of the gloves.

The tenderness with which he regards you spills into your cracked heart, and for a moment you’re certain this is the real Azul. Or, at the very least, a fraction of his true personality—one that has lost its barbs and deception and is deliciously honest. But it could just be wishful thinking, a mere delusion resulting from some sort of phantom decompression sickness.

Your hand travels down the expanse of his chest, feeling fine fabric rustle beneath your palm, and you stop just above the strain in his pants. Azul is broken from his lustful stupor, having returned to this plane of reality by gentle, wandering hands.

“Is this okay? Or is it too sudden?” You feel obligated to ask because it eases your nerves. You’re not sure why you’re on edge, but your conscious suspects it’s because the private sight before you should be off-limits. In this moment Azul is a portrait framed in dappled light and you are simply observing him from afar, unable to touch him without direct approval, lest you find your wrist snatched by a protective curator. “We can stop here if you don’t want—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

That’s all the confirmation you need.

So you slide off of him with the grace of a cat, catching his gaze as if it’s a luminous firefly you intend to bottle. Where there was once fright, there is now a desire spiraling in his stormy blues. It’s a look you’ve seen on many students when you admired them during your salacious exchanges, but none wear it quite like Azul. Even when his face matches the shade of cherries—even when his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his hair is tousled and clothes wrinkled—he still resembles seraphic perfection, and it’s so alluring that you practically dive into his ocean eyes, sinking deeper towards a yawning maw that houses a lurking monster.

As you lower to your knees, expert fingers working to unzip his trousers, you realize you want to meet that beast, if only to stare him in the face and ask why he chooses to cloak himself in shadows despite his radiance.

Once you’ve freed his length from the confines of his boxers, you admire its generous size and girth, smiling at the slight upwards curvature. Gazing at Azul, who’s watching with so much intensity you’d think he’s trying to ascertain whether this moment is real or fake, you press your lips against the head of his cock. It’s a delicate gesture that has him turning away from you, a hand flying up to muffle his voice.

“You can look,” you tell him, hoping it sounds like a suggestion. “There’s no need to shy away.”

You drag your tongue along it, which earns you a shudder, and lick the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip. For a second you pull back and, without ceremony, spit into your hand. That has Azul’s head snapping in your direction, a mixture of confusion and disgust crossing his countenance.

“What?” You blink at him.

“Why—” He pauses to clear his throat, rebuilding his default persona with practiced finesse. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t think you have any lube around, so saliva will have to suffice. Even though it’s not as effective...”

“You humans are so peculiar with your use of fluids,” he mutters, but there’s a spot of intrigue in his tone.

“We’re insane,” you exaggerate with a chuckle.

You’re leaning in again, wrapping your slick fingers around the base of his cock. You aren’t surprised to learn how well-groomed he is, and for half a beat envy strikes you. His life seems so whole—so put together and flawless, even down to the dick you put your lips on. You almost wish it were like that for you; you wish things weren’t a fractured puzzle with missing pieces. It’s a desire you can’t force, unfortunately, because Crowley has yet to discover a way to send you back to your world. For now you can only hold onto hope as you distract yourself with the friends you’ve made so far.

You wonder how long you’ll have to spend in Twisted Wonderland before you start to accept it. Maybe you’ll reject the notion of returning home when it’s finally presented to you in the future. If it’s ever presented.

A strangled gasp slips from Azul and it frees you from your melancholy. With dainty strokes, you take your time fitting him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway, and bob your head back and forth. The rhythm is easy to settle into, and it has Azul sucking in sharp breaths as his hands clutch helplessly at the armrests of his chair. Your other hand crawls up his leg until it reaches his thigh, and you pat it in an effort to coax him into shameless enjoyment. Just relax, you want to tell him. His hand grasps yours, fingers interlacing.

This is new, you think, looking at him through your lashes.

In all the blowjobs you’ve given whilst at this school, you’ve never once held hands during it. But if that’s what Azul wants, you’ll accept it without criticism. Bare skin meets the fabric of his glove and it reminds you that there’s still a barrier between the two of you. There are many, actually, and you’ve only crossed the first threshold.

Your hand squeezes his length in a tighter hold and that prompts a low moan from the depths of his throat. It’s a beautiful sound, and you hope to hear more of him as he unravels before you—a perfect ball of yarn fraying at temptation’s doorstep.

“For today…” His words are coated in lust and pronounced in a hiss. “For today—ah, no—for two months, you’re mine and no one else’s.”

You hum your compliance and the vibration causes him to tighten his grip on your hand just as another moan tumbles from his kissable lips. Had he not been wearing pristine gloves, his fingernails would have surely dug into your skin, but you wouldn’t have minded the rough treatment. You’ve encountered all sorts of temperaments at this school, some more hostile than others. You can handle a little bruising.

Your lips come off of him with a wet pop, and you lick a stripe up the underside of his dick before placing another gentle kiss to the tip. You open your eyes to gauge his reaction. Deep crimson has settled onto his cheeks and is climbing to his ears, and even when he seems trapped in his own haze he’s ethereal under the blue hues of his VIP room. You hold his stare as you close your mouth around him once more and resume the slow, sensual pace you’ve adopted since you started. His other hand cards through your scalp and for a moment you think he might force you to take all of him at once, so you prepare yourself for the mouthful. But then he brushes a few stray strands from your face, delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and you don’t feel the stretch as his cock is shoved to the back of your throat. Instead, he allows you to take as much of him as you’d like, opting to utilize a fistful of your hair to prevent you from detaching yourself. And if you really focus on his treatment, it’s almost as if he’s petting you. Carefully. Mindfully. Sweetly.

Oh.

You’d thank him if you could, but that’s not possible when your mouth is full. And so you opt to show your gratitude in another way—a way that’s wringing him of every delicious sound you’ve ever heard him make. It’s almost criminal you’ve yet to hear such saccharine love cries spill from his lips, as plentiful as a rushing waterfall, and it’s all due to the pretty contract you signed. You put more effort into the speed at which you savor him, letting a few moans slip through for the fun of it, and Azul hisses out a colorful word that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You feel almost lucky to experience this secret side of him.

“It’s a shame this mouth has tasted so many others…” he grumbles and you choose to ignore the complaint, only opening your ears to his breathless gasps and groans.

Azul squeezes your hand with so much force it feels as if he’s trying to tear it from your wrist. He’s caught between moaning and babbling nonsense, incoherent praises pouring from his silver tongue like raindrops on a dreary day, and all it takes are a few expert strokes and your talented, hollowed mouth and he’s crying out in ecstasy as he shoots his creamy load down your throat. You pull off of him, cum dribbling past your lips, and your tongue slips out to collect it before it can stain the floor.

“Wait, hold on! You don’t have to—” He stops mid-sentence as he watches you swallow it all in one gulp, unbothered by the consistency and taste. “Swallow… Ah, my apologies. H-Here.” He fishes through his pocket and produces a silken handkerchief from within.

You take it from him, marveling at its softness, and dab at your slick lips. “Thanks.”

“Consider it remuneration for…that.” He clears his throat and retrieves his glasses before working to clean himself with another handkerchief. “An even exchange, if you will.”

You exhale through your nose, amused. “It was like salty pudding. Kind of, but not really. I’ll know for sure next time we do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” He’s fit himself back into his boxers, trousers zipped and adjusted appropriately. He’d look presentable if it weren’t for his tousled hair and rumpled uniform, evidence of the past few minutes, but even then he’s still a pleasant sight for your eyes.

“Your semen.”

He absorbs your words and then flusters. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t compare it to pudding.”

“I think it’s fine. Your kisses are sweet and flowery and your cum is salty like the ocean. It’s a good balance between—”

He coughs, rather loudly, and you replace your words with jovial laughter. Rising to your feet, you hold his handkerchief out to him, suppressing a playful smile. He takes it from you and folds it into a neat square before placing it on his desk.

“Well, I hope today was satisfactory. You have my Magicam handle, right? Just message me on there whenever you want to do this again.”

“You’re leaving?”

You stare at him. “There’s no reason to stay. Plus, I have to make sure Grim did Professor Crewel’s homework.”

“At the very least, allow me to prepare some tea for you. I’m certain the taste in your mouth can’t be very appealing.”

“I find it’s quite the delicacy, actually,” you tease. “But what’s the catch?”

Now it’s his turn to ogle, brow furrowed as if he doesn’t quite understand the implications of your question.

“The catch. Nothing’s free here.”

“Oh. Right. Well.” He stands from his seat, smooths the wrinkles in his outfit, and adds, “Do you wish to have tea at this moment?”

“Sure, if you’re offering I don’t mind—wait. Wait!”

“And there we have it. Your first wish and it’s so simple. I hardly have to exert any energy.” He flashes his pearly whites at you in a smirk that’s more teeth than lip. “You’re too kind to me, (Name).”

You stick your tongue out at him while he grabs his coat from where it hangs limp on the leather sofa and drapes it over his shoulders. He pats his hair down in an effort to look somewhat together before placing the fedora on his head and putting his glasses on. You move to follow him through the door, but he stops you.

“There are patrons out there. Recall that we aren’t meant to be seen together, lest someone put two and two together.”

“Ah, right.” You fall back on your heel as you remember the stipulation outlined in the contract. “I’ll wait here.”

He doesn’t spare you another word and slips through the now open doorway. Left to your own devices, you could snoop through the many tomes lining the shelves, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. So you flop onto the sofa and listen to the faint chatter that drifts in from outside. Part of you wonders if anyone managed to eavesdrop, but knowing how noisy the Mostro Lounge can get it wouldn’t be surprising if your activities went unheard. At the very least, you’re certain the Leech twins might know of what occurred if they happened to linger near the door. You’d invite them in for the same treatment if they were willing to pay, but according to the contract you aren’t permitted to service anyone outside of Azul.

It’s a shame, but luckily Azul can provide you with anything and everything; so two months of time with him is more profitable than what you’d make in a week servicing the other students. It’s not exactly a loss, and as long as he doesn’t try to cheat you this arrangement will start and end smoothly.

You raise your hand towards the ceiling and flex your fingers, recalling the way his hand fit in yours so effortlessly. There’s a lot you don’t know about Azul. You don’t know what he does in his spare time. You don’t know the things he finds interesting. You don’t know why he chose to hold your hand or treat you with such caution. You’re only familiar with the businessman: the clever, scheming octopus who masquerades as a human with enough faux confidence and bravado to kill a man. And beneath that there is self-doubt—a constant, deteriorating fear that if he does not possess everything he is nothing. He’s an enigma decorated in ornate locks, and you’d like to discover every key until the chains have rusted away and you’ve worked out his complexities.

The door opens on smooth hinges and you sit up, your arm lowering to your side. In walks Azul, holding a saucer with a porcelain teacup. The fragrant scent of herbal tea fills the room and he sets it on the coffee table with an elegance that could rival Pomefiore’s. He lowers into the cushion across from you and nods towards the beverage. Steam rises from the liquid in wispy curls, aromatic tendrils that entice you to drink despite its scalding temperature.

“I sincerely hope you find it enjoyable.”

“I better because it was my wish,” you mutter, lifting the dainty cup from its accompanying saucer. You blow on it in an effort to accelerate the cooling process before glancing at Azul. “I won’t be fooled a second time, Ashengrotto. From now on I’ll choose my words wisely.”

He leans back and smirks. “A wisefish will fare better in the sea than a clownfish. You’re learning.”

Was that…a pun?

“Well, this ‘clownfish’ had you gasping like a beached mer.” Now it’s your turn to bask in amusement as you sip at the hot tea, careful not to burn your tongue. “I’d say I did a pretty good job, too.”

He rolls his eyes, but colors reminiscent of a ripened pomegranate are already climbing up his face. “It was an acceptable way to unwind. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

The flavorful tea rolls down your throat smoothly. “You liked it. I’m good at what I do. No need to skirt around the truth.”

“Sure. Fine. It was…okay. You’re…okay. Mere stress relief, if anything…”

With the way his voice trickles into a murmur of reservation, you get the impression that he’s not exactly confident in admitting the obvious. You surmise you might be the same if this was your first time getting intimate with a classmate. It’s almost invigorating to feast your eyes on his reactions. If only some of your other clients were as entertaining as Azul.

As you work to finish the tea, a single thought lingers in the back of your mind. Yeah, that was definitely a pun. A fish pun.

Your meeting with Azul is purely chance—a ‘luck of the draw’ one might say—and it’s no longer awkward to be caught up in him whenever the two of you are alone together. The past two weeks have been filled with exhausting study sessions, coercing Grim into putting paw to paper, and balancing Azul’s requests in the privacy of his VIP room. The latter feels more like work than the other two, but at the very least you’re rewarded after every exchange.

Azul really can work miracles you’ve concluded. Not that you doubted his capable nature to begin with, but something about him always seemed too good to be true—too perfectly manufactured. A lie inlaid in fool’s gold, and he was simply tipping poison disguised as a panacea into everyone’s gullible ears. Perhaps you’re just as bad as the rest because you’ve signed his contract; you’re trapped for two months, forced to walk the daunting line of staying within the terms.

But it’s an agreement that has pulled you out of your looming financial crisis and has provided you and Grim with delicious foods. And all it costs is an hour spent with Azul, catering to his whims like a doll who only knows how to obey the strings that set her elegant body in motion. You couldn’t have asked for a better deal. Of course you know to keep your wits about you when you willingly enter the too-good-to-be-true lair of a beast and you’re careful to accept the tea he prepares after your acts, ready to hear the steep price for his so-called generosity. So far he has yet to trap you in some elaborate con and you’ve done well to satisfy him with each encounter, but you remain wary of him and his plans. He’s always scheming, and there’s no telling if he intends to help or hurt you with his well-kept secrets.

And if you know anything about Azul and his knack for self-preservation, you’re certain it’s the latter.

You’ve yet to cross into any other territories regarding sex. Azul seems to be content with kissing and stuffing your mouth full of cock and those aren’t tall orders. You manage them well. But you can’t help wondering if it’s truly satisfying for him. He can have anything he wants from you, in any position and in any location, and yet he chooses to move at a snail’s pace. You aren’t faulting him for it, but falling into the same routine isn’t nearly as exciting as the dread of not knowing what comes next.

Maybe it’s safer this way. At least you know what to expect when you stride into the lounge.

“So the clownfish can study.”

“I can do tricks as well.” You gaze up at him from the thick textbook resting on your lap. Suddenly, the once peaceful air in the library’s dimly lit alcove feels colder than it actually is. With your back pressed against the chilled, snow-stamped windowpane, you view Azul from your makeshift fort of cushions as if he’s a prince standing just outside of your glass palace. He’s leaning against the bookcase in front of you, arms folding casually over his chest, and he makes no move to cross into your space. “What trick shall I perform for you today, Mr. Ashengrotto?”

“I’m not in need of your services at the moment.” Faux surprise paints itself on your face and he tuts softly. “Our paths just happened to cross, that’s all. I’m here for matters unrelated to you.”

“That’s a shame. I was here for you.” You turn the book towards him so that he can observe its cover. A panorama of the ocean has been printed on both the front and the back, and a beautiful coral reef resides in the bottom corners while a school of fish swim clustered in the deep blue. “I’m doing research on merfolk.”

“And why is that?”

“They’re interesting.”

“‘Interesting,’ you say.” He narrows his eyes at you, not quite believing or trusting the innocence in your claim.

“I’m serious! I want to learn about your species. Is that so wrong?”

“You could just consult me instead of an outdated, dust-filled textbook.” He gazes past you at the falling snow outside, each tiny flake fluttering through the gloomy sky like coconut shavings. “Although a lesson will cost you.”

“And here I thought we’d reached a point in our relationship where certain favors are free of charge...” Your gaze finds a particular passage on the page and you skim it with brewing curiosity. “Since you aren’t here for my mouth, I can only assume you’re looking for something. In that case, I won’t distract you.”

“Very well.” He peels himself off of the shelf, arms falling to his sides. “I wish you a most pleasant afternoon.”

The conversation should have ended there—you were fully prepared to bid him farewell and continue with your reading—but your hand just had to seize his wrist before the words could escape your lips. And now you’re left with a bizarre predicament, one that has Azul staring down the length of his arm at your fingers secured tightly around his wrist. There’s nothing you can say to rationalize this sudden contact. Truthfully, you have no idea why you grabbed him and you don’t really want to know the reason, wherever it may hide within the folds of your brain.

“Can I help you?” he finally asks, brows raised.

“It was…a reflex,” you admit with a sheepish laugh, but you don’t pull away. Instead you make it worse by tugging him towards you. “A clownfish reflex. No, that’s not it. A-Actually, I was practicing my grip. Y-Yeah! My grip for when I—um—hug my friends tomorrow. In the Mirror Hall! When we say goodbye! Yes, my grip.”

“Oh?” Azul flashes a cocky grin at you, head tilting as he studies your grimace. “Did you know that an octopus’s tentacles function on their own? It seems your hand isn’t connected to your brain.”

It sounds like a cruel dig. It feels like a cruel dig when it embeds itself in your heart, but it’s just the sobering wake-up call you need.

“I guess it’s not,” you mumble, fighting through the confusion in an effort to keep him entertained. Or maybe you really do want him to stay and acting like the clownfish he says you are is your clever way of distracting him from his main priority. You choose to remain perplexed instead of dwelling on that possibility. “Sorry. I’ll let go of you now.”

Once you release him, you’re overcome with a wave of relief. It’s odd that you’d reach out for him when it’s Azul who usually does that, sending terse, to-the-point messages whenever he requires your service. Azul gazes at the empty spot beside you and seats himself before you can come up with another outlandish explanation for your behavior. With this new proximity, his shoulder pressed against yours, you can smell the expensive cologne he takes great pride in wearing—can hear the rustling fabric of his uniform as he scoots closer to peer at the open textbook—and you’re swept up in the murkiest current, tugged along the rolling surf like a tiny boat with shredded sails.

You meet his stare with bemusement. “I thought you were busy.”

“If tolerating a clownfish counts as ‘busy,’ then I am, in fact, drowning in work.”

“You can’t stay away from me.”

“I’d say it’s the opposite.” His gloved fingers wrap around the book and you let him commandeer it. While he scrutinizes the paragraphs of text, you catch yourself admiring his handsome side profile. Once again, it’s almost impossible to fathom sitting beside someone like Azul, whose own fineness ought to be preserved in a museum and not in a slice of this ancient school, where dust is more prevalent than polish. “You do realize I’m an octo-mer, yes? Not a full octopus.”

“I know that,” you retort, yet his disapproving expression stabs you with a terrible shard of shame. “I was just looking at octopus facts to see whether or not any of it correlates to your behavior as a merman.”

“Should I ask why?”

“My intentions are as pure as the snow outside.” His scoff prompts a chuckle from you. “It says the octopus is an intelligent escape artist. Aah, I wish I could fit inside whatever I wanted without having to worry about getting stuck. Not literally, though. That’s not a wish. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Speaking of, you’ve yet to name your wish from our last meeting.”

“You’re right.” You hum low in your throat, ideas populating in your brain at once. Eventually, after much internal deliberation, you decide to ease into it with a simple inquiry. “What’s your opinion on lingerie?”

“Lawnger ray… I don’t believe I’ve heard of that species of ray before.” He blinks at you, glasses sitting tilted on his face.

“Lingerie isn’t a fish.” Gently, your skilled fingers adjust his glasses, a warm smile blossoming on your lips when he wrinkles his nose at you. “Humans wear it. Think of it like…pretty underwear.” Withdrawing your phone from your pocket, you tap at the screen until it’s filled with images for Azul’s viewing pleasure.

He stares at your mobile as if he’s trying to see beyond the nonexistent cataracts in his pastel hues. “Humans are fond of this? I don’t see what’s so practical about wearing scraps of fabric.”

“It’s for fun or to feel sexy. Lots of couples wear it during foreplay. Some wear it during sex. I guess it depends on preference.”

“Foreplay?”

“It’s like easing into sex, but you’re exploring each other and building up to it through things like kissing, role-playing, and touching. If we were to do it, I’d give every inch of you my attention. From your lips to your chest to down there. It’s supposed to heighten arousal by exciting both parties.”

“And this ‘lawnger ray’ somehow helps?”

“If I wear it for you, you’ll understand.” As you say that his eyes drift from the screen to you, raking over your chest and then back up to your face. “But I also found slippers that look like fish, so I’m really stuck on what to wish for right now. Do I put my needs before yours? Are fish slippers better than sex?”

Azul deadpans and the electric tension in the air dissipates like smoke crawling through an open window. “Fish slippers do not sound like a worthwhile investment.”

“Oh, but they are!”

“To think you’d proudly wish for something so foolish... And in my presence, no less.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Have you no shame?”

“But they’re cute. You wouldn’t get it.” Pocketing your phone, you level him with half-lidded eyes. “Or maybe you prefer the ‘lawnger ray.’”

A scowl darkens his features when he hears your mockery of his mispronunciation. “Perhaps you’re less of a clownfish than I initially thought.”

“Then what does that make me now?”

“A megamouth.”

“A what?”

“It’s a species of shark. You wouldn’t get it.”

Now you’re reaching for his hand of your own volition like a marionette with severed strings. “Maybe you’d be willing to enlighten me, a poor, unfortunate soul who lacks marine knowledge?”

He shrinks away for a fraction of a second, but then he reassembles his confidence so quickly that you hardly notice it was deteriorating to begin with. His palm meets yours, fingers not yet interlacing. He stares at you and the rest of the library falls away into ash and dust and the scent of weathered, crinkled pages, and it really feels like you’ve found yourself at the end of the world in this cramped alcove with Azul as your only companion.

With your heart thrumming on newfound adrenaline, you murmur in a tone that you hope is filled with enough allure to tempt the most sinister devils: “Let’s make a deal. You’ll teach me about yourself and I’ll treat you as I have these past few weeks. If you’re feeling generous, you’re more than welcome to throw in those fish slippers as a bonus. I won’t complain.”

“You’re something else entirely. If you want it, work for it,” he says, but he’s listening, considering the bait you’ve dangled before him.

“That’s the plan. So do we have a deal?”

“Allow me to amend the terms. One lesson. No fish slippers. You’ll come see me after the Mostro Lounge has closed tonight.”

“You can do better than that, Ashengrotto. Where’s the challenge you love so much? The high stakes?” You’re well aware that speaking his language isn’t enough to entice him into agreeing. If you really want to wriggle inside Azul’s hearts like a worm in an apple core, you’ll need to sell your charm and negotiation skills as if it’ll put food on the table. And it technically does, as ironic as that sounds. “Let’s make this interesting. If I cum before you, I’ll gracefully accept this lesson as my wish. I’ll even let you choose lingerie for my previous wish. But if you cum first, I’ll be awaiting a pair of fish slippers. Does that sound acceptable?”

“All right. I’ll bite.” He winks at you, and your heart does a tiny somersault inside your chest. Smirking, he finally intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s a deal.”

Not wanting to dwell any further on that internal response, you jump up from the cushion, hand parting from his, and brace yourself against the bookcase. Glancing over your shoulder at Azul, you wiggle your hips playfully. “You said it yourself. I’d be better off taking a lesson from you instead of that old textbook, so there’s no need to use it anymore.”

Azul seems to be debating the risks that come with this wager, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, and for a moment you think he might back out, cowed into a premature defeat at the thought of some nosy student stumbling upon the explicit display. But, to your delight, he shuts the book and sets it aside, rising to his feet in one fluid motion.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Since you think I’m such a megamouth, I’ll use something else instead.” You lift your pleated skirt to reveal the pudgy flesh of your thighs. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”

“Naturally.” His hands find your waist, gloved fingertips ghosting over your bare skin. “I do hope you’ve prepared yourself for defeat.”

“Like I’ll let that happen.”

Reaching into the depths of your uniform blazer, you withdraw a small jar that fits in the palm of your hand, unassuming with its clear, gel-like appearance. Azul watches as you make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down almost impatiently, before yanking the cork out of the bottle with your teeth. After spilling a generous amount into your hand, you work his flaccid cock in a loose fist. There’s something uniquely appealing about doing this in a corner of the library, where you’re pressured into silence to avoid getting caught. You wonder who’d chew you out if they discovered the both of you. Just what sort of punishment comes from fucking in the library? As intriguing of a mystery as that is, you’d prefer to keep your record clean (for the most part), lest it come back to burden you in the future.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to stiffen with your gentle ministrations, each stroke slow and deliberate. Azul hisses out a breath when you pull away, and you hardly have time to react before he’s shoving you against the bookcase, slipping his slick length between the softness of your thighs. His arms wrap around you and he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck as he moves his hips, searching for the right pace. You chew your lip and stifle a dreamy sigh at the lewd delight the friction provides.

“Let’s start with the anatomy of an octo-mer,” he murmurs against your skin, and despite how textbook it sounds you shudder involuntarily. Had it been anyone else, you’re certain that pairing this topic with your current situation would have squeezed a laugh out of you. But since it’s Azul, you listen intently, even if it feels like the beginning of a lecture. “We’re eight-limbed invertebrates with three hearts. Our blood is blue, which you humans seem to find abnormal, even though it’s not that different from your own blood. It’s only blue because of haemocyanin, which contains copper instead of the iron you humans have in your blood. If you think of it like—”

“That’s great, but tell me about you.” You crane your neck and offer him a grin. “The elusive Azul Ashengrotto... I wonder what sort of habitat he dwells in. I wonder what his favorite foods are, if he hunts for prey with his silver tongue or his bare hands, and if there’s more beneath the clever conman than he lets on. Maybe he’ll say yes to the fish slippers if I kiss him drunk. Oh, I’ll have to take notes. The Ashengrotto species is not immune to kisses and blow—ow!”

A sharp pinch to your side. And then his low warning: “You’re really pushing it, Miss Megamouth.”

Laughter trickles out of you. “My bad. I’m just curious.”

“Why?” The one-word query sounds so brittle and sad, almost as if he can’t fathom why you’d ever want to know such information, and your playful nature softens.

“Because we’re so obviously more than strangers and yet I hardly know anything about you.”

“Right... In that case...” His fingers grip your chin, a touch so benign you’d think he’s handling glassware, and he guides your head so that you’re no longer looking at him. “I...like to collect things.”

“Like?”

Something wet touches your neck, as fleeting as a sun shower. You can’t tell if it’s his lips or a tongue, but it traces its way down your skin until it’s dampened your uniform collar. Your heart recognizes the liquid well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to confront him on the matter.

“Coins, mainly. Contracts. Magic…” His intonation falters and he clears his throat. “Interesting things.”

Your fingers wrap around the shelf to steady yourself, and you inhale sharply when he makes a sudden, quick thrust that has his dick rubbing against your clothed pussy.

“I—hah—hope our contract...made it into your collection.”

“Of course. I take pride in every arrangement, no matter how personal it may be.” He squeezes your hip playfully and the melancholy gradually evaporates. “Ours is by far my favorite.”

“Even though I can’t give you any magic?”

“You’ve given your time to me. That’s incredibly valuable. Priceless, I’d say.”

“And yet it’s the price I pay in exchange for your ‘bottomless generosity.’”

“Oh, hush.”

Now you feel his lips on your neck, a sensation so wonderful and warm that you can’t help tilting your head to offer him more of your bare skin. You hum your approval, eyes fluttering shut as you resign yourself to the moment. The only sounds that permeate the crisp silence are the delicious squelches of skin on skin, Azul’s lustful whimpers, and your soft pants. He holds you against him as he fucks into your thighs and presses delicate kisses into your heated skin.

For the first time since you arrived at this school, you feel so secure and wanted—genuinely wanted and not just for secret exchanges behind alluring architecture. It’s reassuring to be held and kissed and touched, a special sort of comfort you’ve found in Azul. You wonder if this is just another sugary dream you’ve trapped yourself in and Azul is merely a performer in the play orchestrated by your mind. When his hand moves to unbutton your blouse, skillful fingers tugging your tie down, you realize this isn’t just an alternate reality constructed from the secret desires locked away in the confines of your heart. And knowing this is so very conflicting because you’ve never done anything like this with previous clients. Nothing has ever been as emotion-driven as this currently feels.

But you’re as good an actor as Azul. Perhaps the both of you realize a certain level of showmanship is required for this unique friendship.

Friendship. Since when did the two of you become friends? Was it that day in the lounge when he’d first proposed this arrangement? Or was it the minute you met him after he’d trapped so many unfortunate souls in his tricky contracts, and you, Jack, and Grim had debated whether you should sign Ramshackle away under the dimming glow of the VIP room? Or maybe it was the day you sat at his bedside in the infirmary, offering your ear while he agonized over his ruined reputation and the fact that everyone—that you—had seen his true self: a clumsy, crybaby octopus who can’t exist without gilded lies and stolen skills.

In the midst of his self-loathing, you’d placed your hand over his trembling, bandaged one and said, “Ruined reputation or not, you’re still you. And the people who really, truly care for you won’t abandon you because of everything that happened. If they’re really your friends, they’ll forgive you. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re just relieved you’re alive.” He stared at you, confined in his own silent awe, and with his defenses momentarily compromised you delivered a quick smack to his arm, to which he immediately flinched away from. “But that also doesn’t mean you can pull a stunt like this again. If you do, I’ll turn you into takoyaki and feed you to the twins!”

Azul's wry laughter had him grimacing seconds later. Despite the pain that flashed on his face, he managed his classic smirk. “I’d like to see you try.”

“There he is! Welcome back, Azul,” you said, grinning through the discomfort of your own wince-worthy bruises. If he noticed the way your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach, he didn’t verbalize it, instead choosing to peer at you with his lips pursed in a thin line. Thinking, as always, of what to say next.

“I never want to let you go.”

Your heart trips over itself and every musing promptly disintegrates. “S-Sorry?”

“Ah. It’s…nothing,” he whispers, smiling against your skin.

A shudder racks through you when he tugs your bra down to free your breasts. The cold air immediately hardens your nipples and you shiver against him. His gloved hands fit perfectly over those tender mounds and he handles them with his usual gentleness. Even though he’s murmuring about his affinity for the piano and how he’d like to play you a piece he composed, all you can focus on is the euphoric feeling of his dick sliding between your thighs, back and forth in a drag that sends electricity up your spine.

You whine pitifully, a snuffed sort of sound that only entices Azul more. With a breathy chuckle, he rolls your puffy nipples between his fingers, and more lovely moans cascade from your lips. There’s no point in hiding your obvious enjoyment from him—not that you had any intentions of being opaque with him in the first place. You want to unravel with him, fending off orgasmic highs for the sake of preserving your pride and winning a bet. And as you push back against him, clamping your thighs around his length, which has him hissing lowly, competition catches a spark and ignites.

“You can cum whenever you’d like,” he reminds you, and you bark out a chuckle that’s more gasp than laugh.

“Only if you cum first.” You wriggle your hips against his pelvis and sigh dramatically. “It’s not nice to make a lady wait.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Derisive as ever, it hardly carries an ounce of sincerity. One hand detaches itself from your breast and you observe him in your peripheral as he pulls his glove off with his teeth. It’s tucked between your breasts next, and you roll your eyes at him, a humorous grin settling on your face when his fingers dip between the cleavage, a fleeting, teasing touch. His ungloved hand travels further down, ghosting over your stomach, before finding the delightful space between your legs. “I won’t keep you any longer, Miss Megamouth.”

His hand slips into your panties and the pads of his fingers brush along your clit. You jolt against him, posture going rigidly stiff.

“Hey, no fair…” Your whine is loud in the desolate quiet of the library.

“If I recall—” accompanied with another determined thrust— “you never specified what can and cannot be done in order to achieve victory. That was your first mistake.”

You attempt a weak scoff, but his finger grinds against that sensitive nub, rolling in precise circles, and your legs tremble. “I just... J-Just made it easy for you. That’s all.”

“Oh, is that so? Your mindless generosity rivals that of the S-Sea Witch.”

“Ooh, was that a voice crack? Are you close?”

“N-Nonsense.”

“There’s no shame in cumming first. So—haah—be a good boy and cum for me, okay?”

The sweetness in your voice is enough to elicit the tiniest whimper, and so you clench your thighs tightly around him again, certain that this is enough to guarantee your well-earned win. Azul pulls you against him in a way that mirrors possessive greed. But just before you can tease him any further, you look up and find someone peering right back at you through an empty space between the many texts that line the shelf.

“My, my.” Jade tilts his head at you, a wide smile sharpening on his lips when he observes the situation laid out before him. “Pardon my intrusion. I do hope I’m not interrupting your extracurricular.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Azul rests his chin on your shoulder and replies in a voice that’s now surprisingly composed, “You’re right on time, actually. We’re just about finished here.”

“But I haven’t even—oh!” Your fingers curl around the ledge when Azul tugs on your perky nipple and squeezes your clit with his other hand, and before you can stop yourself you’re biting into your arm to muffle your keening cry as your orgasm washes over you unexpectedly, soaking your panties and leaving you shuddering in the aftermath.

“Your second mistake,” he whispers against your skin, pride encasing every syllable, “was thinking you could beat me at my own game.”

He slides his slick cock out from between your thighs and removes his hands from you, instead guiding you around to face him before forcing you to your knees. Through hazy, lust-filled eyes, you meet his victorious stare. Pulling the other glove from his dominant hand, he grips your chin, forcing your lips apart, and he pumps himself a few more times before releasing his sticky load all over your face. By pure instinct, your tongue darts out across your lips to gather the cum that’s smeared on it like pearly gloss. You don’t miss the quiver that wracks Azul’s rigid frame. He clears his throat and assumes his usual poise, though the reaction is not lost on you.

“To conclude our lesson with a final fun fact.” He retrieves the handkerchief Jade offers through the gap in the bookshelf. “Should an octopus become bored or stressed, it may resort to autophagy as a means of stimulation.”

“Is that right?” You peer up at him through your lashes, intrigue crawling across your face.

“Luckily, I have no need to feast on my limbs. You’re plenty stimulating.” After cleaning himself up and sliding his gloves back on, he passes the frilly cloth to you, gazing sidelong at Jade. “Let us be on our way. Time is of the essence.”

Jade bows his head in agreement before turning to address you, a hand over his heart. “I would suggest you stay warm on this dreadfully cold day, but it seems you’ve already found an adequate heat source.”

And then they depart, leaving you and your flustered heart on the floor.

“Damn it! I nearly had him,” you grumble, gripping the handkerchief in a tight fist. The loss doesn’t cut very deep, but it does provide you with some useful insight. You’re left to dwell on it as you button your blouse and clean your face.

The Ashengrotto species is not immune to praise.

Grim is treated to the sight of you twirling around your room at the crack of dawn. He narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed with your melodious humming or the arrhythmic ballet you’re performing.

“Yer dancin’ and singin’ like yer in love. It’s gross.” He buries his face in his paws. His next words are muffled, but they reach your ears nonetheless. “Some of us are tryin’ to sleep. Nngh...”

“You’re not going to believe this!” you exclaim, jumping from foot to foot. “Look at this!”

Despite his initial complaints, Grim still lifts his head from the bed to observe the neatly wrapped box in your hands. “Is it food? If not I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“Hold on! You have to be awake for this.” Grinning, you hold the parcel’s accompanying envelope between two fingers. “Voilà! A letter.”

“Ya lost me.”

“It’s from Azul.”

Your furry companion pulls a face at the mention of Octavinelle’s slippery Housewarden. “Not that guy… What does he want now? I’m not washin’ dishes again! No way!”

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” You set the box beside you and sit on the edge of the bed, turning the letter over to analyze the golden stamp and the sender’s name scrawled on the front in looping script, delicate letters connecting to form a pretty slant. “His handwriting’s really nice.”

“Ya might as well kiss him at this point,” Grim mutters, sticking his tongue out in disgust. Oh, Grim, if only you knew... “He’s nothin’ but a no-good, lyin,’ cheatin,’ fraud!”

“But he’s also rich. Or… Yeah, right? Isn’t the majority at this school rich?” The inquiry hangs heavy in the air while you break the wax seal and tear the envelope open to get to the letter that rests within. It’s a short message—hardly worth the fancy stationery—and you read it aloud. “‘Dearest Clownfish, enclosed you will find those vile slippers. They are not cute and I refuse to waste brainpower fathoming why humans are charmed by peculiar oddities such as these shoes. I suppose that is the nature of contrasting species and the limitless curiosity that dwells in the capacity of one’s brain. In any case, I shall await your arrival at the Mostro Lounge tonight. 9:30 p.m. Do not be late, Miss Megamouth. Otherwise I will send two of my finest escorts to retrieve you.’”

Miss Megamouth. You roll your eyes. I liked ‘Dearest Clownfish’ better.

“I don’t get it. Why’s he want you to come down at night?” Grim snatches the parchment from your hands. “Sounds suspicious…”

“I’m…washing dishes.”

“Ugh. Good luck.” He casts the paper aside and you catch it as it flutters midair. “I’m goin’ back to sleep now.”

Riddled with excitement, you wave Grim off as he yawns and curls up under the blankets and pull the package onto your lap. It’s the size of a shoebox, and the wrapping paper is an iridescent silver. When you tilt it one way, it shines purple. Another way and it’s blue. Unable to speculate on the truth in his letter, you shred the wrappings and tug the lid off. Sure enough, a pair of fish slippers rest within and your heart skips a beat.

“Weird.” You run your finger over the smooth material. “He’s so weird.”

And his generosity lingers with you for the rest of the morning.

Farewells are not so depressing when they indicate a temporary absence and an eventual return. When you throw your arms around each of your friends, laughing at the way Deuce’s cheeks burn as pink as the flamingos in Heartslabyul or the way Ace grumbles into your hair about how he won’t miss you, you realize that a few weeks without them won’t be the end of the world. If this had been the last time you’d ever hear their voices and feel their comforting warmth, you’re certain there would be more emotions. Plenty of tears to out-rain even Kalim’s Oasis Maker.

That isn’t to say you aren’t sad to see them vanish through the impressive mirror, its foggy surface devouring each student like the powerful jaws of a Great White. You wonder if it’s ever sent a student to the wrong location before. Then again, if you came here through some old mirror’s summons then you’re certain that’s not too far from the realm of possibility.

Envy tugs at your heart when you pull away from Jack, whose embrace is far too tight and tense yet endearing enough. You feel the jealousy coil around the beating muscle until it’s constricting it, and you have no choice but to force a smile as you send the rest of your friends off with hugs and, for those who are too stubborn, a cheerful fist bump/high-five—or, if you’re Riddle, a stiff handshake. Really, you’d have thought he’d be more relaxed in the time following his Overblot. But you’re not Riddle and the both of you have different feelings about the things that keep you awake at night.

Still, you wish you could leave through that mirror, if only to see your loved ones for a coveted day of holiday cheer.

You and Grim are starved after wishing everyone safe travels and happy holidays. He’s sprawled in your arms while you carry him from the Mirror Hall, groaning about how if he isn’t fed within the next few minutes he’ll shrivel into nothing. A drama queen, that Grim.

“Ya walk too slow!” he declares after a full minute of whining. “If ya ain’t gonna walk fast like a good hench-human, then I’ll just get a head start.” And with a huff, he jumps from your arms, landing perfectly on all fours, before trotting off in the direction of the cafeteria. “And I won’t be savin’ ya any food. Not even a morsel!”

You watch him go with a fond grin. Maybe this winter holiday won’t be so terrible after all. You’ve got Grim and the ghosts to keep you entertained and when it comes to bed-warming you have Azul.

“(Name)!”

You turn at the utterance of your name and spot a student you’ve dubbed the Pomefiore Pest. He’s nice, if not irritatingly insistent, and he’s been sending you message after message wondering where you’ve been and why you haven’t responded yet. Thank the Great Seven for that glorious mute button; it works wonders. You were hoping you could evade him for a little longer, but what is life without its inconveniences?

“Oh! Hey… You? What’s up?”

He falls into step beside you. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought I’d catch you at the Hall today, but you were so busy with everyone else.”

“That’s me—the busiest bee on campus.” You wink at him. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah? I think that much should be obvious.” His brows knit into the beginning of a glare, but he catches himself before he can scowl outright. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “I want to use your mouth today. You’ll let me, right? I’ll give you double from last time.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m about to eat right now. Maybe later?” You try to force as much dejection into your tone as possible, hoping it’s enough to garner his sympathy and drive him away.

“There won’t be a later, though. You’ll just keep ignoring me. I get that you’ve got stuff to do, but we had a deal. I pay you and you suck. That shouldn’t be so hard to follow.”

For a student from Pomefiore, his vocabulary sure is crude. Surely Vil has taught him better. You’d jest if you could, but he seems slightly worked up for your liking. And from observing Ace’s interactions with Riddle, you’ve learned it’s not smart to poke a seething bear.

“I really wish I could, but I can’t. I’m busy right now.”

“You’re going to see Housewarden Ashengrotto, aren’t you?”

That stops you in your pursuit of good food and even better company. You gaze at him with a frown.

“Why would I?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.” With a sigh, he folds his arms over his chest. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that guy. It’s impossible to get near you without those Leech brothers getting in the way.”

Someone’s perceptive. Or maybe you just like to watch, you stalker.

“You think so?” You rack your brain for a suitable scapegoat. It would be so easy to play it off as a fake crush or part of some elaborate plan to get closer to Azul to learn all of his secrets, but no one’s meant to know about Azul’s involvement with you. And you’re really not itching to break that term on this beautiful, albeit chilly, winter morning. “Give it time. In a month or so, we can get back to our usual routine. New year, new me, right?”

“I’m not waiting that long! Why can’t we just do it now? This was never a problem before.”

“Is it so wrong to want a break? You should put yourself in my shoes and try sucking half the school’s dicks. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“You little—”

With an offended scoff, he seizes your wrist and yanks you off the cobbled path in the opposite direction. You stumble along, glancing at him and then over your shoulder at your destination as it grows smaller and smaller. The wintry wind whips at your face, snowflakes cutting into your frosted skin like a dozen intricate blades. Your annoying acquaintance says nothing when he slams you against the nearest surface, but the frustrated expression he wears speaks volumes about his intentions. You don’t react when he pulls your blazer open and sloppily unbuttons your shirt, too dumbstruck to realize the gravity of the situation. But once it dawns on you, your heart nearly stops.

“Hey, wait a minute.” You reach out to push him away, but he snatches your hand and places it just above his crotch.

“You can take your break after I’m done using you, got that?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It’s snowing.”

“So? The weather doesn’t mean anything.”

You jerk away when his hand slips under your shirt to give your breast a squeeze that’s so rough you’re certain his fingernails will leave crescent-shaped indents in your skin. Wincing, you squirm in his grasp when his knee slides between your legs.

“Stop it. This isn’t funny anymore.”

“Now you know how I felt when you ignored me, you stupid slut.”

That’s as far as he gets because he’s doused in a surge of water seconds later. Shocked, he detaches himself from you and grabs at his soaked clothes. You can’t tell if he’s feeling the chill or is just so enraged he’s started trembling, but you hope it’s the former. Standing a few meters away and tucking his magic pen back into his breast pocket is your aquatic savior.

“Oh dear. What loutish behavior and towards a lady, no less. To be devoid of common courtesy and basic manners… Were you raised by barbarians?” Azul tuts as he covers the distance with graceful strides. He shrugs his coat off and drapes it over your shuddering frame before facing the drenched student. “It’s insulting an ignoramus like you resides in Pomefiore.”

“H-Housewarden Ashengrotto!” he manages to say through chattering teeth. “I promise t-this isn’t what it looks like.”

“No? Then am I a fool to assume (Name) wanted to be treated so callously?” He narrows his eyes at him as he stands in front of you like a protective knight in finely ironed uniform. You wrap his coat around yourself, relishing in the scent of his cologne. If you really think about it, it’s almost as if Azul’s hugging you. “I’d prefer not to waste my precious time or breath on a poor creature such as yourself. Lying will only hollow your grave and further cement your guilt.”

The Pomefiore student trips over his own tongue as he attempts to keep up with Azul’s quick wit. Eventually he grinds out a halfhearted excuse about how you were just playing hard to get and that you’re not normally this cold. According to him, you just needed a push in the right direction.

Azul chuckles, and the sound is cruel and harsh. “If I recall, you said the weather wasn’t a problem. I do hope you enjoy ice sculptures. They’re popular around this time of year, are they not?”

And with that, he turns on his heel and guides you away from the student, whose feet are now frozen to the ground. You ignore his shouts and inauthentic pleas for forgiveness as you walk beside Azul, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Even his hand on your back is a comfort and you don’t quite hear his voice as you walk, focusing on his touch and presence rather than his words.

Azul’s determined gait comes to a halt in the courtyard under leafless trees with their gnarled limbs reaching towards the gloomy clouds above, and he’s looking at you with so much concern it twists your heart into knots. Your stare slides from him to the trees, and they remind you of a skeleton’s hands with their bent fingers scrabbling for a handhold in the vast, endless sky.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m…just a little shaken, but I’ll be okay.” You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you showed up when you did.” Your breath materializes before you in a puff of air that’s reminiscent of fire-breathing dragons. Your grip on his coat tightens. “Um… That student will be fine, though, right? I know he’s terrible, but freezing to death can’t be ideal or enjoyable.”

“Jade and Floyd will carve him out once the ice has reached his knees. I surmise the chill will have worked its way into the very marrow of his bones once they’re done. Hopefully this little lesson will leave him with plenty of time to reflect.”

Yikes.

“I can pay you back for saving me. I know nothing’s ever free with you, so just name your price and—”

“Is that really all you can say?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is your brain wired so foolishly that you’d sell yourself without having considered the consequences?” he snaps, glaring. “If you used a sliver of your brain… Honestly. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you didn’t throw yourself at every student like a slab of meat!”

Shock digs into you like a sharp blade and you take a step away from him, betrayal flashing across your face. Suddenly, his coat feels less like a welcome embrace and more like a heavy burden.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything sexual. I meant a favor or something…” With narrowed eyes, you meet his frosty scowl. “Is that all you see me as? Just some toy to be passed around amongst the students here?”

Azul’s expression softens for a moment. “That’s not what I—”

“No, that is what you meant, you ass!” You shrug his coat off and shove it at him, disgusted at his insinuation that you’re nothing more than a human sex toy. “I do all of this for a reason, but you wouldn’t know anything about that because you’ve never been forced into a strange world with no way out. You try making enough Madol to live in Ramshackle! You think I enjoy what I do? I don’t even know half of these guys and I definitely don’t like any of them.” You inhale a breath of icy air, hold it, and then exhale slowly. Arguing won’t accomplish anything, and throwing meaningless insults around would just add more fuel to the already flaming fire. “Now that I know what you really think of me, I’ll be leaving.”

“You misunderstood me. I only meant to say—”

You’re already walking away, gritting your teeth as you force yourself to remain composed. Hot, salty tears gather in your eyes, but you’re not quite sure why you’re on the verge of crying. It’s strange; you’ve never cared about Azul’s opinion before. So why now?

When you make it back to Ramshackle Dorm, you flop onto your bed and allow hidden emotions to seep through the cracks. Even the prepackaged sandwich Grim salvaged from the cafeteria fails to lift your spirits. Instead, he curls beside you and listens to your tearful rant. And when you’ve exhausted yourself, he lies on your pillow and falls asleep with you.

Nine-thirty rolls around, but you’re too busy playing card games with Grim and the ghosts to bother with the time.

After a week of ignoring countless summons from Azul, narrowly dodging the twins, and ranting your frustrations to Grim over tuna cans and candy, your rebellion ends at two in the morning when a slew of notifications shake you from your peaceful slumber. With a sleepy groan, you reach for your phone to shut it off when your eyes catch sight of the sender. It’s Floyd, and he’s bombarded you with one-word messages that spell out sentences when you skim through them.

He’s relentless, you think, irritated. I’m sure Azul told him to do this. The octopus doesn’t want to look desperate.

Yawning, you mute Floyd’s contact just as a final message populates: come to the lounge, shrimpyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!! :D

With so many exclamation points and an emoticon that would have been disarming had it not come from Floyd, you wonder if it’s truly worth getting out of bed for. But then you realize that it isn’t a suggestion—it’s a demand—and if Azul really wanted to see you at this very moment he’d send the twins to fetch you regardless of your willingness or the state of your consciousness.

I hate him, your brain concludes, but your heart houses covert disagreement.

Since you value Grim’s beauty sleep and are against paying for the damages that will inevitably come should the twins break into Ramshackle Dorm, you slither out of bed. Throwing a robe on over your nightwear, you slide your feet into your fish slippers and stomp out into the cold. The walk is frigid, and the chill bites fiercely, but irritation fuels you as you storm through the Hall of Mirrors and emerge at Octavinelle’s entrance, a foul tirade brewing on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can burst through the doors of the Mostro Lounge to confront Azul, someone’s hands shield your face.

“How much is Azul paying you, Floyd?”

“You’re good!” he exclaims with a breathy giggle. “I thought for sure you’d guess Jade.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s your slimy boss? I need to have a word with him.”

“Azul is waiting inside.” Jade’s voice. “Before you decide to converse with your fists, I suggest you take a moment to appreciate the view.”

“The view? What are you—hey!”

Floyd twirls you once before shoving you into the Mostro Lounge. The doors shut behind you with a resonating boom and you can hear the faint sound of footsteps as the twins depart. Frowning, you survey the dimly lit lounge. The aquarium’s luminosity dyes everything in an icy blue, an eerie hue that reminds you of submarines cutting through the deep, dark sea with a single searchlight. Someone claps and a spotlight clicks on, illuminating a table filled with drinks and finger foods in a pale yellow-green glow. Some of the dishes are recognizable—like the tower of chocolate-covered fruits and sparkling juices in champagne flutes—but some are foreign to your eyes—like the green clusters of what looks like tiny grapes and the seashells with a filling unknown to you—and you assume these originated from the Coral Sea. You gaze up at the octopus-shaped chandelier, brows furrowed.

“Humans have the most interesting terminology. What was it? Oh, right. ‘Comfort food.’” Azul stands before you with his usual debonair grin. Unlike you, he’s still dressed in his uniform and he looks presentable and perfect. As expected of a showman. “I would like to indulge in the comforts of good food with you. You’ll join me, won’t you?”

Your only response is the longest, loudest sigh you can muster.

Azul fidgets. “It’s not exactly a resort, but it’s still something.”

“Resort? Oh. You...remembered that?”

“Of course. I have an impeccable memory, after all.” He chuckles at your unimpressed glare. “For tonight, Octavinelle shall be your resort.”

“Wow, Azul. You’re really...” You trail off and his eyes widen in anticipation, awaiting praise. Your next words are like salt to the sensitive octopus that lives within him. “The most foolish clownfish I’ve ever met. No, more than that. You’re a megamouth and an annoying, pathetic, mean-hearted octopus. All three of your hearts are mean.” You cross your arms over your chest, but your defiance soon shrivels. “But…I also signed your contract, so I guess that makes me your contractual fool.”

“For two months,” he agrees, and you roll your eyes. “I deserve your ire, and now that you’ve rattled off such endearing adjectives I would like to formally apologize. It wasn’t proper to say those things to you. You were right. I don’t know how it feels to be forced into a magical world with no way out, but I can at least relate to how helpless you must feel. I, too, felt helpless when I came to the surface for the first time.” He clears his throat, awkwardly wringing his hands. “In any case, I do hope you’ll find it in your human heart to forgive me.”

“That depends. Is this entire feast for show, or are you genuinely apologizing?”

“I am genuinely apologizing.” He huffs. “And here you are in my humble lounge, fishing with your doubt. That saddens me.”

“Keep running that mega mouth of yours and I’ll leave without an ounce of forgiveness. I don’t take kindly to being woken from a good dream, Ashengrotto.”

“And yet you remain.” He whistles as he steps around you, a playful glint in his bright hues. “In the business, that’s known as getting your tail fin in the door.”

“I only came because I didn’t want to get kidnapped.” Shaking your head in disappointment, you stride towards the buffet and plop down in the booth. “And I’m only staying for the food.”

He lowers into the seat across from you. “Then please eat to your heart’s content. Free of charge, of course. Consider this an extension of my apology.”

Forgoing hesitation, you reach for a champagne flute, which houses a liquid that’s as blue as the sky and as frothy as sea surf, and admire its shine when it catches the light. “You must want something in exchange for all of this. The Azul I know wouldn’t go out of his way for an apology.”

“Your skepticism wounds me. I’m a gentleman.”

You take a long sip from the sparkling juice, savoring its sweet effervescence. “What do you want?”

“Patience, my dear. Comfort food is meant to be enjoyed in tranquility, not suspicion.”

Your heart jumps at the words ‘my dear.’ The aquarium looks much nicer at that moment. Coral twists in an array of colors and various species of fish swim freely, undisturbed by the meal taking place right in front of them. You catch yourself wishing to join in their aquatic world, a breathtaking place where your heavy feelings turn weightless in the deep blue and you can simply float away.

“Truthfully, I had intended to share this moment with you many nights ago.”

“So that’s what you meant in your letter,” you muse, hazarding a glance at him. He’s bathed in that same dappled light from the VIP room and you reach for him, wanting so badly to run your fingers through his hair, over his chest, on top of his hand. But then your fingers pluck a chocolate-covered fruit from the silver platter and you bring it to your lips. “The fish slippers are comfortable, by the way.”

“It seems you’ve taken quite the shine to them. I’ll admit they’re unique.”

A subdued smile threatens to blossom, so you bite into the strawberry. Sweetness coats your tongue at once, and a delighted hum escapes your pursed lips. Azul’s expression softens at your obvious enjoyment.

“Why’d you get them, though? I lost our bet.”

He rubs at a nonexistent stain on the tablecloth. “You looked so enthusiastic talking about those dreadful shoes. It was hard to not want to get them after enduring your ramblings.”

You freeze in your pursuit of another bite, the half-eaten strawberry poised at your mouth. “So it was a gift?”

“It was not a gift. I do not give...gifts.”

“You so do!” You slap the table and smirk. “Maybe I should lose our next bet.”

“Perish the thought. There won’t be another bet.”

“Fine, fine. But you admit it’s a gift, right?”

“Ugh. Honestly... Yes, it was a gift. I suppose it’s because you’ve charmed me.”

“O-Oh. Um…” You force a scowl despite the rising heat in your cheeks and add, “Well, I’m not charmed. I’m still angry at you.”

A sudden laugh bursts from him, unrestrained and filled with honest amusement. You gawk at him, bewitched with shock. Real, raw laughter sounds so musical coming from him—a sound that can only be produced when he’s effortlessly comfortable. Your resolve melts, and with another saccharine nibble you begin to dismiss every hostile barb that once occupied your thoughts. This Azul, you’ve decided, is by far the most enjoyable to be around. His shoulders lose their stiffness as he leans back against the cushioned booth, pure joy scrawled on his youthful face.

“For the record, I don’t truly see you as a piece of meat. It’s a distasteful comparison—an immature gibe, if anything. You’re more than that, but I’m certain you’re aware of this fact.” When you don’t reply, he smiles at you. A real smile, not his usual smirk-grin that he wears for confidence’s sake. “I’d say you’re quite the siren or something akin to a dessert. Sweet and tempting, a tantalizing human with a pretty voice and a pretty pair of legs. From every angle, you really are a painter’s finest work. I’ve found myself immersed.”

Sitting before him, clad in an oversized robe, sleepwear, and fish slippers, you do not feel like a painter’s finest work. Hell, you don’t even fit the classy theme of the Mostro Lounge, and you almost refute his claims outright. But with his gaze pinned entirely on you, you absorb his flattery like a greedy sponge in a puddle.

And with another sip from the flute, your heart pounding out an erratic rhythm and head swimming with elation, you realize you’ve shipwrecked into Azul’s three hearts. Even if his honeyed sentiments are insincere—even if he’s doing all of this to gain your trust and forgiveness—you want him to reciprocate for just a minute.

“It’s nice to feel wanted,” you whisper, and he perks up at the truth you’ve just uttered. “Knowing that someone waits for you and enjoys your company… I guess I just wanted to feel like I mattered here. I can’t use magic like you. I can’t grant wishes or fly on a broom. There’s not a magical bone in my body. For the longest time I felt so…useless and alone. There’s only one thing I am good at here and that’s making everyone else feel wanted. Because when I do that—when I’m able to give everyone else whatever it is they want—it makes me feel like I belong. Like I have a purpose.”

Azul stares at you and the silence that stretches between the two of you is so palpable that you hurry to shove another chocolate into your mouth. Why did I just say all of that? I probably sounded like an idiot. He reaches for your hand and you meet him halfway, fingers interlacing.

“But you’re not alone.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, squeezing.

“And who cares whether you can use magic?” Azul exhales noisily. “Honestly, there are plenty of respectable professions out there that don’t require any magic. Plus, the fact that you were even able to come here in the first place is magical enough. Call it destiny or fate or, Sea Witch forbid, ‘luck,’ it’s not every day Night Raven College is graced with a fascination such as yourself. And you’re very wanted! I want you, so don’t think for a minute that you aren’t... Ah. No, that’s not what I—well, it is what I meant. But... S-Stop looking at me like that! Forget I just said that! I meant, I want you as... As a companion. Like a friend! A contractual friend, all right? So stop smiling like a fool!”

He yanks his hand back and picks up his champagne flute, huffing around the rim. A flustered Azul is so very rare, and it’s a rich sight you savor.

“Oh? So we’re friends now?”

“We’re just two souls engaging in mutually beneficial affairs.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of saying we’re friends.”

He raises a loose fist that’s not entirely threatening and your heart floats.

“Azul, I really—” You bite your tongue. “I’m…sorry for calling you an ass and ignoring you. You deserved it, but right now I just want things to go back to normal. That way we can end on positive terms come Valentine’s Day.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He lifts his glass from the table; the golden liquid winks at you as it sloshes with the movement. “Shall we toast to that?”

You raise your flute and the two glasses join with a gentle clink. And it’s at that exact moment when you feel a tightness in your lungs—the kind that’s reminiscent of suffocation and drowning. You down what’s left in your glass before turning your perplexed and slightly unnerved stare on Azul, who regards you with a growing smirk. Just when you thought you’d gotten a glimpse of the real Azul, he returns to his scheming self. Your throat continues to close up despite the liquid that travels down it, and it’s a familiar feeling that brings forth a recollection of your visit to that fantastical museum in the Coral Sea.

Azul reaches for something under the table before passing it to you. It’s another gift wrapped in that same translucent paper from before.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I’d like to see it on you at the very least.” He rises from his seat, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. “You did say I’d come to understand the allure of lingerie if you wore it for my eyes.”

You listen to his retreating footsteps, wasting no time in tearing the present open. Inside lies a beautiful two-piece in the same shade of purple as Octavinelle’s crest. The top is bejeweled with pale gemstones, beads, and small seashells—polished baubles that glimmer when touched by the light—and strings of pearls hang low from the straps. The bottom is a short, wrap-front sarong skirt. Sequins wink at you when you lift it from the box to feel the sheer material between your forefingers.

It’s innocently modest, almost like a swimsuit, and you wonder what the significance is in this particular set. He must have browsed dozens of types and designs. There’s a reason he does everything, after all. Perhaps this is just a stepping stone in some bigger plan. The mere thought that he’s orchestrated all of this, down to the very foods you indulged in, kindles nervous excitement within you.

You don’t have any time to admire the design any longer, even if you want nothing more than to gush over its beauty, so you strip as gracefully as possible and change into the outfit. Your sleepwear and robe are discarded in a haphazard pile, and you secure one final chocolate from the table before following the path Azul took. There’s a ladder that leads up to the aquarium and you grab at the sturdy rungs with determined hands, breathless exhilaration fueling every step.

I wonder what his plans are, you ponder once you’ve reached the top, where the yawning mouth of the aquarium waits. Peering down at its illuminated depths, you note a stunning coral reef, dozens of colorful fish, and a spotted eel curled within the rock formation, its mouth parted to reveal rows of razored teeth. It reminds you of the twins.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest and you’re about to jump in when a hand fits into yours. Azul spins you around to face him, his other hand settling on your waist. You blink at him, unable to utter anything as your lungs shrivel. You have half of a mind to scold him for such an underhanded method, but you’re too speechlessly awestruck to do so. Instead, you allow him to guide you towards the water’s edge.

“Drown with me,” he whispers and you’re so ready to comply. You want to fall, fall, fall into the deep, spiraling blue. And your wish is granted without the need for deals or signatures. He tugs you against his chest and allows gravity to take the both of you.

With a resonating splash, saltwater envelops you in its whimsical embrace. The fish scatter at once, hiding amongst the reefs and in openings spotting the coral. Your eyes snap open in the water, lips parting in a soundless gasp, and you’re immediately put at ease when breathing comes naturally. Something slips through the bubbles and mist. At first you don’t recognize the creature who regards you with horizontal pupils and sharpened fangs, his beauty suspended in the angelic light as if he’s been frozen in time. But then a tentacle nervously curls around your arm, and your mind reels in an attempt to keep up with the sight that’s currently blessing your eyes.

“Y-Your mer form!” you sputter, reaching out to touch him. He flinches and you stop short, hands grasping water.

“It’s…weird. I’m aware. My apologies. I’m not sure why I assumed this would be a good idea. I just thought that maybe—well, you spilled your emotional guts, and I thought that it would only be fair if I—”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” You hold your hand up and watch as he slowly lifts his palm to meet yours. “You’re still you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He swallows thickly, eyes darting to and fro, unable to settle on your face for more than a minute. “But this form is so… So very undesirable. I’m weak and clumsy and—”

“Beautiful,” you insist, closing your hand around his. “You’re so beautiful.“

Tears well in glassy eyes, an indication of grief withheld for years. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him that before. Or perhaps he’s never allowed anyone to refer to him in such a lovely manner, for when he peers at himself in the mirror he sees the opposite.

“I don’t need your pitying words.”

“They’re not pitying. They’re the truth.” Maybe it’s because you’re feeling especially emotional tonight or it’s your lack of sleep that has honesty sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t stop yourself from admitting every single thought that crosses your mind. There’s something else that’s dying to escape the confines of your throat, three precious words that are locked away in your heart and are begging to be set free. You almost give in—you want to give in and allow the water to cradle your sentiments as it currently does you—but you can’t. “You’re amazing, Azul. I don’t know of anyone else who’s as dedicated and strong as you are.”

“Yes. Well.” He opens his mouth to retort and whatever self-deprecating excuses he had at the ready dissolve immediately. He shuts his mouth with a sigh.

“I like your true form.” Your fingers trace his jawline, holding his cheek with mounting fondness. “And I think you should like it, too.”

His gaze flickers to your midriff and a trembling tentacle curls tentatively around it. You glance at it as it holds you with such precise care—as if you’re precious pottery that might shatter at the slightest touch.

“But I hurt you,” he whispers mournfully. “Back then when I…”

Your head snaps up to view him. He averts his eyes at once, cowed into humiliated submission. You weren’t expecting he’d remember and you certainly didn’t think he had noticed your pain all that time ago. Has the guilt always lingered with him? Has he always been crushed with that memory?

“You remembered,” you mumble in disbelief, yet your voice sounds louder in the surrounding water. Almost as if you’ve been enveloped in a bubble. In fact, now that you’re realizing it, you don’t feel nearly as wet as you should. The lingerie isn’t sticking to your skin, soaked through with saltwater, and your hair is still in pristine condition. You surmise some unknown enchantment is to blame for this puzzling coincidence.

“Of course!” His tone rises in pitch, bordering manic panic. “How could I not? I was so cruel to you. Even if I wasn’t truly conscious for most of it, the fact still stands that I hurt you and endangered so many others. But I… I was just so terrified. Terrified of losing you like I’d lost my contracts…”

“Azul…”

“And to go so long without properly apologizing—horrible! Absolutely disgraceful,” he adds with great haste. “That’s why this form… It’s not pretty. It’s not cute. It’s ugly and gross and squishy. I hate it. It’s only good for causing harm. That’s why I—”

“Azul!” He snaps back to his senses when you place your hands in his and gingerly guide them to your mouth. And then you place a single kiss upon each. He nearly melts into a puddle of weepy octopus. “None of what you say is true. You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his voice falters. “I... It’s not proper to say things you don’t mean. I’d much rather you tell me I’m hideous now than continue dragging this nonsense out any longer.”

“Oh, Azul, delusion is not a pretty look on you.”

“So... So you don’t find me repulsive?” he ventures nervously. “You truly, honestly don’t?”

“Not at all. You take my breath away. Literally.”

His tentacle comes down upon your thigh in a soft smack. It’s a lighthearted admonishment, coupled with an unamused groan, and you find yourself laughing in delight.

“Can we make another deal?”

“That depends. What will this deal entail?”

“You can kiss me as much as you’d like, but you must first look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re beautiful. And you have to mean it.”

“What? Why? That’s—” His protests die in his throat. “I suppose...I can do without kissing for tonight.”

“How about this? Repeat after me.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not going to—”

“I, Azul Ashengrotto, am beautiful and wonderful and smart.” A delicate smile sprouts on your lips. “Go on. Your turn.”

He exhales dramatically, a bluish tint settling on his cheeks, and parrots the affirmation in a shaky mumble.

“And I’m not ugly, gross, or squishy.”

“And... Ugh. Honestly, (Name), this is completely senseless! What good is this going to do?”

“If you want to accept compliments, you have to accept your reflection first because it’s what the mirror will always show you whether you like it or not. And mirrors never lie. Your mer form is perfect as is, and so are you, Azul.” You lean in to press your lips against his cheek. His frown wavers. “I like you for you. That’s the truth. And I’m honored you’d feel comfortable enough to show me this form. That means a lot.”

Azul’s shoulders tremble with his inhalation, and you think he might cry. But after composing himself and chasing away creeping waterworks, he places his hands on your shoulders, sliding further down to caress your arms. He’s examining you like one might a rare luxury, handling you as though you’re a priceless artifact he’s only just unearthed from the murky depths of the ocean, and there is a certain glint in his eyes—one that reflects the truth in your heart.

“You’re perfect...” he admits suddenly. “You’re so perfect. Far more beautiful than I could ever be.” You open your mouth to object, but the tip of one of his tentacles prods at your lips to shush you. “I understand the appeal of lingerie now. It’s very nice on the eyes.”

“I told you you’d like it.” You kiss the tentacle briefly. It jolts in response, drawing back only slightly so that he may observe your pretty lips as they curl up in a wicked smirk. “But you’re avoiding our deal. To think the master of contracts would do such a thing...”

“I don’t recall agreeing. We never even shook hands, therefore it has no relevance.” He peers at you for a short while before sighing, the tension in his shoulders slackening. “But if what you say is true... If you really don’t find me unattractive... I... I suppose I can be beautiful. For tonight.”

“Just tonight? Why not forever?”

“Because forever is much too long of a delusion.”

“Whether human or mer, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

Azul exhales a disbelieving laugh. “You sycophant... You really are a siren, aren’t you?”

“I learned from the best.”

His eyes roll, but there isn’t annoyance in the act. Rather, a lopsided smile stretches on his face and his blue eyes are alight in the ethereal glow of the water. You touch one of his hands, admiring the seamless transition from black to grey. His skin looks so sleek—almost like the wax job of a newly built ship—and you’re certain that if you were to watch him swim he’d cut through the water without hindrance.

And to think that you get to experience Azul in such an intimate setting. You’d never have imagined this is where you would be with him last year, where you’d previously been at one another’s throats. Call it unresolved sexual tension or Azul’s determination to get you to sign a contract, but you’d avoided him and all that he was solely to prevent yourself from falling into one of his schemes. Now that you’re here with him, you realize the nature of your arrangement has only gotten so much more comfortable since you first started. It doesn’t feel like an obligation anymore. It doesn’t feel like he might cheat you out of something.

It really feels like he might feel the same things you feel. Or, at the very least, you can delude yourself into false hope, a balm that pairs nicely with the cracks in your heart—cracks that only Azul seems capable of filling in this moment.

“I’d like to try something,” he murmurs, his voice muffled in the water. You nod mutely, and a nervous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Anxiety does not suit a suave individual like Azul, but you suppose all negative feelings are undeserving of residence on such a handsome countenance. A tentacle traces up the length of your leg, slowly, enticingly, winding like ivy along a garden trellis, and he inhales a shuddering breath. “Would you... Ah, well, if you wouldn’t be opposed to this... Would you maybe, possibly, hopefully like to...”

“Fuck in your mer form?” you finish and he blanches, his eyebrows knitting in disdain.

“When you put it like that, it sounds so vulgar.”

“I’m sorry. Would you have preferred ‘make love’ instead?”

Azul pinches your cheek in what can only be considered lighthearted scolding. “I would have, yes. Very much so.”

You open your mouth to correct him—but this arrangement isn’t built on love—and promptly close it. You’re certain he’s well aware of that, even if it isn’t spoken outright. Instead, you throw your arms around his neck to mold yourself against him, to feel his hearts beating against yours.

“But only the tip. I don’t think I could do any more than that.”

“Is that so? What a pity,” he teases, and you scoff at him. “Perhaps we should add another month to our agreement? That would be more than enough time to properly accommodate that tight, little space between your legs...”

“Now who’s the vulgar one?” You press your forehead against his and swallow the truth. “Two months is enough.” But it’d be nice to do this forever.

He pouts at you—truly pouts!—and says, “The tip it is.” And then he’s glancing at your lips. “May I kiss you?”

“Kiss me until I’m dizzy.”

He seals what remains of the distance, a mere sliver of space, and you melt into him. His mouth is sweet against yours, a missing piece that finally completes your puzzle, and you tangle your tongue with his, sighing into him as though the sound is enough to keep the both of you afloat. Unlike the floral flavor from your first few kisses, his mouth tastes of chocolate and some fruity drink—pineapple, most likely.

You pull away briefly to catch your breath. He’s staring at you so intently now, horizontal pupils flicking about your body as if scanning you. He looks good without his glasses you’ve realized. But then Azul always looks good regardless of whether or not he’s wearing his glasses, and it’s a happy thought that trickles through your head like a stream slicing through a mountain.

“I won’t hurt you this time,” he whispers, and a tentacle curls around your hand, lifting it to his lips so that he may place a tender kiss upon it. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“Should I be scared instead?”

“Now there’s a question.” He hums and runs his fingers along your throat, a sly smirk settling on his face. “Fear is very delicious to us creatures from the deep. I wonder how yours might taste... Will it be salty or sweet?”

“Who knows,” you say in a sing-song. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself...”

He’s decorated you in his tentacles, twining them around your legs and waist, and it occurs to you that escape is impossible. But no matter how intimidating he may act, you could never be frightened by his real form. Even if he has the strength to subject you to a bruising death, he holds you so carefully, merely exploring every inch of you with curious touches and suctions. His hands cradle your face, pulling you in for another candied kiss, and your fingers wrap around his wrists to keep him there while you exchange breath as if the both of you are the only oxygen sources to exist in this wondrous world.

And this time he isn’t wearing gloves, and you’re no longer standing on the other side of the Do Not Cross line in the museum that confines his portrait. Now you’re right in front of him, offering yourself as a sacrifice at an underwater altar, and there aren’t any thresholds you must work to overcome. Even if there are still mysteries yet to be uncovered—and you can’t say you know Azul as well as you would like to—you’re astonished that such a relationship like the one you began with him could ever blossom into something so perfect.

Maybe Azul was the key to your heart all along—the single variable needed to solve the complex romance equation you’ve been unable to answer.

A stray tentacle slithers beneath the fine fabric of the sarong skirt, coiling between your thighs, and Azul smiles to himself as he curls another around your chest, the tapered tip sliding under the bra studded with remnants of the sea to take hold of your breast.

“Did you know,” he says conversationally, “that an octo-mer can taste with every sucker?”

“Really? Then I expect you to tell me my entire flavor profile by the end of this.”

He laughs a mystic laugh that surrounds you like wool stretching around your head, muffling all outside noise. You reach blindly for one of the few free appendages, to which he obliges and wraps one around your forearm, constricting good-naturedly. You guide this one to your other breast so that he may toy with both of your puffy nipples. He wastes no time in fondling you, utilizing his suckers in even succession. One moment you can feel the intensity of the suction as it squeezes you and then it relents, only to come back much fiercer. A people-pleaser to the core, he seems to be well aware of every touch you find pleasurable, and the idea that he may have found some covert way to study you in order to glean this secret information sparks gratification.

Perhaps he, too, has watched you from his own boundary, unable to indulge in the museum that houses your brilliance for reasons that will remain unknown to you.

Another tentacle finds your other hand—the one that isn’t currently stroking the tentacle that bestows tantalizing touches to your breasts—and briefly you’re considering how he can keep track of so many limbs. But you’d expect nothing less of Azul, who’s had years to master the art of multitasking with ten arms at his disposal.

The tentacle between your legs pokes curiously at your clit, and you inhale a quavery breath.

“This nub...” he mumbles, partially to himself, as if he’s in awe of the sexual anatomy that composes the human form. “Your pretty, little pearl...”

Your hand covers his tentacle, halting his exploration. His eyes flick up to meet your wide grin. “Did you...call the clit a pearl?” A giggle rises in your throat, and his face colors the deepest shade of blue.

“D-Don’t laugh! I’m trying to...” He looks away, chewing his lip. “Trying to be romantic...”

“No, no. It’s plenty romantic.” You bring it back to your thighs, pressing the sucker-lined side flat against your slit. Azul sucks in a sharp gasp. “You’re so cute, Azul.”

That seems to fluster him even more, for he pushes the tip of one of his tentacles past your lips, effectively silencing you. Never one to pass on an opportunity for teasing, you run your tongue along the underside. The contact has Azul suppressing a delighted shudder.

“You really are so peculiar,” he mutters, but there is an incredible amount of adoration twined throughout every syllable. “To call someone like me ‘cute’ without a shred of apprehension...”

Azul tuts at you, taking note of the half-lidded stare you level him with when your eyes meet, and he strokes along your pussy slowly. The lazy swipes are accompanied by another tentacle, its tip rubbing perfect circles into your clit, and you grind down against every limb satisfying your lower region out of carnal instinct.

“I find you much cuter when you’re like this, restrained and at my mercy.” He tilts his head to survey you from another angle, blue hues observing every tentacle that’s laced itself around your body, sliding between your thighs, breasts, and even your armpits. You remain in the very center of such a desirable piece of art, working diligently to lather the tentacle thrusting into your mouth with as much saliva as possible. Though it’s impossible to tell whether you’re successful in your endeavor when it mixes so freely in the water. You think you’re doing well because there’s a breathiness to his next words that has you humming in satisfaction. “Although my surroundings seem so empty without your pretty voice to fill the silence. That’s most unfortunate.”

He’s flattering you now, laying lovely adjectives on his phrasings as if he wasn’t the one to silence you in the first place. But for once you’re glad to have been quieted because it allows you to focus on his electrifying touches while he speaks. To think you were once so averse to his voice solely because of its grand intonation and the snarky, backhanded remarks that would always fill the spaces in his sentences.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be very fair to call you Miss Megamouth right now...” He chuckles to himself, bringing his knuckle to your hollowed cheek to pat it endearingly. “And you aren’t a clownfish either, certainly not when you’re dressed as—how do you humans call it? ‘Eye candy,’ was it? So then that would make you my tempting siren or my sweet, little mermaid. Which do you prefer?”

How about angelfish? you try to say around the thick appendage, and by some marine miracle your suggestion does not go unheard.

“Angelfish! Isn’t that beautiful? And so very fitting, too.”

You've never seen so much innate tenderness settle on his face before, softening his gaze and adding another exquisite level to his beauty, and it’s a scarce sight you engrave into your memory so that it will linger for years to come.

Azul presses his lips to your forehead, sighing blissfully when you squeeze your legs shut to lock the tentacles between your thighs in place.

“I’d like to call you that forever... May I?”

The tentacle in your mouth withdraws, much to your disappointment, so that you may provide him with a response.

“Of course. But I’m going to miss the other names you’ve given me.”

“Those aren’t going anywhere.” He offers you a small smile. “I’ll admit I’ve grown rather attached to them.”

“Then... Can I call you something, too?”

His hand fits into your awaiting one and he presses his body flush against you. “You may call me yours.”

Even though you know you’re treading a dangerous line, you wrap your arms around his neck and mumble into his mouth, “I like the sound of that.”

He fits his lips on yours again and the last of your apprehensions wither away. You kiss until you’re dazed and breathless, clinging to him as if you’re intoxicated. Every one of your sighs and moans are swallowed in heated, open-mouthed kisses, each more sloppy than the last. He’s still massaging your pleasure points with a dozen circular suckers, all of them attaching to you like persistent barnacles, and you arch into his grasp, a string of pleasant praises falling from your lips.

“Feels good... Really good. Hah...”

You grab at him for another kiss, and he closes the gap in seconds, his hand resting upon your lower back to keep you pinned against him. Your fingers tangle through his hair, and it is indeed softer than the clouds above. You think he might have been modeled after a deity because it’s nearly impossible to fathom how he can look and sound so divine, even in the midst of mindless ecstasy. You’d worship him entirely if you could, though you know that doing so would only feed his ego. But maybe you want to inflate it a little, if only to be granted the smiles and laughter you’ve fallen for ever since you found yourself trapped in the net he’s cast.

Azul does not suppress his needy whimpers when he separates from you, his face twisting into the approximation of blissful desperation when he drags a thicker tentacle along the lips of your pussy. You moan around a teasing remark, your own playful composure slipping into submission.

“Wanna put it in,” he mumbles hastily, nearly panting his desire, and he’s flushed blue from stimulation. “Please, angelfish...”

“Mm, yeah... G-Go ahead.”

More tentacles hold you steady in the water, and you peer deep into his sea-tinted hues, hoping to catch sight of his very soul.

“Just...take a deep breath. I’ll be gentle. It’ll fit.”

“You look like you’re holding back. Am I that tempting?”

He sighs dreamily. “You have no idea how much I wish to ruin you right now.” The tip prods at your entrance; you bite your tongue in anticipation. “I want nothing more than to stretch you wide enough so that no one else will be able to ever again—to mark you from the very inside so that you’ll be addicted to my every touch. That way—” It pushes past rings of tight muscle and a subdued groan spills from his lips. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you’re certain you’re leaving half moons in his skin. If it hurts, Azul doesn’t seem bothered by the pain. Instead, he holds you even closer, peppering your face with dozens of fleeting kisses. “That way... Haah. That way you’d only look at me. You’d only need me to properly fill you. No one else could ever satisfy you like I can...”

Most of his ramblings fall on deaf ears, for you’re so focused on the way your pussy stretches to accommodate him. He’s much bigger than any human male, but that’s to be expected considering he’s not fully human, and even if the stretch is more uncomfortable than you thought it’d be his attentive touches distract you from most of the ache. You pull him in for another kiss, squeezing your eyes shut, but then the tentacle working its way inside you suddenly bottoms out so deeply that you tear yourself away from him, choking on a gasping moan. You bury your face in his shoulder, crying out in a mixture of pleasured pain, and Azul brings a hand to the back of your head, stroking slowly.

“You’re doing so... Mmh... So well, angelfish. I told you it would fit without issue.”

“That...was way more than just the tip!” you hiss, and his delirious laugh comes out strangled.

“And yet it went in so easily! We were made for each other. See?” He rocks the tentacle once and it fills you entirely, further stretching your gummy walls. When you pull away to survey it you can see its outline bulging against your stomach. Azul sighs happily. “You’re so pretty... And all mine. Mine to mark and fill forever.”

All you can manage in response is another feeble whine.

His hand comes to rest on your stomach. “When you’re officially mine, I’ll kiss you here every night.” To cement this promise, the tentacle pokes at the spongy opening to your cervix and you melt in his hold. His deceptive blues flit to your eyes, which then admire your lips and then your stomach and then the way your pussy has swallowed so much of the tentacle that’s writhing within you, and a smirk sharpens on his lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my dearest angelfish?”

“Yes. Of course. Always,” you babble dumbly, numb to rationality. “That sounds like... Aah, like a dream.”

You roll your hips in an effort to take more of him, and he responds by thrusting the tentacle in and out of you, searching for a suitable pace. Any other words quickly melt in your mouth, reduced to mindless utterances of pleasure. Azul’s self-control seems to be slipping much like your own logical nature because he’s gripping you tighter than he was before, his tentacles curled possessively around every inch of you, as if he must mold himself to your form to truly connect as one with you. He’s tugged your bra down in his impatience and your breasts spill out with newfound freedom, though both are quickly covered by a reaching tentacle. His suckers affix to your nipples, and you throw your head back in pure bliss.

“It’s a dream that will soon be our reality,” he whispers, and a tentacle grasps your chin to guide you into another messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

You lick into his mouth with desperate fervor, swallowing the taste of him with every magnetizing connection of your lips. The tentacle that pistons in and out of you continues to batter your sensitive cunt, leaving you clawing at his back as you move your hips to the best of your ability, shamelessly moaning the filthiest of things. How good it is. How you never want this moment to end. How no one else could ever fuck you as good as Azul can. You think, for a split second, you’re losing your mind because Azul is the only one whose image is imprinted in your brain, strung up in your thoughts like a constellation in the night sky.

You’ve never felt so overwhelmingly full before, and you’re almost certain that by the end of this you won’t be able to think of anyone else because there isn’t any other person who can possibly compete with Azul’s octo-mer form.

At some point, amidst every delicious suction and touch, you can feel your climax mounting, and Azul moans so salaciously when you tighten around him. But just before you cum, he’s suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You stifle your disappointed whimper when he turns you so that your backside is pressed against his front. Two tentacles curl around your legs, spreading them wide, and another set hold your arms apart. He embraces you from behind, hands closing around your breasts, and the tentacle slides in in another quick, deep thrust that has your vision whitening.

Azul’s lips practically sear your neck when his teeth graze your bare skin. “Octo-mers are venomous,” he warns, as if it’s a reminder you ought to remember. “But I’d never—mmh—never hurt you. Just wanna keep you numb and dumb for me. Numb so that you can’t run away and—” He breaks off with a whimper, panting wet, hot breaths in your ear. “And dumb so—hah—dumb so...”

He’s quickly derailed from his ramblings, his pace having spiraled into something erratic and quick, and the tentacle is practically pummeling your cervix now. You’re crying in his arms, a broken wail ripping from your throat when he sinks his fanged teeth into your neck to muffle his own waterfall of love cries as he fucks into you a few more times. Another tentacle splays across your stomach, cradling it gently, while the one inside you stills at the entrance to your womb, filling you to the brim with copious amounts of viscous cum. There’s so much that it leaves you completely stuffed, and when you gaze at your stomach through teary eyes it’s bloated in a way that makes you appear pregnant.

In the midst of your own orgasm, which descends upon you so suddenly that it has you squealing, you manage a few semi-coherent phrases, all admitted in a garbled rush: “Please fuck me forever! You feel so good! Oh, I’m... I’m cumming!” You stiffen against him, struggling to catch your breath, while the tentacle limply fucks you through the aftermath. “L-Love you... I love you, Azul!”

“Me too!” he exclaims, gasping, and tilts your head so that he can capture your lips once more. You taste salt, ink, and blood all at once, and the contrasting flavors linger on your tongue when he pulls away. “You’re my everything... My perfect, pretty angelfish...”

You’ve never been anyone’s everything before, but right now you want to be exactly that for him. That, and so much more.

“Do you really mean it?” you whisper hoarsely, still catching your breath. Every word seems to dry up in your mouth, as if your own voice is shriveling from the sheer amount of stress it’s undergone. You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s reduced to a mere mumble come morning. “Do you like me?”

“Did I say that?” he teases, and you squirm in his grasp. He laughs and strokes your stomach to settle you. “Humans and their loveless sex traditions continue to baffle me. I couldn’t possibly picture myself chasing a relationship in which love is nonexistent.”

“We call those one-night stands.”

“Fascinating. Where I’m from, we refer to such relations as ‘eat or be eaten.’” A dark fingernail traces its way from your hip up to your ribs. “Shall I devour you now that we’ve thoroughly enjoyed ourselves?”

“If that’s the case, have fun tasting all of the cum you’ve emptied in me,” you joke and he stiffens, his face coloring blue. You crane your neck to shoot a disapproving look at him. “You really had no issue cumming inside, Mr. Azul ‘Just the Tip’ Ashengrotto.”

“Yes, yes. Forgive me for succumbing to my instincts.” He rolls his eyes with an indignant huff, a grin settling on his flustered features. “If you’re so worried, you can choose from all sorts of contraceptives, some more magical than others.”

“They better be magical! With how much you came I wouldn’t be surprised if I was pregnant within the next few weeks.”

“Could you imagine?” he muses, spinning you to face him. The tentacle inside you twitches, but he doesn’t remove it. “The two of us. Parents.”

“We’ve skipped ahead too many chapters. I can’t even keep Ramshackle in good shape!”

“And yet there’s no one else I’d rather tackle parenthood with than you.”

You sandwich his face between your hands. He reaches up to touch each hand, his larger ones covering yours. For a long minute, the two of you hold eye contact until, eventually, you exhale noisily. There’s a numbness that’s become increasingly prevalent and is slowly spreading its roots with every passing second, and you suspect Azul is to blame.

“Azul, you didn’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear.”

“‘Octo-mers are venomous,’” you repeat in a silly tone, and that prompts a devious smirk from him.

The tentacle inside you slides out, and you shudder bonelessly against him. Its slick tip prods at your lips next.

“Let’s continue our lesson from the library. I do hope you’ve taken adequate notes. You’ll need them if you want to recall octo-mer anatomy. But since I’m so very generous, I’d be more than willing to thoroughly teach you.”

Azul is just as insatiable as he is cunning.

Rustling sheets rouse you from your slumber. You blink through crusted eyelids and snuff the groggy yawn that rises in your throat, peering at the figure who lies on his side, his stare fixed on you. A smile softens his features when he notices you’ve awoken and he reaches out to pet your cheek.

“Good morning, my dear. Actually, I should say good afternoon. It’s rather late in the day, but you deserve to sleep in. You had a long night.”

It was definitely long, you think, recalling what felt like hours of endless sex. You’re not sure how you wound up in Azul’s room, where the scents of sea salt and chamomile tea combine effortlessly, but you think he might have carried you here after your late-night tryst. Your memory halts at the moment when you went limp in his arms and he’d stilled inside you to spatter your walls with thick, plentiful amounts of cum. After that, though, reality falls away and you’d found yourself swimming weightlessly in a dream composed of calm oceans and a breathtaking coral reef beneath still waters. Now, lying beside him in his bed, underneath a shell-like canopy that obstructs the ceiling’s light fixture, you bury your face in the pillows, thoroughly worn to exhaustion. Azul’s melodious chuckle fills your ears.

“You tasted like the sweetest pudding,” he adds cheekily. “A little salty as well. It was very delicious.”

The callback to an old joke has you swatting lazily at him.

No fair. You’re supposed to be the one who tastes like pudding, you try to say, only nothing comes out. You lift your head and attempt to speak again. Like before, there isn’t a single sound that tumbles from your open mouth. Confusion dawns on you slowly, almost like a rising sun, and you grab at your throat to try to force the words out. All you can do is open and close your mouth uselessly, and your befuddlement quickly morphs into raw horror.

Azul smiles and props himself on his elbows, head tilted curiously. “What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”

I can’t speak! you want to shout, but it’s become impossible to will your tongue into action. You clamp your lips shut and glare, hoping one question comes across clearly: What did you do?

“I suppose you’re looking for this, right?” He reaches under his pillow and withdraws a nautilus pendant. It glows faintly when he fastens it around his neck. When he speaks next he sounds exactly like you, even down to the breathy lust your tone had taken on while you were in the throes of an orgasmic high. “‘Please fuck me forever. You feel so good! Oh, I’m cumming! L-Love you... I love you, Azul!’” He clears his throat and his voice deepens. “As musical as these words are, one of those phrases is forbidden. You’ve violated our contract, my dear, and so now your voice is mine to keep. I promise to take good care of it while it’s in my possession.”

Foolishly, you open your mouth to exclaim, but he cuts you off with your voice.

“‘But I never even offered my voice as collateral! You can’t take what isn’t yours!’ is what you wish to say, yes? On the contrary, if you’ll recall, I specifically told you that uttering the phrase ‘I love you’ would lead to this mishap.”

You said no such thing, you think bitterly, but then you’re hit with his cryptic warning from long ago: It’s best if you keep your voice for other admissions, lest you find it locked away for all of eternity. Upon realizing that he’d dangled the truth in front of you from the very start, you bring your hands to your face in hopes of scrubbing the regret from your muscles. You were too absorbed in trying to maneuver his mischief back then that you failed to pay closer attention to his wording, and now it’s landed you right in the trap you were attempting to avoid. I messed up. I messed up big time.

“Your voice really is marvelous! I could get away with so much now that it’s mine to use. Where should I start? Ah, perhaps I should call some of your friends and tell them how much (Name) can’t stand to be with them? Or maybe it would be better to ruin your little ‘business’ before it can spiral out of control. Better yet, I should just—”

You lunge at him without much forethought, scrabbling for the necklace in a blind, frustrated panic. Azul laughs at your desperation, a little too pleased to engage in the scuffle. You’ve managed to pin him beneath you, your hands curled so tightly around his arms that your knuckles grow sore from the sheer pressure of your grip. He looks up at you, a mocking grin pulling his lips apart—lips you’d kissed more times than you’re able to count. Lips that you’d thought would be truthful for one night. Lips that run faster when telling perfectly orchestrated lies.

Azul’s gaze crawls down your neck, where a dozen circular-shaped bruises paint your flesh, evidence of the areas his suckers had once lavished with tight suctions.

“There’s no need to be so aggressive, Miss Megamouth. If you wanted me that badly, you could have just said so. Oh, wait. You can’t.”

You slimy cephalo-punk! You sneer at him, a dozen curses trapped on your tastebuds. I never should’ve trusted you!

Part of you wants to slap him, but the other part—the part that still clings to the affection you received last night—has you restraining the violent urge. Angry tears well up in your eyes instead and you release him, sitting back on your haunches. You wrap your arms around yourself despite the sheer, lacy robe that provides a semblance of cover. He was right. You really can’t beat him at his own game.

“Don’t look so glum. Fortunately, I’m willing to negotiate an exchange.” He sits up, smooths the wrinkles in his nightwear, and removes the pendant. It’s dangled before you, the charm twisting innocently, and you reach for it, only for it to be ripped away with an accompanying tut. “Not so fast. If you want your voice, you’ll have to give me something of equal value.”

What could possibly have the same worth as my voice? your disbelieving expression seems to inquire.

Azul grins and leans down to procure something from the safe at his bedside. A golden contract scroll winks at you under the light, and you throw your head back with a silent groan.

Another deal. Of course. What was I expecting?

“I’ve given the road that lies ahead plenty of thought, and I’ve realized that I can’t imagine a future without you. Since you were quite vocal about your feelings for me—” He stops short to peer past the contract and at you, a single brow raised. “That was the truth, was it not?”

Slowly, you nod, suddenly hot with embarrassment. You’ve never truly despised Azul. In fact, ever since you signed his contract and became his friend with benefits, you’ve found yourself falling even further into an unexplainable love. Even now, when he holds full control over your vocal fate, you want nothing more than to pull him under the duvet and make a mess out of him in this luxurious bedroom. By some strange miracle—perhaps it’s the delusional film that’s obscured your eyes ever since you met him, twisting his every trick into something attractive—you find yourself admiring the air of self-satisfaction that surrounds him.

Azul’s next smile is far more sweeter than its predecessor. “Good. In that case, I also love you.”

Your reaction must have betrayed your true thoughts because he barks out an amused laugh.

“Is it really so surprising? I’ve loved you for quite some time now.”

For once you’re relieved he has your voice because it prevents you from sounding like a flustered, speechless mess. All this time and he actually liked me? Azul likes me. Me, who can’t compete with him on any level? It almost sounds like a cruel joke.

“Did you think my flattery and gifts were empty and meaningless? I can assure you that everything I’ve said—every compliment and sweet nothing—has been the undeniable truth.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“I’m serious! You’re so critical. That stings, angelfish.” As wounded as he looks, he’s quick to recover, shoving the contract at you for your perusal. You read through every line. “Fret not. I’ve drafted another arrangement that will benefit the both of us. In exchange for your voice, our current relationship will be nullified and we will officially become lovers. You’re to put an end to your affairs with the other students. From now on, I’ll help you with every problem that comes your way. Although it would be very convenient if you could just move into Octavinelle and take up a job at the lounge. We’d be much closer. I promise I’m a very kind boss. You’ll be paid wonderfully, both in and out of the lounge.”

You glance at him, brows furrowed. Is that really all he wants? A real relationship and for me to stop getting involved with everyone else? As ideal as that sounds, it feels a little too good to be true. But what other options do you have? Without your voice, you’re powerless and vulnerable, unable to stand up for yourself when the students get too rowdy. You’d be forced to agree to your friends’ every whims, and that would mean allowing Grim to empty your monthly budget on whatever it is he happens to be craving at that moment. It’s a predicament with plenty of terrible outcomes, and the only thing that can prevent such an issue is your voice.

“You look at me with such distrust. I was very transparent with our first contract, was I not?”

He was, in a way. You look between him and the contract. It’s shorter than the previous one, every term outlined stiffly in cursive. This one feels too simple to be a contract drafted by Azul’s intelligent hand, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe things will only get complicated after you’ve signed and have found yourself in another inescapable mess.

But isn’t this a good thing? You like him and he likes you. He can grant your every wish and this time you won’t have to forsake your own pleasure in order to ensure his needs are met. And you won’t have to tiptoe around his deceit. The both of you will be in equal standing, in a relationship where honesty and mutual understanding are valuable facets of a loving bond. You like him, after all, and he likes you.

So why does your love feel empty and insincere? Why does it feel like you’ve woken from a long, everlasting dream to face the harsh backhand reality serves?

Azul twirls his magic pen and that mystical fishbone pen materializes. Its tip is already stained in ink and it’s poised just above the parchment. You look at him again and he nods encouragingly.

“I meant it when I said I love you, and I will continue to mean it for the rest of my days.” He reaches for your hand and you flinch away. This stops him, and he narrows his eyes at you, perplexed. “I will always love you, angelfish. You’re the only one I’ll ever love.”

You wish you could force him to prove it, but even then you’re not sure what else he could possibly do. But then you realize something and you pantomime writing. Azul catches on rather quickly because a ballpoint pen and a notepad appear before you. Hurriedly, you scribble something on an empty page before turning it towards him.

If I sign your contract, you have to promise no more tricks. And you have to get me the most magical contraceptive you have. And you have to be a good boyfriend.

“No more tricks. You’ll get the best of the best, both from the contraceptive and me,” he promises, and this time there isn’t any malice behind his smile.

And I won’t lose my voice again in the future? is the following written inquiry.

“Not unless you scream yourself silent the next time we—” Your unimpressed scowl cuts the rest of that sentence short. He chuckles and takes your hand in his. Your other grasps the fishbone pen. “Do we have a deal, my dear?”

You look from the notepad to the contract, where a nameless line awaits your penmanship. There’s a weird ache in your gut—a foreboding dread that has you hesitating. Azul seemed so angelic last night, but in the crisp light of his bedroom he’s a devil with concealed horns.

Do you honestly love him, or was that simply something you uttered in the heat of the moment? Why is your love for him beginning to shrivel after it’s been growing for weeks? And why are you no longer happy to know he reciprocates your feelings?

I need my voice, you think, disregarding every other doubt. That’s all that matters right now. I’ll figure out my heart later.

You scrawl your name on the glimmering parchment, and like before it rolls itself up and Azul snatches it with a pleased hum. You watch him place it within the safe, which soon closes and locks with an echoing bang. Before you can theorize what the combination to open it is, he stands with the pendant clutched in a resolute fist.

“How unfortunate that I must break a perfectly good shell...” At your impatient glare, he raises his hands in surrender. “Very well. I’ll return it now. You wouldn’t be Miss Megamouth without your voice.”

With just a little more pressure he smashes the nautilus into a dozen brittle pieces, and from the debris your voice comes trickling through in an aureate fog. It surrounds you momentarily, like the smoke from a cigarette, before slipping through your open mouth, down your esophagus, and into your very being. You cough once, clear your throat, and croak your first words out.

“Did it work?” Upon hearing your rough pronunciation, you exhale a relieved sigh. “Yes, it’s back! Thank you!” Your happiness is short-lived, though, because you’re quick to turn your ire on Azul. He allows you to grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him up to your face. “Don’t ever take my voice again, you slimy sea creature.”

Azul smirks and leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “So cruel. And after all we’ve been through...”

“Ugh. Whatever.” You release him and fall back onto his bed with a tired groan. “Seriously... That was terrifying.”

“I’ll get you something to drink so that your voice won’t be so gruff. Is tea sufficient?”

“What’s the catch?”

Azul clicks his tongue. “Must you be so wary of me? Can’t I do something nice for my dearest angelfish?”

“No, but you can certainly find some way to attach a dozen strings to a single cup of tea.”

“You know me so well, but this time I don’t need anything in return. I’m simply doing you a favor.”

You peer at him from where you lay. “Okay. I’ll take a cup then. You know the way I like it?”

“Of course. I’m nothing if not observant. I’ve brewed more than enough tea for you to know your preferences, down to the exact temperature.”

You nod, not quite listening to his boasting, and let your arm fall over your eyes. Azul steps out without another word, leaving you to dwell on the past few minutes. Though the contents of this second contract don’t sit right with you, you push your uneasiness aside in favor of focusing on the fact that Azul has admired you for a while now. You never would have guessed he’d loved you in silence because you only saw him as a lying cheat. Naturally, if he were to confess back then, you probably would have assumed he was trying to enlist your help with something. Either that, or he genuinely wanted to make your life miserable by subjecting you to some obscure con.

You wonder what part of you captured his heart. You’d made your dislike and distrust of him very clear, and you’d sneered at him every time he attempted to rope you into a scheme involving the Mostro Lounge and Ramshackle Dorm—it was something about a temporary branch café, but you wanted him and his grimy, slimy tentacles to stay far away from the property. Maybe his Overblot really did awaken something in him. Maybe he’d fallen in love with the you who was kind and patient—the you who visited his bedside every day while he recovered. Or maybe it was the you who soon became known for not-so-secret exchanges. Maybe he simply fell in love with the idea of squashing another business competitor. How that could happen is beyond you.

But then, if he really has loved you all this time, why did he want to engage in friends with benefits in the first place? It must have been awkward for him each time you’d come to service him, especially since you merely saw it as a contractual obligation. Had he pretended there was more to the act? Were his feelings for you the reason he treated you so carefully whenever you’d meet—so lovingly and sweetly?

At the very beginning of this, you vowed to undo every lock that kept the many facets of his personality hidden away. And even though you’ve come to learn some of his secrets, there are still so many things left for you to discover.

But do I really love him? It’s a haunting question—a lock that binds your heart and prevents you from unraveling the truth. Though with this one, you’re not quite sure you want an answer.

Azul returns with the tea and a pill, and you take both from him with a grateful smile. It tastes as it always does: floral and deliciously enticing. The fragrance soothes your frazzled mind, warming it to the thought of a relationship with Azul.

We’re dating now, you realize, awestruck. We’re dating...

“I feel like I’ve just finished sucking your dick,” you say, and he exhales a long sigh.

“I was going to say something far more romantic, yet here you are spouting obscenity.”

“But doesn’t it remind you of that? You’d always get me tea after our meetings.”

“Only because you were so intent on swallowing every time.”

“And you found it attractive every time.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me your ridicule.”

Now that you’re looking at him, with his unkempt hair and silken nightwear, the feelings you’ve attempted to stifle with uncertainty come swelling to the surface. He’s your boyfriend now. He’s yours. All yours to love and kiss and hold. All yours to tease and laugh with. He's the chisel who has finally sculpted you anew, filling your shattered heart with overwhelming sweetness, and this time you won’t turn away from it.

You open your mouth to ask a single question, but Azul beats you to it.

“May I kiss you?”

Grinning, you set your empty cup on his desk and tug him into bed. His arms lock you in a comforting cage, and he stares down at you with a lovesick smile. You hook your arms around his neck, mirroring his infatuation.

“Kiss me drunk, clownfish.”

A collection of empty bottles is locked away in Azul’s desk drawer, respectively labeled Love Potion. The intolerable flavor mixes well with floral teas, but that’s a trade secret you’ll never need to know.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #n/sfw #azul thought four #call him azul rizzengrotto because his rizz is immaculate!!!!#for once i have written an azul thought where azul is not actively suffering

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pinehutch · 9 months

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When I say that I want to be evil

what I mean is I want to be powerful. What I mean is I want to be free.

Some weeks ago I spent more money than I should have on my first ever (ever!) two-piece swimsuit. You have to understand that as a child I was told I was fat, and as a teen I was told I was fat, and as an adult I've always been fat*, and you can't read your way out of the shame caused not strictly by the word but by its connotations.

(I know, because I've tried. I have been trying for almost twenty years. Looking for plus-sized fashion brought me to the digital 'fatosphere.' It made me a better person as I learned about another dimension of intersectionality and about power and oppression. It made me feel like I could wear clothing that I liked. It made me more informed about the diet and wellness industry. It's been over 20 years since I first read a critique of the BMI; it's been almost as long since I started wondering why gros/se in my close-second language didn't have the same (haha) weight to it as fat does, in my first.)

At the tail end of June, days long and scorching, I stepped into a two-piece swimsuit with a deep-v neckline and my whole midsection exposed and I spent the day in full view of dozens (hundreds?) of strangers. Cold, cold water on the joints; warm, soft pools for the evening. My hair got bigger and bigger. My neck and chest sunburned. My midriff stayed comically, blindingly pale, and everything else? It was lovely; it was fine. I rarely thought about my body, unless it was 'this feels nice' or 'my swimsuit is so pretty.' I took a selfie, even, though I deleted it. I was worried that posting it would count as thirst-trapping; shame has cored out and replaced so much of me. It was a good pic, though, and I wish I'd kept it.

What was true of me that day: I was a quite tall, very fat femme person whose feet swell with arthritis and whose hair takes up the entire frame and who's had cellulite since grade eight. What else was true: many people complimented my swimsuit. I looked out across the valleys and the mountains from the top of my almost-six-feet. I let my shoulders roll back and smiled at the sight of my bare skin gone blue-wavering-dappled beneath the surface. I stood tall. I made eye contact. I enjoyed delightful company, and let that enjoyment extend to the simple pleasure of having a body that felt fairly good, in garments I had chosen for the joy of it.

You can't read your way out of shame; it's only part of the equation. I didn't go swimming the next day with my family members, because I didn't want to feel them looking at my body and being disappointed that What A Beautiful Girl turned out like I did (though: if What A Beautiful Girl then why You Need To Watch What You Eat?). But for an entire day I felt like anyone else, gentle enough, good enough, in my skin.

It would have been good for me to swim with my family that weekend, because I'm finding that - as in all things - the practice is important. You can't read your way out of shame, not entirely, but in working with and through it there's maybe a chance to rewrite our stories.

There's a fallacy that I think a lot of us fall into, when we're trying to counter and challenge fatphobia, both culturally and in ourselves. It's the fallacy of the Good Fat. It's why I want to tell you about how two-pieces are maybe a better swimwear choice for me because of the drastic difference between my tits and hips vs my waist. It's why I wanted to post that selfie, so people could shoutycaps and fire emoji me on twitter. It's why I want to craft this post into a narrative where spending a single day mostly-unburdened by body shame has led to a hot girl summer, and I'm walking for miles every day and going to the pool four times a week. (I'm not. I still have a day job, and writing to do, and a physical disability, and the ol' depression. I'm more active than I was three months ago, and working to improve that, but still. It's not a lot.)

It is, simply, the same lie as we tell ourselves along so many different axes of marginalization: that as long as we are exceptional in a way equal and opposite to our marginalization, we'll be fine. It's the model that says you earn the right to exist fat and unashamed by being healthy, by being active, by being hot. Sorry my hip is squished against yours on the airplane; at least I've got a nice face and good hair and am well-dressed, wanna admire my hip-to-waist ratio about it?

There's no such thing as a Good Fat because we live in an inherently fatphobic world. I mean: airplane seats are too small for anyone average sized. I mean: 20 years ago I was a size 16/18 and couldn't fit into the newer lecture hall seats at my university without a lot of stress and embarrassment. I mean: I can't buy a compression sleeve for my arthritic joints at the drug store. If I ever needed to take Plan B, it might not work because I weigh (as do most adults of my acquaintance) more than 165lbs. You cannot be hot enough or active enough or well-dressed enough to escape from this; the only option is to be Not Fat.

But why on earth would we want to accept this? We know the system is fucked up and evil, and so: we want to be evil. Just a little bit, just enough. We want to be hot villains. We want to serve cunt and to be cunts. We want to nailcare emoji, fire emoji, crown emoji, and we want to take no prisoners unless it's between our thick thick thighs. Sit on their face; if they die, they die. It's fun and sexy, in a world where "everything is sex, except sex, which is power" to dig in and grab handfuls of what looks like empowerment, fuck the rest of it, get what makes you feel best.

It's a mirage; freedom doesn't live there.

Because of course fat people are hot. Fat bodies are desirable. Fat bodies are strong, sometimes, and athletic, sometimes, and powerful in whatever way you'd like to read that. That's true no matter what.

And yet (this will hurt) fat bodies are still (I'm sorry, I'm so sorry) not good enough. If the system is the problem, your individual empowerment is not the (whole) solution.

When I say that I want to be evil, what I mean is I want to be free. I want the strange rare days I've known I was desirable because I was desired, specifically and individually. I want the days where I grant myself dignity. I want the day where I lived peacefully in my mostly-naked body around hundreds of strangers, and went to bed happy.

Reading is input, it's taking in. I can't read my way all the way out of fatphobia, out of body shame because that's like trying to put out a forest fire 2000km away by throwing baking soda on your stove element. (Not harmful, but insufficient and misdirected.) It has been so helpful to know that other people wrestle with all of this, in ways that are more intelligent and expert than mine; it doesn't change material reality, though.

It's not the shame that's the problem, but where it comes from. It's not my internalized fatphobia or low self-worth or lack of body confidence that keeps people from life-saving medical care because their doctors were obsessed with their weight instead of their symptoms. My soft abdomen has never shamed a stranger on the internet, my calves (never in tall boots) haven't forced someone to buy a second seat.

Maybe it's time that I redefine what I mean when I say I want to be evil. I want to be a hot villain that was justified in their takedown of the status quo. I want to put a crown on every head. I want these thick thighs under me as I pull you into my lap and love you, and to use those fire emojis to make room for new growth.

I want us all at the pool together, celebrating as the sun sets.

*I'm using "fat" to here mean something like "size 16 US women's or larger," but there's no good definition

#rambling #fatness #fatphobia #fat liberation #personal #blog post #also tbh:#therapy homework

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saintarc · 29 days

Text

LOVE AT FIRST BITE. LOST CHAPTER #II.

♱⃬ ͏ ⠆ TEETH GRAZING AGAINST HER PURE SKIN. a dance in the ballroom could result such a fateful encounter against a young and handsome vampire whose scarlet eyes pierces through the existence of a vampire hunter of a mere girl.

🦇 ͏⠆ a bit of really minor nsfw, minor religious themes, mentions of skin cutting, blood sucking, usages of "dear/dearest". 2200+ words.

taglist ⌇ @steleir @tojiluv @ellzbellz @theblueslytherin @krokietino @purplepursepaint @katiemrty @saturvue @tsxkkis @httpshujii @syomi @tnt-kokoo @suniika @camilo-uwu @mimifoodlover @whynotelli @rollssas (taglist is opened)

WHERE THE FIRST ROOSTER CROWS, the unrested soul of the hardworking and determined vampire hunter sets her feather pen on the table to rest her sore arms.

what could cause it to be of such soreness? well, that is simple. born a silvernalle, they are meant to write down every single detail from the finest hair to the soles of the feet of any vampire that they came across. all written in the book of the silvernalle’s vampire records.

so far, not a single information of the current prince of the vampires, zuko, is recorded into the pages of the old book. that's when you know that there are two possibilities.

one, he is not that old of a vampire. two, nobody in your lineage has managed to get any information on the vampire prince at all. perhaps he is just so skillful that his existence had finally resurfaced after generations.

regardless of the lack of information on the vampire, you know what you are doing. respected young hunter of the vampires, y/n silvernalle. head of the silvernalles ever since you were fifteen of age.

quite the accomplishment in your opinion… to be the youngest head and one of the few females who managed to become heir.

what did society expect if you're the last few standing silvernalles in existence? possibly even the last with pure hunter blood? there is no way you are going to simply sit by and burn away all the activities committed by your vengeful ancestors. with you alone, you cannot erase the existence of the vampires by yourself anyways.

“lady silvernalle, here are the reports of nearby villagers regarding the sightings of recent and low-class vampires,” seira hales, young assistant and precious friend of yours, placed a pile of papers above your desk. “i’ve checked some of them, and none of them mentioned a single description of the vampire prince you engaged with.”

“i’d like to think it's because the prince hasn't made his existence known to the world until that night,” you set your quill aside and momentarily stared at the papers before averting your gaze onto seira.

“my stomach cries in anger. shall we get lunch, seira?”

COFFEE-DRIPPING SCENTS, honey pastries, and a little bit of a torn and worn-out cushion seats. it is not far from when the clock strikes at the fourteenth hour of the day, and two souls have not gotten their fair share of lunch yet.

now they are seated comfortably in the soft and lukewarm heaven of an old inn where it is almost like a bakery, but not really. the inn sold the likes of alcohol and beef. choices vary. there are many meals to choose from.

you chose a simple and nice stew to ease your mind and body which has been working nonstop ever since the encounter with the royal vampire. whereas the daughter of greatly adored hales ordered a healthy bowl of salad and bread at the side of it. both of you were given a cup of wine to complete your meal.

knowing your friend, assistant, and apprentice, you always wait for her to say her graces before consuming her meals. though you might not be as orthodox and religious as she is, you'd clasp your arms together with her and remain silent as she thanks the lord for the food.

seira’s faith is just as important as any garlic and holy silver swords. she has knowledge on exorcism and whatnot that a priest obtains throughout his years of priesthood. it is a skill of the hales family and also their duty to assist the silvernalles in pursuit of vampires. for both families have mutual feelings towards those bat-like monsters.

so the consumption of both your meals were carried out as usual, along with the discussions on how to terminate the other nightly creatures that might cause some distress to humanity in the silent night. all that is left for you and seira to do is to pay for your meals before heading back to the silvernalle headquarters for more studies.

the moment you set your payment on the counter, the corner of your eyes caught an unforgettable image that you thought you'd never see in the light of day. the image that was burned, etched, and marked at the back of your mind, slowly crawling up to make its familiarity into your conscious mind.

without uttering another word, your feet carried you away from the counter to chase after that familiar figure. to put simply, you ran after it, leaving your assistant behind to shout out your name and question where you are headed. but that doesn't matter.

what truly matters now, is that the vampire from that night isn't actually walking under daylight where he should be cinched to ashes the moment the sun hits his skin.

you cursed under your tongue and went out of the tavern where the figure had just left. and that was it. nothing else, nothing more. not a single trace of the monster from that night is seen ever again. at least, not to you, because your arms just received a message which resulted into goosebumps.

an eerie message that spoke to you through the slight appearance of the familiar vision. a message that tells you that this isn't going to be the last time you will ever see him in all his glory.

THE HOWLS OF THE WOLVES were loud tonight, as the perfectly full moon shone its wondrous atmosphere all over one part of the world, where it is brightest.

despite all the nightly howls and the dangers of a lonely girl walking through the night, you continued to venture through the trail in the middle of a field. the moon seemed to be the only company you have for the night, for it is seen as the largest in the field.

you are so so wrong about that assumption however. you knew the exact moment when there was an icy feeling that just electrocuted down your spine that you are indeed not alone with the night sun at all. this chilly feeling that gathered and remained all over you, giving you a gift of goosebumps that covered all over your arms.

this feeling is familiar. you know of it. it is the feeling of something that is about to go wrong. terrible even— if it starts to get all cold and you feel the urge to crawl up into a ball just to keep yourself warm while avoiding the rotten feeling.

mere goosebumps alone with a little bit of fearing the night wouldn't stop you from getting to your destination though. you are determined to get there even if a certain vampire is watching you with a pair of dark scarlet eyes and an insatiable lust for the red liquid in your body.

“make your presence known, won't you?” you said, voice echoing through the night as the chilly wind pulled and danced along with the flow of your voice. your breath came out as a collection of cold mist.

you could almost feel a super tiny smile that cracked a little as you first saw it that day in the ball of the vampire princess. the fake and everlasting smile that could enchant women so easily, even though it was so tiny— barely visible to the eyes.

“oh! i was found out,” the vampire exclaimed, giving you a little shrug as his face quickly twisted into a frown and a glare at once. “bold of you to walk alone during dusk, silvernalle girl.”

“bold of you to assume i’m afraid of the dark as a silvernalle, prince.”

in your boots, you kept weapons in there. weapons of all sorts are always strapped around your body, possibly even in your body, if you were extreme enough to cut open your skin just to store anti-monster weapons. with the same silver dagger you used against the fellow vampire standing before you, you grabbed it and swung it at zuko's direction.

his eyes widened at the sudden attack. not wanting to feel the burn of the same blade again, the prince does his best to dodge it in hopes of eventually kicking it away from your grasp.

you got into a little brawling battle with him. and honestly… it was no easy task to land a hit or even a single graze on his skin because of how agile and perfect he is at hand-to-hand combat and especially, dodging.

“it seems his highness is good at combating, and dodging,” you grabbed the dagger that fell off and ran to the vampire who let out a sigh.

“i am a vampire after all. we're just naturally good at it,” zuko dodged, using his hands to attempt a few chops and a few jabs on your vital points using his fingers and the sides of his hands. however, you too, are a professional at the art of dodging hits.

this went on for about a few more moments, before zuko finally had enough of this little hit and dodge game. the vampire prince had finally cornered you until your back hit a huge tree trunk that the moon seemed to favour tonight.

“enough playing around,” zuko kicked the blade that was on the ground away. he kicked it so far that you couldn't even see where it disappeared to. just as you were about to grab another weapon from somewhere on your body, zuko already has your hands above your head, locked within his tight grip to prevent your itchy fingers from pulling out another silver weapon.

“what was your name again? y/n? y/n silvernalle? yeah probably, i heard your friend called you that,” said zuko. “did you know, in the history of silvernalles and vampires, there was once a hunter named y/n too. she's killed by my ancestor, count roku though. isn't it a shame? you're pretty much a little copy of her, from the pictures that roku drew of her.”

you gritted your teeth and glared at zuko. “and? what has that got to do with me? just because i have the same name as someone who died by your darn ancestor, doesn't mean it has anything to do with me.”

zuko’s scarlet eyes looked down at your leg which he knew were attempting to kick him off of you. the man went closer to you, way more closer than he should've… and he placed his knee between your thighs, catching you by surprise.

before you could scream or even let out a single whine, his hands already slapped against your mouth to cover any alluring noise that might escape from your lips. your legs have failed to move.

“shut up,” zuko tells you, his voice getting more aggressive the more you struggle against him.

“i hope you know you're enticing and beautiful enough that the officials of dark romania all have their eyes on you now. i will mark you as my territory, silvernalle, so you can hunt me without having to struggle with thousand year old great grandpas.”

your eyebrows scrunched in confusion at his odd choice of words. he wants you to hunt him in peace without having to worry about powerful vampires that he calls ‘great grandpas’. so he is going to mark you.

exactly how? you do not know. regardless of his suggestion, you do not want to be marked by a vampire nor carry the scent of one into your daily life. for your honour as vampire hunter.

all you could do was shake your head slightly against his hard grip on half of your face. you cannot do anything about it. the strength of a royal vampire is more than that of a normal powerful thousand year-old one. you yourself has basic knowledge about such a fact.

“oh, dear, i promise you, it won't hurt.”

you squeezed shut your eyes and held in your chokes, even after zuko’s harsh grip against your face loosened and left your mouth, you kept your lips sealed. there's something about his words that makes you lose the ability to fight back. it murdered the spirit of the brave lion in you with just a few words.

the prince’s fingers were on the lower part of your face again. but this time, they gently swipe across your lower lips. all gentle gestures right before he leaned into your neck and his two canine teeth grazed against your skin. such an odd feeling you felt. the cold hands of a vampire caressing your lips and his mouth moving to mark you as his.

all of these while you suddenly lose hope at this moment and feel your body succumbing to the vampire prince. it was such a sad and disappointing sight honestly. a silvernalle is shamefully standing still, allowing a vampire to fill your entire body with his rich and royal scent as he takes your blood as a form of his satisfactory meal.

a tear of your ancestors escaped from the corner of your eyes, all while feeling the itching pain of the fangs buried deep in your skin and zuko’s fingers now cupping your face. your thighs closed in on zuko’s knee, squeezing it from the hellish burn on your neck.

the moment you blinked, zuko has already ceased his marking and is now staring right into your pitiful eyes.

“i need more of you,” he whispered, “but i can't,” his cold yet gentle hands left your cheeks. you already miss the feeling. you unconsciously grabbed his hands, just moments before snapping out of his enticing. you gripped it tightly, fingernails buried deep into his skin just like how his fangs were in your skin.

“i will fucking kill you, zuko,” your eyes snapped out from his spell and splashed daggers right into the core of his undead soul. “you will regret ever tempting me, bastard.”

the same tiny smile surfaced on zuko’s lips. “i'm waiting, my dearest sweet little hunter.”

#♱⃬ ͏⠆ ͏love at first bite #🎥 . . xwrites #zuko #prince zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #atla zuko #atla #fire lord zuko #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender zuko #avatar zuko

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avelera · 7 months

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OFMD really said, "Pursue the things you love, not the things you fear."

I'm still turning this idea over in my head like a microwave but I'm thinking about Stede's line to (the picture of) Ed, "I'm afraid that your life is better without me."

From @blackbbonnet's gifset here.

Whew, what a doozy of a line!

And what a curious line!

Because the reason Stede left Ed at the end of Season 1 was in the hopes that it would improve Ed's life if he took off.

Despite the fact that Ed chose to be with Stede. Despite the fact Ed was content with folding socks if he was by Stede's side. Despite kissing him and declaring, by somewhat obliquely, that a life anywhere was fine as long as Stede was there, Stede just couldn't hear it over the sound of the Badmintons and his own trauma in his ears telling him he destroyed beautiful things, like his family, and Ed.

Ok, so what does this have to do with my thesis above?

Stede failed, he messed up, because he saw his worst fear of Ed being happy without him and decided that the painful thing was the right thing. That the voices in his head telling him he was worthless were correct. That it was better to listen to those voices, and to make his greatest fear a reality.

I've argued that the narrative morality of OFMD, the actions that give you plot armor and allow you to save the day, are when characters pursue what they love.

This is in contrast to many other adult-aimed works of fiction that say we should do things out of duty. We should do things that are painful but necessary. OFMD said, "Fuck that noise."

Because Stede left Ed out of a sense of duty. And he fucked over every single person in his life by doing so, including Mary and his kids, though he was able to fix that eventually specifically by resolving to return to his own happiness so that they could have theirs.

But then we've got this quote above! This quote saying that Stede is afraid Ed's life is better. Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating! Because that means the thing Stede was ready to self-sacrifice for at the end of the Season 1 was the thing he feared most: a life for Ed that was better without Stede in it.

I suppose there's no better definition of duty, huh? Then the resolve to do something that will be personally painful to us for some higher goal. And again, OFMD said fuck that noise, pursue your happiness, and do so proudly.

But there's an extention to this too, the more I thought about it. The show literally even said that even for matters of survival, the better motivation is joy not fear or duty.

Think of the storm in S1 ep. 4. While trying to think of a way for everyone to survive because it's his duty as a captain, Ed is distracted, disinterested. Izzy's frustration with him mounts. The tension rises. His heart is really not in it, we know Ed's actively suicidal...

And the plan Ed comes up with fails.

It was born out of duty as a captain and it failed because he messed up the dates.

But what plan succeeds? The plan born out of joy. The Ed that works with Stede to become a lighthouse is acting out of an active, joyful desire to live, he chooses life out of the joy of being with Stede, of partnering with Stede.

The you flash forward to the scene where Ed is drowning in his Purgatory fever dream and the simple motions of struggling to stay alive are not enough. The duty of staying alive is not enough. The thing that actually works is when the choice he makes to live is joyful, it's a positive choice to go towards the light and be with Stede. Stede, embodied as a beautiful gold fish of a merman.

And just to be clear, I don't at all think that OFMD is saying, "If you don't have a joyful reason to move forward, just give up." Not at all.

What I think it's saying is, pursuing your happiness will succeed. Even when it's scary. Even when it means confronting fears. Even when it's hard. Duty alone isn't enough to live on. It's not enough to motivate us when things are hard. It has diminishing returns. Pick and pursue what gives you joy, choose a shining target to move towards, and you'll not only be true to yourself, but good things will come out of it. Just like Ed finding Stede, and Stede finding Ed, because they pursued what made them happiest in life.

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #tw suicide

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emeritusemeritus · 5 months

Text

Simple really [Weasley Twins x ftm!Reader]

This work is based off a request I received from @king-of-the-damned-world and it’s been a pleasure writing this for you, sorry again that it has taken so long!

Unfortunately I am not currently taking requests but I am currently working on a few different pieces that should hopefully be uploaded soon.

Title: Simple really.

Pairing: Weasley Twins x Ftm!Reader {Established Relationship}

Timeline: Set around GOF.

Summary: With the Yule Ball around the corner, you must make a choice that could alter your entire life. Do you stay the same and remain unhappy or risk it all to finally find peace?

Warnings: Reader is trans!male (ftm). Contains a little angst and a lot of self reflection. Pronouns change throughout. A little humour, a little fluff and a lot of heartwarming goodness. Mentions of reader wearing a suit. Mentions of gender stereotypes and conforming.

This is my first time writing non-afab reader so please be gentle.

The walls of Hogwarts had never seemed so dreary to you or less like home than they felt right now. The corridors felt empty and hollow, even filled with people. It was a mild autumn day but it felt like it was mid-winter in your mind, every fibre of your body feeling bleakness all around you. You wanted to crawl into bed, shut the surrounding curtains and disappear but you knew even that wouldn't bring you comfort.

You'd avoided your boyfriends all day most successfully, most of the week really, which wasn't too hard between their shared detentions and your extra curricular activities. George might have been on to something, being the more sensitive of the two, but you were near certain that Fred hadn't even noticed anything was wrong, your efforts of hiding your true feelings paying off, at least for them.

You thought about going to Hagrid's, sharing a cup of tea or distracting yourself with his newest creature he was caring for but you didn't trust yourself not to unleash your inner monologue on him and quite frankly he wasn't the right person to work through your thoughts with. You didn't know who was, never having much experience on the matter except for your own thoughts.

You could talk to your head of house, or Madame Pomfrey, but that seemed too clinical, too unemotional in a time when you felt you needed it.

You sat on the grass, looking down at Hagrid's hut and the outskirts to the forbidden forest, watching as smoke rose from the chimney of his hut, drifting in the gentle breeze until it disappeared high up into the sky. You sighed, looking down at your legs and the wand in your hand, absently twirling it as you wished this could all be fixed with a single wave of said wand.

Your mind felt plagued, completely consumed by your thoughts, by the realisations you'd made and the intoxicated consequences they would have on your life if you sought to decide on the route to take. You were at a metaphorical crossroads in your life and your two options were to stay exactly as you were, on the path that had been created for you by societal expectations and preconceived notions; or you could create your own path, following your heart and deal with the consequences as they come.

The biggest loss would be your boyfriends Fred and George Weasley, the boys you had loved for years, first as friends and then more as your relationship grew. This new path you were forging would jeopardise the relationship in a way that nothing else ever could but was it worth a life of unhappiness and unfulfilment? It wasn't exactly new for you to be consumed by these thoughts but in the past year they'd grown in strength and reoccurrence until the faint inkling turned into assuredness, certainty and faint hope.

You sighed again, knowing what needed to be done.

You dragged yourself to your common room, another pang of discomfort hitting you as you walked to your pre-selected dormitory and threw yourself on your bed, thankful that no one else was there. You pulled out some parchment and your quill and began to write. There was no need to plan what you were trying to say, no thought of perfecting your words or of your penmanship, it was just honest words straight from your brain onto the quickly filled parchment. A rabid determination washed over you as you began writing, unable to stop or slow as you finally put everything you'd known to be true and denied for years plainly on paper for your loved ones to read.

"Whaaaatya doing?" You suddenly hear from behind you and you let out a scream, your body jolting upright in bed at the sudden and unexpected intrusion. George, who watches on, thinks quickly and salvages the ink pot that had spilled with your actions, not one spot of black ink falling into your crafted parchment or bed.

"Merlin you two!" You said, clutching at your chest as you look upon the grinning twins that had essentially broken into your dorm, not for the first time.

"Sorry sweetheart, couldn't resist," Fred smirks, hopping down onto the bed, followed by George who takes a seat with a hint more decorum than his slightly older brother.

"What you got there?" Fred says, nodding his head to the parchment. You suddenly freeze and clam up, not expecting the letters to be read so soon by the intended recipients.

"Potions homework," you say absently, scrambling to move the letter than you'd previously been so proud of.

"He didn't set us any," Fred says, eying you with suspicion before he turns to George in question, "did he?"

George shakes his head slowly in reply and his gaze flickers up to you, a sadness in his eyes as he realises that you were lying to them. Apparently, from the look he was giving you, you'd not quite hidden your mental and physical absence as well as you thought you had.

"What's going on darling?" He asks, cutting through the bullshit. It's now or never. You take one last look at them, their long gorgeous hair and the freckles, trying to remember them like this, just how you loved them. You took a deep breath and stare at your slightly shaking hands, suddenly not knowing any way to explain yourself.

"Are you breaking up with us?" Fred asks quickly, his nervousness evident in his voice.

Your eyes shoot up to his quickly, as if offended by the notion and splutter out a reply that really doesn't help your case.

"No! Merlin no, I, maybe? I don't want to."

"Glad we got that cleared up," George says bitterly, though there's no trace of humour in his voice.

"It's not, you, it's," you begin to say, unable to meet their eyes. "I want to be with you both but you won't want me anymore."

"That's ridiculous," they say at the same time, protesting your words almost instantly. You sigh, picking at the blanket beneath you.

"I just, here," you say suddenly, thrusting the barely dried parchment onto George's lap and lingering for only a second before you run off, out of the dormitory and out of the common room.

Somehow, they find you a few hours later, curled up in the astronomy tower, fighting off the cold that you had not anticipated in your hurry. You caught sight of the Marauders map hanging out of Fred’s pocket and realised that they’d either borrowed it from Harry or had momentarily stolen it from him, seeking you out.

"Here he is," Fred says, catching sight of you and gesturing for his twin to join you as he smiles down at your crouched figure. His words make you freeze, shocked at the pronoun he used, so nonchalantly that is blindsides you.

"What-."

"We read your letter," George says, crouching down beside you, followed only moments later by his twin.

"All of this over a dress?" Fred says, smirking at you as if nothing was wrong.

"Well not really," you mumble, worried that they'd taken everything the wrong way, not taking it seriously enough.

"Well no," Fred admits, reaching out for your hand, "why didn't you just talk to us?"

"Because you wouldn't want me anymore," you said in a quiet voice, your tone blunt as if it was obvious. You were trying so hard not to cry, pushing down every urge as you faced your problems head on.

"Who told you that?" George says, outraged at the notion.

"No one?" You say unconvincingly, even though it was the truth.

"Sweetheart," Fred says, pausing and looking up to you with hesitation, "do you still want to be called that?"

You nod slowly, still unsure of where the conversation was going.

"I know this is a big thing for you, it's a big thing for all of us, and rightly so, but it doesn't change how we feel," he says, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth, as if he's trying to show you that it really is okay.

"Yeah," George says from beside him, "you're still ours, just with a few different pronouns."

You're silent for a moment, shocked as you take in their words until a huff of laughter escapes you.

"You're really okay with it? You still want to be with me?"

They share a look between each other, identical devious smiles on their faces.

"A few questions," Fred says, suddenly rather serious. You nod instantly, having anticipated this.

"Have you had a brain injury in the past 24 hours?"

"Eh?" You ask, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"I ask, you answer," he smirks with a shrug. You shake your head. “Not fell off a broom or from a high ledge?” Once again you shake your head, still reeling with confusion.

"Have you been put under the imperius curse? Blink twice for yes," George says, an identical expression on his face. You blink once, with a frown and shake your head.

"Are you really someone else pretending to be our love, using Polyjuice potion to trick us?"

"No."

“Prove it, one thing about me and Georgie that no one else would know,” Fred says, egging you on with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Uh, George has a freckle on his left rib and you have a mark on your left bumcheek,” you say, squinting up at them, not quite believing that those exact words were tumbling out of your mouth.

"Then that's sorted," George says, as if it's that simple. "We might need reminding sometimes, old habits and all that but nothing will really change, not between us at least."

"We love you, male or female, simple really."

The night of the Yule Ball had finally come and you were a bundle of nerves as you fiddled with the buttons on your suit.

It was ironic really that your whole life had turned upside down but you'd landed exactly the right way up, never happier now that you could be exactly who you'd always been, who you knew you really were inside.

The idea of having to wear a dress, to conform to the social pressures that came along with your birth assigned gender was the catalyst to all of this, the turning point that you couldn't go back from. As you looked in the mirror and saw the man you had always been inside reflected in the mirror, a tear came to your eye.

"You look perfect, love," George says moving to stand behind you. He towers over you as usual and you can't help but think of how devastatingly handsome he looks, the colours of his waistcoat and dress robes contrasting perfectly with his flaming hair.

"You both look so handsome," you say, reaching out for them both as Fred steps closer to you, his suit matching George's and complimenting your own.

"Out the way, three handsome gentlemen coming through!" Fred says, barging past the crowd as he leads you by the hand into the hall, George attached to your other hand as you navigate the crowd together.

“Yeah coming through! He’s all ours, everyone put your eyes back in your head and avert them!” George shouts, shooting you a wink.

Your smile shines brighter than every candle in the hall combined as you make your grand entrance, finally at peace with yourself and the world around you.

Taglist is currently being uploaded.

#harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x you #weasley twins x you #Weasley twins x ftm reader #Weasley twins x transmalereader #fred weasley x reader x george weasley

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romanarose · 1 year

Text

My Hero

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Reader is just me. What can I say.

Summary: You work at the coffee shop of the London Museum, and you're used to guys being a bit weird, but when one gets a bit handsy, your work crush steps in to help you

Warnings: Guy being creepy, inappropriate touching (just the shoulder) slight aggressive behavior (grip on arm), anxiety attack, references to past trauma but I promise this fic is pretty light, mostly about Steven being a sweety. Breif refernce to Linkin Park and Chester Bennington's suicide, just a fair warning.

A/N: Like most of my fics, this is based off of something that happened to me while working at a cafe in San Diego, except I didn't have a Steven Grant to save me, I had to try and override my freeze response to get out of it, and cry outside alone. Like everything in my life, I process it though writing, to allow myself control over the situation. I was pretty proud of myself for being able to get out of it without help, when for years, I would just freeze.

Italics are Marc, bold is steven, red is jake.

****************

Christ, he was handsome. Disarmingly so. Steven Grant, your coworker at the gift shop, was just the right kind of dorky. You didn't mean dorky as an insult, ooohhhh no. You were a huge dork. You had a baby Yoda Shirt on right now, and a Simple Plan tattoo from your emo phase that you never quit grew out of.

'It's not a phase mum! This is who I am now!'

And it wasn't a phase! It was who you were!

And Steven seemed to enjoy it, although he may not fully understand it. He came to your register one day, looking absolutely dead tired, not looking at you as he said hello and mumbled something about 'Whatever has caffeine' You gently explain that since this is a coffee shop, almost everything has caffeine. He looked up at you like he was about to break down crying if he had to make a single choice.

"Okay! Okay uuuhhh do you like drinks more sweet, or earthy taste?"

"Er, sweet I supposse. But I'm vegan" He perked up a bit at your bright, patient smile. Get it Steven

"Yeah no problem! We have a vegan caramel, it's a $0.50 upcharge, so are the milk subs, is that okay?"

Cheapest date we've ever had

"Right, of course, no problem there, do you have oat?"

"Absolutely!" There was no line, so you went ahead and made his drink, vegan caramel macchiato two double espresso. "Here, try it!"

Steven, this isn't coffee this is sugar

The man took a drink, and looked almost relieved. "Oh it's wonderful, love! How much do I owe you?" You finally smiled at you, and you felt like your heart would fly out your chest.

God dammit, she's trouble.

You shake your head. "No charge today, call it a taste test"

Okay, now this is the cheapest date we've ever been on

"Oh no! No, I can pay! I don't want to get you in trouble"

You reassure him. "You won't, I'm the morning manager, just come back for more sometime, yeah?"

Damn right we'll be back.

Steven put 5 quid in your tip jar before promising he'd be back. And he was. Every morning for coffee, and usually again in the afternoons for tea. You had taken to visiting him in the gift shop if he was too busy to come to your side, which eventually turned to you bringing him a tea every afternoon, to which he'd respond shock every single time you handed him the cup. He'd take it with a "Oh love, you shouldn't have!" Every single time, as if he was surprised someone was continuously showing him kindness.

In turn, Steven would listen to you talk about your music interests. Even though he had never heard of the music you talked about, he kept a mental cataloged of everything you mentioned and actively participated in the conversation. "What? My Chemical Romance released a new song?! How long was that hiatus, 10 years? How they kept that a secret, I'll never know"

You had to admit your little work crush was turning into something deeper, as the months drew on with him, and yet you couldn't make a move. You weren't afraid of asking men out, much to your traditional parents' horror, but Steven was different. You had a friendship you cared deeply about, how could you risk that. What would you do if you didn't see his face int he morning, disheveled but smiling? What else did you have going on after work, other than to wonder the museum with him as he explained the niche facts he knew? Who would sit with you on your lunch break and tell you about the bullshit things Donna would say to him about his autism, and then insist you not report her because he doesn't want to cause problems? Sweet Steven meant the world to you. And you knew damn well that shy man wouldn't ask you out if he even was interested.

So here you were, waiting for him to come see you for his morning coffee where you never upcharged him, so you can show him the video's your friend took of Matty Heely at the concert they went too.

The playlist in the coffee shop right now was yours. You were allowed to play your music as long as there wasn't swearing or too much screaming, so you have found a playlist of lighter emo/rock songs. However, you had failed to check it all the way through, and Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park came on, a song that you could no longer listen to after Chester Bennington's death on your birthday. You set down the latter you were working on as the espresso dripped into the cup, going to go skip the song.

But this slight detour in making coffee in order to prevent you from crying at 8 am on a Tuesday was simply too much for the man who was waiting on his stupid overpriced latte as you reached for your phone.

"Ma'am" He stepped into your work area behind the counter as you walked past, grabbing your arm. "How much longer on the coffee?" He asked.

Your entire world focused in on the man's grip on you, and the music playing overhead threatening to take your back to the place you had been in when he died. His grip was light, so you tried to take a step back, muttering 'excuse me', but his grip tightened harsh enough to cause bruises as his fingers dug painfully into your skin. "You should take care of customers before playing on your phone"

You froze, as he started yelling about needing his coffee, but not letting you move. The music was too much and the emotions the song brought mixed with the memories the man's grip on you triggered, you found yourself unable to move, your young coworker standing by in shock, unsure what to do.

The next thing you register is slightly being yanked forward as the man was pulled away from you, and Steven Grant stepping between your near-hyperventilating form. You have enough thought to turn off that godforsaken song with the phone in your hand, realizing then that Steven hand his arm out beside you, in case the man tried anything further. "Alright mate, lets back away, yeah?"

"She's supposed to be making my coffee" He argued, taking another step to move behind the counter, but Steven's other hand pushed him back, his body blocking the man's accesssto you and the 18-year-old you were working with.

"You'll get your bloody coffee, one more step and it'll be on your face instead."

You couldn't imagine you're sweet Steven throwing hot coffee on someone, but something told you that even if he didn't follow through with that threat, the man wouldn't touch you again, nor poor McKenna, who was just trying to pay for college.

The man stared at Steven like he was assessing the situation. Steven wasn't tall by any means, and it wasn't like he was jacked, but he was deceptively strong, and you had a itching feeling the passive man would go absolutely unhinged if the need arose. There was spark in his eyes, a passion that said he knew right from wrong and he would defend it if he could.

The man must've seen it too, because he took a few steps back, raising his hands in defeat and suddenly acted all innocent. "Alright mate, no trying to start anything, just want me coffee"

"Here" McKenna handed him the coffee and he left.

Steven watched him leave. The absolute nerve of him, thinking he can go around harassing girls just trying to do their jobs. Everyone complains about a lack of service workers, but Christ can you blame them? I wouldn't want to do this shite either with twits like that hanging about!

Steven, he's leaving, go check on her Marc reminded him, knowing how Steven can get distracted

Oh! Right, thanks mate What Steven saw broke his heart.

You were staring off into space, shaking as your coworker tried to comfort you, but you looked like you were about to cry. Steven rushed over, careful not to touch you lest he overwhelm you right now. "Hey love, you would like to step outside? Or maybe walk around for a bit?" He turned to McKenna "You can handle it here for a bit, yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah, go take a breather"

You nod in return, gaze not focusing on him yet. "Uh, yeah, yeah can we step outside" you grab your purse.

You took Steven's hand, not caring if it was too bold. You had been really scared, and he made you feel safe.

"Stevie!" Donna had bellowed as he guided you past the gift shop. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"Having a smoke break, Donna!" He called out.

"You don't smoke!"

"Let me have this, or I'll start" He threatened, looking at Donna challengingly. When she didn't argue, he continued "Right then, cheers" and took you outside to breath. "Hey there, are you-" But he was cut off with a strong hug and quit cries. He wrapped his arms around you, feeling your chest rise and fall in his arms. He didn't speak, merely opting to rub your back appropriately high and allow you to cry to out.

When you pulled back, sniffling, you realized how gross and wet his t-shirt sleeve had gotten. "oh god, I'm sorry Steven" You said, looking defeated in a way he had never seen you, usually so alight with excitement and in love with life.

"Huh?" He looked at the tear covered sleep that may or may have snot on it. "Oh, please, don't worry about that, I didn't even like this shirt" it was his favorite, but that didn't matter.

You were mumbling fuck and shit and goddammit into your purse as you dug through, getting tissues and blowing your nose before using the clean ones to wipe off his shirt as best you could. "Bloody hell, I'm fucking disgusting" you say to yourself more than anything as you frantically try to clean him.

Steven grabs your hand "Darling, no, you aren't disgusting" He catches and holds your gaze for the first time that day. "You just had a scary time, that man was horrible, and I hope he forgets to put his seat down on the toilet, then wakes up in the middle of the night to shit and falls in."

Finally, you laugh and grace him with the smile he loved so much. "That's... a bit out of pocket"

"Yeah" He breaths out a laugh, shrugging a bit, nervously.

"Here" You take off your oversized jacket and hand it to him.

"Oh! No love, it's fine-"

"Steven, my snot is on your sleeve, please allow me this little bit of dignity"

Steven graciously accepts the jacket, and you can help smile at how cute he looks with Baby Yoda on the breast pocket. Having felt pain in your arm when you took the jacket off, you pull up the sleeve to find bruises forming on your arm, and wince.

Steven took your arm in a carful hold, frowning deeply as he examined it Hijo de puta I'll fucking kill him "Bastard's banned, I'll have JB pull up the security camera footage, he won't be allowed back after this"

You wipe tears from your eyes with your arm, and try to explain yourself. "I... know that was a bit of a, erm, an overreaction" you sniffle. "There's been guys who... well I've been in some scary situations... um..." you hesitate to open up about that part of your life.

Steven sensed your discomfort. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to" You smile. You weren't ready for that yet, but you knew he'd listen if you were. He continues, justifying your reaction for you. "I would be scared too, if someone did that too me. He hurt you, love. And the song that was playing, that was Linkin Park, yeah? That song that always upsets you? I'm certain that didn't help"

You pause at that. "Since when do you listen to Linkin Park? Since when do you even listen to music?"

Steven looked like he had been caught. "Oh... uh... Well, since you told me they were your favorite band, I suppose. Can't say I understand all the appeal, but I've found some I liked." He said shyly, knowing he was letting the cat out of the bag.

You blink at him, eye wide with disbelief. "You... you listened to my favorite band?"

Steven cocked his head to the side a bit. "Bands. I've listened to several you mentioned. I've found I rather like Panic! At the Disco, which I didn't see coming"

You burst out in a laugh and wide grin. "Steven, do you have any plans tonight?" You ask, taking his hand.

Say something smooth, this is your chance.

"Um... yeah, I'm cooking dinner for my pretty coworker" Steven smiled nervously, brown curls falling in his face.

You beam at him, leaning into his shoulder as you walk back inside. As you walk through the doors, you clarify. "The coworker is me, right?"

"There's no one else I'd rather spend the evening with"

***************

I know this was incredibly self-indulgent but I hope ya'll liked it anyway. When this happened, I had to deal with it alone, but after work I walked home with this coworker I had a crush on (he lived a block away so he always walked me home) and he saw I was upset after what happened so he asked me to explain star wars to him.

me "uh, like, what about it?"

him "I know the basics of the origenals, tell me the plot of the movies"

"which ones?"

"all of them"

"theres nine movies"

"and i wanna hear about all of them"

Even after we got to my apartment he sat outside with me as I finished explaining 8 and 9, and he activily participated and pretended to be invested, which significantly distracted me from the triggering even of the man at work grabbing me. I wanted to marry him so bad but I had to move out of that living situation XD so i left the state

Also: my birthday is July 20th. linkin park is my favorite band, which means on July 20, 2017 I woke up to the news that Chester Bennington had died on the birthday I shared with chesters friend and another artist i loved, chris cornell, who had killed himself earlier that year. it took years before I was able to properly celebrate my birthdy instead of mourning. I always find a way to remember chester and chris every year thought, an honor their memories.

anyway, hope you Steven girlies liked this! I think Ima drop another super short drabble tonight too, bc im going through it right now lol.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @welcometostayingawake @in-between-the-cafes @lucianadraven32 @milkymoon2483 @ahookedheroespureheart

#steven grant fluff #protective steven grant #marc spector is a wingman #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant angst #fluff #moon knight fluff #steven grant x fem!reader #moon knight

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lizzybeth1986 · 5 months

Text

Tagging @choicesfandomappreciation for Spread Kindness Week! I unfortunately was on holiday while this was on, so I missed the week while it was happening. Still, I do want to put up some (belated and very well deserved) appreciation posts for folks whose writing, art, content or even just simple posts make me smile!

For Day 1, I want to shower some well-deserved praise for the fan community blogs that encourage content creators with their events, competitions and prompts, and who tirelessly work to present hundreds and thousands of creative works in their masterlists. As someone who runs a couple events of my own, I know how strenuous it is and it takes a massive amount of drive and patience to do it on a regular basis!

@choicesficwriterscreations - I know you've gone through a couple tough weeks this month, and I admire how sensitively and compassionately you tried to handle it. So much love to the hosts and I hope you guys go from strength to strength! @jerzwriter and @cfwcmod-lucy, love you!!

@choicesmonthlychallenge - LOVE all your monthly prompts even if I am so sluggish in getting them done! Kudos to every single individual who has run the separate blogs for each month...you're all amazing and I love how each day has three prompts to choose from. You all really spoil us for choice. Loads of love to all the individual hosts - @liaromancewriter, @lilyoffandoms, @lorirwritesfanfic, @lucy-268, @peonyblossom, @songsaboutgirls, @midnightmelodiz and of course the mod of this blog @lovealexhunt!! (Forgive me if I forgot anyone!!)

@choicespride - So much respect for all the events you hold, with such a variety of prompts 💜 Picture prompts, dialogue prompts, scene prompts...you name it, we'll find it. And all the weeks are so amazing!! Much love to @peonyblossom and @songsaboutgirls, once again!

@choicesflashfics - I can't help but be in awe of how you put out all these great dialogue prompts week after week! And all different and easy to incorporate into stories. I admire your drive and efficiency!

@choicesprompts - Love the variety of activities happening in this blog!! The rewrite challenges...the prompts...the round robins and collabs - I've never actually been confident enough to participate yet but I really love how you bring so many writers together!! Lots of love to @angelasscribbles and @dcbbw for this blog!

@choicesholidays - Again, this blog keeps track of so many holidays and tries to include them all, and I really admire that! They've done great work 🤗🤗🤗 Again, much love to @angelasscribbles!!

@moodmusicmonday - Love the way you encourage us to share the music that inspires us to write!!

@wordwarriors - An amazing community - we try to meet up every month to discuss aspects of writing and how to improve on it, as well as how we can make our own writing more interesting. I love this little community!!

And of course all the character and book appreciation weeks! @drake-walker-appreciation @maxwell-beaumont-appreciation, @tobias-carrick-appreciation-week - these are the only ones I recall seeing rn but if there are others do let me know!! Loads of love to @angelasscribbles, @karahalloway, @harleybeaumont! SO MUCH LOVE to my amazing co-host for all my character weeks too, @sazanes!!

My lovely Discord Gang!! I have such amazing discussions with them 💜💜💜 @cassiopeiacorvus, @thecapturedafrique and @mand-delemonde - love you all!!

Also to the people who send me such nice inbox messages including @peonierose and @lovealexhunt - I'm very poor at responding to them, but do know I appreciate what you're doing so much ❤️🥰❤️

#choices spread kindness #spread kindness week #day 1: fandom shoutout

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tokiro07 · 1 month

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Undead Unluck Week 2024

Day 6 - Favorite Quote: "Let's enjoy life"

Is it cheating to use a quote from the author rather than from the series itself? It better not be, cus for all of the quotes from this series that rattle around in my brain, either because they're extremely poignant ("What kind of man wants to see the woman he loves suffer?") or stupidly funny ("You not telling me was a test, wasn't it?" "Yes." "You're lying, aren't you?" "Yes."), this summation of the series posited by Tozuka's editor is the one that actually changed me

That may seem hyperbolic for a three-word quote, but ever since I saw that quote, it really has altered something in my brain chemistry. Like a Negator reinterpreting the meaning of their Rules, my whole worldview changed, at least subtly, when I heard that quote

Naturally it changed my approach to reading UU, as every scene, every moment, every quote, every panel suddenly became about reinforcing the idea that life is something to be enjoyed with other people. It's incredibly clear that this philosophy is the driving force for every single decision in the narrative, with every action that the main cast takes (and possibly even the villainous cast with recent revelations) being directly influenced by the goal of happiness, the search for the Greatest Life

Beyond that, though, I've found that it's influenced my daily life as well. In much the same way that Dungeon Meshi fans have an inner Senshi that reminds them to feed themselves, I now have an inner Tozuka that reminds me to find the joy in whatever I'm doing. Whether it's to remember the purpose of why I'm doing something in the first place or to convince me that the effort isn't worth it and I should stop, the maxim to enjoy myself gives me the clarity and perspective to focus on what matters

It's not always easy. Sometimes life just hits you a little too hard and you can't remember the words of wisdom that would help you through the rough patch. But remembering that the whole point of life is to enjoy it, to be around people you can enjoy it with, eases the burden a bit. It redirects your energy towards trying to be happy rather than trying not to be sad

Fiction is a source of comfort for people. Whether it's seeing people going through the same problems they are and overcoming them, seeing people who look like them thriving when they themselves otherwise can't, or even just hearing a quote that resonates with them, the escape into fantasy should, ideally, give you something to latch onto and bring back with you into the real world. It can be something simple, like a superhero story equipping you with the courage to stand up for yourself, or a romance showing you how to be open with your emotions, but the best stories always leave you better than they found you

I've always believed that the purpose of life is to enjoy it, but I don't think I ever quite put it in those terms or thought about it that concretely. It was more just a general feeling, an implicit understanding that a life without happiness can hardly be called living, but once I read Undead Unluck, it became much more than that. It became an active choice. I've decided to live my life in a way I can enjoy, even if all that means is appreciating the moments where I'm just relaxing instead of "living life to the fullest." I don't have to see everything the world has to offer, I don't have to push myself to achieve every dream I've ever had, but I can't beat myself up for not doing those things either. You can't enjoy life if you're too worried about not enjoying life enough, now can you?

To truly get the most out of life, we have to be willing to live it, and on some level that means accepting who we are as individuals and meeting ourselves in the middle. It's fine to push yourself, but if you push yourself to the point of misery, then there's no point to it. Some of you even suggested that very thing to me when I felt like my UU anime reviews were getting too repetitive to be fun. You all, as my community, actively tried to help me break my own pattern of unenjoyment. I don't know if I ever said it, but thank you for being there for me. Thank you for helping me to remember to enjoy myself. I hope that this post will help do the same for you

I'll see you all again tomorrow for the final day of UU Week 2024. After that, and until next year's celebration:

Let's enjoy life

#undead unluck #fouryearsandananime #uuweek2024

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captainmera · 9 months

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Not asking something but just saying, I have just scrolled casually your profile and your art is AMAZING and from the answers to other asks that I've read, you look like such a nice person 🥹. It's inspiring also because I see that you're consistent and post because of the love of posting stuff and not for the amount of likes which is admiring

I think I'm an alright person, all things considered! I'm not without my flaws and I sure as heck am not perfect.

I'm just an optimist, I have a poets heart so I am ridiculous, romantic and eccentric in my approach to life. It doesn't work for everyone but it works for me.

Having fun for the sake of fun, is one of them!

I don't actually understand numbers. I'm mildly dyslexic and severely dyscalculic. So numbers has no meaning to me, neither does time, value, distance or volume.

I think it's a blessing and a curse. Because I do understand that, in this day and age, numbers of likes equalize some sort of value.

A lot of people I have spoken to feel like failures if their work has little engagement, and I can't stand here and say I'm above that, 'nor do I look down on anyone who needs numbers.

I think everyone feels the tremors of recognition and wanting validation for your work.

We live in a time of social currency being reduced to engagement on various platforms of choice.

And for some, those numbers actually mean real money. So it isn't so simple anymore. People gotta eat. I'm just very privileged in that regard, I live in Sweden on minimum living, which is far better than most places. I don't have to worry about surviving too much.

So it is unfair if I were to stand here and say numbers are stupid.

But if we take out surviving from the equation:

Thing with numbers is, though, that you can get a lot of numbers in one place, little in another, and get hung up on why one space is less successful. And that's the crux of the problem, innit? You put your value in the response.

It is very unmotivating to live like that. But I also think it's difficult to dethatch yourself completely from numbers. It's not avoidable. It's right there. All the time. If there was a button where you could choose not to see it, that'd be one thing. But you DO see it, it leaves a print in you every time you look at anything online - there's a number. You even participate by liking and disliking things you see.

And even then, it is going to take active work on your own part to recognise every single time you feel disappointed or want to sigh at the lack of response to something you've made.

We are humans, we need validation. And unfortunately, the culture we live today is shaped unfavourable to the needs we have for positive affirmations.

HOWEVER! There is a way to work with the grain here.

For me, I see value in comments. Because then I actually talk with people and I get to discuss things and connect. It doesn't matter if there's a five likes or a thousand likes on something, because it might just be someone scrolling by anyway. Comments however! :D

The real deal are people who stop, and say hi, and leaves a word. Then I know how many people I have actually reached/touched/connected with! You know? It doesn't have to be a good comment, it can be visceral. But at least then I have some feedback to work with.

I , personally (me), struggle with what to do with numbers. I mostly go "Oh, neat!" if it's a hit one. And then I move on. Comments make me beam. I like people. :')

That's art for ya.

Which is fun! I want to have fun, I want to touch people's hearts and I want to connect. I want to create things that speaks. I don't know if I'm doing that if all I have is a number. But comments! That's a person! :D They can tell me more than a number if I made them feel anything at all.

It's about reconceptualising what's important to you. I think?

I like people... You know?

But truth is, they aren't your friends. They are strangers. You cannot let a stranger, or a group of strangers, tell you your value - not by a like number, not by the amount of comments, or impressions, or whatever else.

In the end of the day, you have to remember why you want to do what you do.

For me?

Well, I used to have people around me who made me feel like nobody would like anything I make... And I really internalised that as a kid and young adult.

And then one day I thought "Well, I like it." and I started sharing my stuff online again. I got some people who reinforced the beliefs I had about my stuff being worthless.

But you know..... It had worth to me?

Maybe that was good enough.

I think so.

So now I just want to have fun. :)

Regardless if anyone is here or not. I still want my friends to like it, obviously! But in the end of the day, if I was the last person on earth - I want to do it because I love doing it.

Sometimes things have meaning, just by being. Nobody has to be there to see it happen. Things can grow beautiful, whatever it is beheld or not.

#ask #asks #I went off there with my thoughts #but I am a thinker and I don't talk with a lot of people hahaha so you got caught in my coffee drinking mood there #DO I SOUND PRETENTIOUS? A LITTLE BIT MAYBE #SORRY FOR BEING PRETENTIOUS I JUST.. MY BRAIN GOES OFF SOMETIMES

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dinbuckyenthusiasts · 2 years

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Bucky Barnes Shopping HCs

Grocery shopping:

Bucky going grocery shopping would be both funny and sad. Food would be more of a basic thing to him, just a means to survive, until you opened him up more to the idea of learning to cook different comfort foods. No matter what some ff writers say, I firmly believe that because of the era he grew up in/environment he was kept in, he doesn’t know how to cook. He would’ve been the kind of boy to sit and watch his mom cook, but never would’ve joined in. Now that he has freedom, I can see him following your advice and would try to recreate old recipes his mom used to make for him. That would be a never-ending project for him and he would definitely ask both you and Sam to help him taste test. It would take him a long time to figure out cooking, like what kind of spices to use, different types of cuisine, etc. Bucky would definitely go to smaller grocery stores, like farmers markets, because that’s what would feel the most natural to him, the most comfortable. I am also a strong believer that Bucky hates jello with a passion. I don’t know why but it’s just not him.

Clothes shopping:

Bucky going clothes shopping alone and going clothes shopping with you would be two VERY different things. When Bucky first went clothes shopping alone (after hydra/shield yk…) he would’ve been SO overwhelmed by the choices. It was a lifetime ago that he had the opportunity to choose so he wouldn’t know what to get. He wouldn’t really have a sense of style either and would end up quickly buying the most generic clothes (henleys, tees, etc.) so he could blend in with the crowd easily. But around the time TFATWS took place, he would start to get back out into the world, and would definitely take shopping as something a bit more significant. It’s still definitely not his favourite activity, but he’s slowly learning to incorporate his own style/what he enjoys (leather jacket, TIGHT tee shirts).

If he went shopping with you, he would enjoy it A LOT more. He’d love watching you try things on and would be convinced that you’d have to get every single outfit. Alone, he probably wouldn’t try this but with you, he would check out the food court and get something to eat. He’d really like the food court because of all the types of food they have available from different cultures. All in all, he would purely enjoy having people around and not needing to be anxious. He would love walking around with you and having a “normal” experience. That would mean the world to him.

Gift shopping:

The holidays would be such a stressful time for Bucky because he would not like gift shopping. It’s not that he doesn’t like giving gifts, it’s that the shopping, picking, and planning itself is so exhausting. He would have no idea what to get for his loved ones. He’s definitely more of a people pleaser so he wants to get something that people will use and enjoy, no matter the price. In the end, he would ponder over his options for an absurd amount of time and then get something more last minute. He wouldn’t expect the person to like the gift and would downplay it so much, but the receiver would love it. He’d be in disbelief for a while but then would be so happy that he got a gift that someone loved.

Car shopping:

Bucky going car shopping would be an ordeal. This man just wants a nice, comfortable method of transportation but of course it’s not that easy. He would end up going to a car shop that was around back in the day, something like Chevrolet but would be so confused at all the new different kinds of cars there are. He doesn’t really understand why some people are obsessed with cars, to him it’s just a thing that gets you places (it’s not like it flies). He would almost give up on the idea of buying a car, but then he’d happen to walk past an older garage shop and see a few older vehicles. He would be pleased at the lack of confusing language and would see an older motorcycle and would just buy it immediately. The owner of the shop would be so confused at a simple walk-in purchase but Bucky would be so happy that this mission of his was over.

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