#i should probably wear them most of the time at work but i’m still not used to themmmn

[an0ther1]

Untitled pt.2

Leah x OC

A/N: A little more in my current project. I’m still getting a feel for my characters. Feedback/thoughts welcome.

“What are we at, one more week?” Kim adjusted the weight on the bench press bar.

“Abouts yeah. I make it to the end of the week without any pain and things feel normal, I’ll get to run on the grass with everyone next.”

Kim laid down on the bench. “Well I’m sure you know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. Don’t do anything stupid and listen to your body. If something is off, waiting an extra day or 2 isn’t going to kill you.” She pushed the bar up off the rack. “Trust me.” She grunted as she lowered the bar to her chest.

“I hear you. And I won’t.”

“Hey Caps.” Beth came bouncing to the end of the bench. “Le, what time do we have the venue for Saturday?”

“Umm, 9 until whenever really. Though I told ‘em it would probably wrap up around 5. 6 hours for a baby shower seemed like more than enough.” Leah answered as she spotted Kim.

“Probably right on that. So we have 2 hours to decorate? That should be plenty. I think Steph has the catering scheduled for between 10 and 11.” Beth twisted her lips as she tried to remember.

“What did I do?”

“Catering. What time is that showing up?”

“Ah, yeah. 10:30 bouts. I’ll call and confirm on Thursday though.”

Kim put the bar back on the rack and sat up. “If we can get in at 9, I’ll schedule the cake and sweets to come around 10.”

“So we just need all the girls to show up at 9 to set up?” Leah switched with Kim after removing a few pounds from either end of the bar.

“Yeah, that should be about it. Caitlin promised that she kept a check on Katie and the games, but Stina is going to claim that she will be the one running the games so she can see what she came up with.”

“Good idea Meado. When Katie called dibs on games and said she was going to use a few “McCabe family classics” I was a bit worried about what those would entail. You really never know what you might get with an Irish family that large.” Kim helped Leah lift the bar to start her set.

“I thought most of Katie’s siblings were younger than her?” Steph asked.

“Ask her to name all her cousins some time.” Lotte interjected as she joined the group. “We talking about Erin’s baby shower?” The group nodded. “You know she’s right there.” Lotte pointed across the room to Erin, their social media content creator, who was sitting in a chair with a laptop balanced on a very round belly. “I thought this was supposed to be a surprise.”

“She has her headphones in editing. She can’t hear anything.” Beth shrugged. “You have everything worked out with Dylan?”

“Yeah. Him and Tao have some plan that Dylan swears Erin will fall for. They’re going to tell her I have a children’s event to attend so I can help set up.”

“Great. And Viv has been talking to Erin’s family, she just needs to confirm the time with them.” Beth added.

“What about Dylan’s family?” Leah said as she finished her set in the bench press. “I know they're American, but is Dylan’s parents planning on being here when Gemma is born? They might be in by then.”

Lotte shook her head. “Dylan told me and Tao he doesn’t talk to anyone in his family besides his cousin Rose.”

“Wait, isn’t that the middle name they’re giving Gemma?” Steph asked.

“Yeah. Rose is the cousin he grew up with. Dylan talks about her like a sister. I think she’s a year or two older. But she’ll be there. So he’ll at least have some family.” Lotte finished.

“Sounds like this is going to be a fantastic party for our little Gooner and her mum.” Kim looked around the group. “But now, finish up your reps. We’re on the pitch in 30.”

Everyone saluted their captain before dispersing.

**************************

The week for the most part had gone smoothly. The team didn’t have their first January game for another 10 days. But Leah was finally going to be able to join team trainings next week, after almost 9 months, and the anticipation was wearing her thin. Several times she was asked if she was excited, or nervous, and repeatedly reminded that the wait was almost over. Almost. She was sure Saturday was going to be full of the same, though the full Arsenal staff and then some would be at Erin’s baby shower, so Leah would hear it ten fold. She needed a break. Which is how she found herself out to dinner on a Friday night, alone, sitting at the end of the bar top of the restaurant she had come to the previous week. She had come in a little earlier this time though, hoping it would be less crowded before the dinner rush, and she had been right, allowing her to get the same seat at the end with her back to everyone else. Tonight she would be any other diner. Not soon to return from injury, Leah Williamson.

Leah greeted Colin as she took her seat, ordering a glass of Chardonnay. The bar keep was placing the glass in front of Leah with a menu before she had even gotten comfortable.

“Would you like the chicken again?” The ginger asked.

“Might do an app first. Take my time and do some reading on my phone if it’s no bother.” Leah smiled.

“Not at all. I’d say the hummus is great. That and the pitas are made in house.”

“Yeah? Alright. I’ll start with that, thanks.” Leah pushed the menu back towards Colin. “And I’ll order the chicken a little later.”

Colin reached for the menu. “I’ll have that right out.”

Leah leaned back in her chair and pulled up the book she was reading on her phone. Picking the wine glass up off the bar, she took a small sip and relaxed. Colin placed a plate in front of her a short time later and for the next 20 minutes or so, she enjoyed her wine and appetizer completely uninterrupted while she read. The noise in the restaurant slowly rose as the main dining area filled and the seats at the bar top were taken one by one. Colin had just refilled her wine and was putting in her dinner order when someone finally claimed the last seat next to her.

“Is this seat taken, miss?”

Leah had heard that voice before. She lowered her phone. “No it’s not. By all means.” She smiled at the new guest. “Hello again RJ.”

“Miss Williamson.” RJ smiled softly as they pulled out the chair before placing their coat over the back. “Nice seeing you here again.”

“Will you be watching another football match?” Leah asked as she watched RJ prop their phone up on top of the bar.

“I was planning on finally watching Sinclair’s last international match. Figured if I did it in public I wouldn’t cry.” RJ waved at Colin and gave him a thumbs up. Clearly not needing words to order.

“Are you Canadian?”

RJ chuckled and shook their head slightly. “No. But as a kid I just kind of decided she was my favorite player and that was that. Figured after a month I should finally just bite the bullet and watch the damn game.”

“Mmmm, yeah, retirement games are hard to watch. She’s still playing one more year for the Thorns though, yeah?” Leah finished the last of her wine and caught Colin’s eye, signally for another glass.

“She is. But that doesn’t make watching this any easier.” RJ picked up their phone and waved it before unlocking it. Leah couldn’t help but notice that their background looked like an abstract black and white print of some sort. Once RJ had the game queued up they set it back on the bar top. “You’re welcome to watch. But I won’t bother you if you wish to continue what you were doing.” They hit the play button on the screen.

“Thank you. I think I might try to finish this chapter of the book I was reading.” Leah turned back to her phone as Colin placed RJ’s drink down and refilled Leah’s wine glass. The pair sat in companionable silence as Leah continued reading.

“Who do you think is going to take the armband in the future?” Leah broke the silence after putting her phone down. “Sinc has been captain far longer than I can remember.”

“Fleming.” JR’s said with a seconds hesitation.

“Seriously? She’s so young?”

RJ turned in their chair and looked Leah straight in the eye. “Really?” They paused for a moment. “You, the youngest captain in England history, is going to say that Jessie Fleming, who is 25, is too young.”

“Oh. Yeah I see your point.”

“Aside from her age.” RJ turned back. “She’s been a regular fixture on the national team for about 9 years. When Sinc and Schmidt stepped off this field she was the 4th longest tenured player on the team.” RJ took a sip of their drink.

“You aren’t just a casual fan, are you?

RJ side-eyed Leah. “What makes you say that?”

“A casual fan generally doesn’t know those types of statistics for a player who don’t play for their team”

“How do you know she doesn’t play for “my team”?” RJ used air quotes. “She may not play for the US, but.”

“Ew. You’re a Chelsea fan?” Leah dramatically recoiled further from RJ who just laughed.

“No.” RJ smiled. A full bright, cheerful smile. “I am a fan of the players individually, especially Fishel and Macario. But not the team as a whole.”

“Do you even have a WSL team?” Leah raised an eyebrow.

“I do.” RJ smirked. “And don’t worry. They wear the right shade of red.” They leaned back in their seat. “Can I ask you something? None football related and not terribly personal.” They rushed out the last bit. “And you obviously don’t have to answer.”

“Well with those conditions, sure.”

RJ tilted their head. “If you hadn’t become a pro footballer, what would you have chosen to do?”

“Probably an accountant or something like that. I’m pretty good with numbers and enjoy that there is always an answer to any problem.”

“Figures.”

“What’s that s’pose to me?” Leah asked, offended by the assumption, regardless of what it was.

“You play football like a mathematician, calculated.”

“Oh.” Leah adjusted in her seat, sitting up a bit straighter. “Thank you.”

RJ just hummed in response.

“What about you? You obviously know what I do and now what I would do.” Leah relaxed a bit in her chair. “Colin said you did something in media, I think.”

RJ glanced down the bar at the mentioned bartender. “Digital media.”

“What do you do in digital media? That seems like a, a very broad field. And do you work for a company in the UK?”

RJ took a long slow sip of their drink, clearly stalling as they then swirled the liquid in the glass before answering. “The company is US based. I do a lot of behind the scenes stuff, sometimes editing, camera work, desk stuff.”

Leah picked up her phone. “Must be a small company if you’re doing all of that. Is there an Insta page I can check out? Give a like.”

“Yes, we have an Instagram account.”

“Okay. What’s the name of the company?” Leah had the app open and was just waiting.

RJ had their glass to their lips when they answered. “-third.”

“What was that?”

“Attacking Third.” RJ repeated.

“Really? That’s the show that covers the NWSL, right?” Leah started looking at the company's account on their app. “If they cover the NSWL, what are you doing here? Covering former NWSL players or something?”

“Something like that.”

Colin approached with a plate in hand. “Ms. Williamson, your chicken.” He slid the plate onto the bartop. “Enjoy. RJ, did you want anything?” RJ raised their now empty glass. “Be right back.”

After Colin dropped off the drink, the pair continued watching the game in silence as Leah ate her meal. Her plate was finished and cleared away when the match hit halftime. “I should get going. I have an event I need to be at tomorrow morning with the girls that will be far more mentally draining than 90 minutes on the pitch.”

RJ chuckled. “I can only imagine.”

The footballer gave the other patron a soft smile. “It was good to see you again. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

“I’ll get my hopes up.” They smiled. “Have a good evening Ms. Williamson.”

#leah williamson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso soccer

[viennakarma]

Drunk calls

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You're drunk on your night out and accidentally call your boss, Fernando.

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: Female reader, drunk reader, fluff, Nando comforting reader, boss x employee relationship, not beta read

Relationships: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Notes: Anon requested drunk reader and sober nano, so i just ran with it and wrote a little something while on hangover from the new year party. (Also that ONE pic George Russell posted of him and Nando!!!!)

Hope you enjoy it, Anon!

Find me on Twitter!

As you left the toilet, you felt your legs wobbly as you supported yourself on the wall. You had been clubbing with your friends for a couple of hours now, but a few minutes ago you couldn’t find them, and you looked all around.

Pulling your phone from your purse, you called your bestie to try and find out where she was. As soon as she picked up, you started talking.

“Hi, Hanna! Where are-” You hiccuped, “where are you? I think I’m too drunk now, I can’t find you or the girls, and my head is pounding already, and I can’t walk straight.”

“Y/N?” A male voice asked.

“Who the fuck are you?” You frowned.

“It’s Fernando, you just called me,” he said and you turned your phone seeing that you had actually called him instead of your friend.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, boss!” You said and immediately hung up.

Fuck, you drunk called your boss on your day off. That was most certainly grounds for a reprimand. You had been working as his assistant for almost a year now, and had only been super professional and dedicated to doing your work. You and Fernando had been friendly and settled into a great work dynamic. So accidentally calling him like this would probably cause problems for you.

You didn’t even have time or energy to blame yourself too long as your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Fernando. You immediately hit decline. But barely a second later he called you again. Shit, he probably would tear you a new one. You hit decline again. You started sweating, god, you needed to go home, you needed to eat and you needed to plan a big apology for the next time you see your boss again.

Then two texts appeared coming from Fernando.

“Where are you?” “Pick up the call”

And then he called you again, and you picked it up this time preparing for him to go off on you.

“Where are you?” He breathed loudly.

“I’m at a club with my friends,” you stuttered a little bit, both because of the alcohol and because you were worried he might fire you on the spot.

“You said you lost them. Have you found your friends?”

“No, not really. But it’s okay, I’m gonna go home already!” You hoped you were sounding a little bit more confident.

“How?”

“What?”

“How are you going to go home?” He asked, voice serious.

“I’m gonna call a cab or something. Don’t worry!” Please, sound sober, please sound sober.

“Send me the address, I’m gonna pick you up.”

“No, no! It’s your day off too, you don’t have to worry I’ll be fine! Really, I promise I’m going straight home right-”

“I wasn’t asking. Send the address.” He cut you off and hung up.

Cursing and sweating, you sent him your location, walking slowly to the exit, still trying to locate your friends. As you made it outside, you leaned against the wall, feeling a little better with the fresh gust of wind outside the packed club. You flexed your knees because your heels were feeling like a fucking thousand needles punching the sole of your feet. You should listen to your younger sister and start wearing sneakers to the club.

After a few minutes, you saw a scandalous rich man’s car pulling up and you knew it’s Fernando. He stopped by the sidewalk and came walking to you. He was wearing slacks and a white button up, simple but classy. You had seen in his schedule before that he was going to go out with friends for dinner. So that’s probably where he came from.

He didn’t look too pissed at you but he didn’t look happy either, his face was rather neutral.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he stopped in front of you. He was holding a water bottle, which he promptly opened and gave to you.

“I have been better, not gonna lie,” you said, and proceeded to drink almost the whole bottle of water.

“Why are you flexing your knees?” He asked.

“Because the heels are killing me.”

Silently, Fernando knelt in front of you and unbuckled the straps of your heels around your ankles.

“Off, now” he said, patting your calves, then offering you a hand so you could step out of the shoes.

“Jesus, thank you,” you mumbled, relieved to be barefoot finally, “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to pick me up.”

“I’m here already, quit whining,” he dismissed you, holding your forearm, “can you walk to the car?”

“Just give me a hand,” you asked, still a little unbalanced. You jolted a little when you felt Fernando’s hands on your thighs but he didn't touch you, he just pulled the hem of your dress down, since it was dangerously close to showing too much and maybe accidentally flashing everyone.

Fernando circled an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his side, keeping you standing all the way to his car, holding your heels with the other hand. You looked to the side of his face, and you were suddenly hit with the realization that Fernando is really, really attractive. 

“Damn, you’re handsome!”

It honestly slipped past your lips and you felt your cheeks warm up, embarrassed for saying that out loud, but Fernando only laughed a little, and kept walking you to his car, only stopping to open the door and put you in the passenger seat.

As you took the seat, he stared at your face, trying to catch any signs of something in your face. You blinked, staring into his beautiful greeny brown eyes, and he just huffed, pulling the seat belt and locking it around you.

When he finally started driving, the silence deafening, you looked at his side profile.

“Are you upset? I’m sorry! I promise I’ll behave.”

“I’m not upset. Though I will be a little annoyed if you throw up in my Aston Martin,” he said with a small smile.

“No throwing up happening anytime soon!” You raised your hand, held it in a cross and kissed it, “I’m actually really hungry”

Fernando clicked his tongue and reached for the backseat with one hand, pulling a Burger King brown bag. You smelled the food and you smiled.

“Oh my god! You’re a savior!” You opened the bag, which had your favorite burger and big sized fries, “this is my favorite!”

You ate quietly for a couple of minutes then a thought hit you.

“How do you know I like eating Burger King after getting drunk?” You said, and Fernando looked at you, opened the glove box and handed you a tissue.

“I know you well,” was all he said. He ended up driving you to his place, and you decided to question it.

“Why did you drive me here?” You walked in, sitting on the couch.

“What do you mean?” He looked confused.

“Ugh, never mind!” You stood up but the quick movement made you stumble and Fernando quickly held you in place.

“Careful!” He put both hands on your waist, in a way that felt very intimate.

You turned to face him, and he smiled softly, his hand now on your lower back. Then, you touched his eyebrow with the tip of your finger.

“I like your eyebrows.”

“Gracias.”

“And your beard too,” you cupped his face, feeling the roughness of his beard against your palm.

“Vamos, you need a shower,” he carefully walked you up the stairs and then inside the bedroom, straight to the bathroom.

Fernando turned you around and pulled down the zipper on your back. You gasped, holding the dress in place and turning to face him.

“You can’t undress me!”

He turned around, laughing.

“Ok, get in the shower and I’ll get you some clothes, eh?”

You showered, and when you left, a towel around your body, Fernando had left a small pile of clothes inside. There was a big t-shirt and sports shorts that you dressed. He also left you a toothbrush, which seemed very thoughtful of him.

When you walked back to the room, Fernando had changed into comfy clothes, and he was waiting for you sitting on the bed.

“Are you sobering up?” He asked.

And you just nodded, sleepy, crawling into his lap and snuggling into his chest, pressing your nose to his neck.

“Yup.”

“Then you remember who I am?” 

“You’re Fernando!” He laughed a little, kissing the top of your head.

“No, amor,” he leaned back, cradling your face with one hand, and pulling your right hand with the other, “I’m your fiancé.”

Wide eyed, you stared at the big diamond ring in your finger. Then, you finally remembered, your fiancé, your beloved Nano. Who had been your boss sometime two years ago, and you resigned when you realized you had feelings for him. In the end, he had gone after you because he harbored the same feelings for you.

You ended up laughing out loud, so hard that there were tears in your eyes.

“God, I’m never drinking again!”

“It’s cute that you forgot like this,” he laughed too.

You held his face, kissing him softly. His hand ran up your back, under your shirt. You wanted more, trying to deepen the kiss, but he just held you back.

“Sleep now, eh? Tomorrow I will wake you up with besos.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso

[puckinghischier]

Bouy

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader gets dragged to the bar by jack to meet all of his teammates, but finds herself drawn to a certain swiss captain

notes: part 2 to locksmith!! probably some inaccuracies about various player’s personalities, but all in the name of entertainment, right? i didn’t proofread either, oops. don’t know if i’m happy with how this turned out but here it is nonetheless. hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼

part 1, part 3

[4.6k]

~

The bar that Jack picked is surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night. It’s not overcrowded, but it’s busy enough to where you’re having to hold on to the back of his shirt as to not lose him. He leads the two of you over to a set of tables tucked away at the back of the bar, greeted with shouts and hugs as you drop your grip on him and simply stand back, letting him have his moment. You recognize a few of the faces, no names coming to mind, but most of the faces you’ve never seen before. You should know the names and faces of who you’re assuming are Jack’s teammates, but the truth is, despite your relationship with the Hughes family, you’ve never been one to follow hockey very closely. You don’t come from an area where hockey is a big deal, and though you understand the logistics of the game and you’ve traveled to watch all three brothers in some of their biggest games pre-NHL, your knowledge of the league’s players pretty much begins and ends with Jack, Luke, and Quinn.

“Long time no see, hallway sleeper,” you’re pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice in your ear. You turn to see Nico, no hat this time, soft, brown hair on full display. He was still wearing a white t-shirt, only his sweats have been swapped for jeans this time.

“Long time no see, locksmith.”

Nico laughs, and for the second time today you allow yourself to think about how lovely the sound is. “You know, all in a day’s work.”

“Sounds like someone really should have a conversation with the big heads at the NHL. Their poor players work so hard, only to have to pick up second jobs on their off days in order to pay the bills. Shame on them,” you joke.

“I know! Maybe it’s time I go on strike, put my full attention to helping pretty girls break into their apartments full time,” he responds, a small blush forming on your cheeks.

“Well I don’t know about all that, I need my own personal locksmith on call at all times. You can’t abandon me in my time of need!”

“Wouldn’t ever dream of it,” Nico places his hand over his chest, feigning offense. You glance over his shoulder, eyeing the bar, thinking about the vodka cranberry that’s calling your name. He turns and follows your eyes. “Did you want to go get something to drink-“

“Neeks!! What’s up man! We missed you today! The kids were asking where you were, you totally have to come with us next time!” you hear Jack cut Nico off.

“Yeah, man. Next time, for sure. Just needed a rest day, y’know?” Nico responds, slapping Jack’s outstretched hand.

The two begin their own conversation about the charity skate while you stand in the background. You know Jack isn’t ignoring you on purpose, but you’re getting a little tired of just standing around, deciding that you need that drink sooner than later to loosen yourself up a bit and prepare yourself for the endless stream of socializing you know is about to come your way.

“Hey, J, I’m gonna get a drink, okay? I’ll be right back,” you interrupt the conversation, knowing Jack would be worried if he looked up and you were nowhere to be found.

“Oh shit, y/n I’m so sorry, I totally forgot to introduce you to everyone. Neeks, this is y/n, y/n, Nico.”

“Yeah, we already met earlier. When you decided to lock the door on your way out this morning and Nico seems to be the only person with a spare key to the place,” you deadpan, watching a confused look glaze over Jack’s features.

“I left the door unlocked, I swear! I even double checked as I was leaving, because Lu-“ Jack suddenly pauses. “Luke must have locked it when he went to grab his beanie he forgot. I’m so sorry, Bouy,” Jack apologizes, letting the nickname he gave you when you were kids slip out of his mouth.

“Bouy?” you hear Nico’s confusion, looking between the two of you clearly confused.

“We’re not even going there right now, just a stupid nickname from one summer as a kid, not even important. What is important is that I get a drink, ASAP,” you say, once again trying to make your way to the bar.

You walk away from the conversation, sights set on an empty spot near the end of the bar. Admittedly, getting a drink seemed way easier in theory than in execution, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot get the attention of the bartender. You’ve tried waving, yelling, and following her as she makes her way down the line of patrons, but to no avail. You give up with a huff, turning around and leaning your back against the bar, trying to brainstorm how to get a drink in your hand sooner rather than later. “What if I just go take someone’s drink, what would they do then?” you speak aloud, to no one other than yourself.

“I would advise against that, who knows what concoctions some of these people are drinking.”

You whip your head around to find no other than Nico himself standing to your left. You begin to think him sneaking up on you is a habit of his, seeing as this is the second time he’s both surprised you and caught you talking to yourself today.

“You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me, Jesus.”

“Sorry. You just seem so lost in that head of yours. I’d ask you what you’re thinking, but if I’ve learned if I stand here long enough you’ll just say it out loud,” Nico jabs, amusement once again present in his chocolate eyes. It seems that’s a common occurrence whenever you’re in his presence.

“If you think I speak my mind now, just wait until I actually get a few drinks in me. You’ll be begging me to shut up,” you joke, turning slightly to see if the bartender is anywhere near your area.

“How about we test the theory? Need help?” he responds, challenging your words.

“I mean, be my guest, but I’ve been trying for what seems like forever,” you grumble, moving over slightly to make room for him at the bar.

You watch him stick his hand out, the bartender almost immediately looking over and nodding, signaling she’ll be right over. Your jaw drops, a little pissed, honestly. How in the hell did he just do that? You turn your head to look at him, eyes narrowed.

“How in the hell did you just do that?” your mouth mirrors your thoughts.

“Oh y’know, I have my ways,” he says, eyes twinkling, smirk on his lips.

“No, I demand to know. There’s no way I’ve been standing up here for the better part of fifteen minutes with not even a glance in my direction, yet all you have to do is stick your hand out two inches from your face and suddenly you’re next in line,” your tone showing your frustration at the situation.

Nico opens his mouth to respond, but a voice from the other side of the bar sounds before he can get a word out.

“Hey, Neeks, what can I get for ya? Your usual?” the woman serving drinks asks, a look in her eye you can’t quite pick up on.

“Nah, just a Michelob for me tonight, got morning skate tomorrow,” he orders, clearly very familiar with the woman. She turns to you, giving you the opportunity to really look at the girl. She was short, but not shorter than yourself. She had platinum blonde hair that was tied back into a high ponytail, a pen stuck right through the middle of it. She was wearing a bright green cropped tank top with black leggings. Her make-up was the perfect combination of natural yet bold. She was….really fucking pretty. Like, intimidatingly pretty. The kind of girl that would make even the most confident of women feel slightly insecure, to no fault of her own.

“Is that all or…?” she trailed off, looking at you expectantly.

“Can I just get a vodka cranberry? Double?” you asked, suddenly regretting your decision to not even wear make-up tonight.

You hear her scoff through a “Of course, coming right up,” before looking at Nico once again, then hurrying off to grab Nico’s beer and your cocktail.

“Is there something wrong with a vodka cran up here? Why the attitude?” you spit out, annoyed that she clearly found an issue with your choice of drink.

“You have to just ignore Jess, she’s a bit of an alcohol snob. Thinks everyone should drink top shelf or not even bother drinking at all,” Nico gives you the girl’s name.

You were going to respond to the fact that the two are on a first name basis, but your drinks arrived before you had the chance. You looked up to thank the girl, Jess as you now know, but shut your mouth when you saw the exchange happening before you.

“Just add it to my tab, Jess. Both of them,” Nico tells her, grabbing the bottle of Michelob sitting in front of him.

“Sure thing, Neeks. Need anything else just give me a shout. You know where to find me,” Jess lets her hand linger, briefly brushing against Nico’s. You look up to her face, seeing the sultry look in her eyes, her chin slightly dropped. She’s looking at Nico like he’s a meal and she hasn’t eaten in days. Glancing over at the man standing next to you, you notice his entire face is flushed red, up to the tips of his ears.

Your brows shoot up in both surprise and understanding. These two have slept together! Her actions a dead giveaway, albeit subtle. Girls recognize girls, you know? It surely explains why he was so quick to get her attention when you couldn’t even get so much as a glance. You’re fighting against every single muscle in your face to not break out into laughter, finding this amusing for some reason.

“Yeah, gotcha. Thanks, Jess,” Nico replies to the girl, stepping back a few inches from the bar.

You turn and follow him in the directions of the tables from earlier, trying your hardest to not get lost in the crowd of bodies you’re having to weave through.

“So, you didn’t tell me that all I had to do to get the bartender’s attention was sleep with her,” you said, stopping Nico in his tracks.

He turns to look at you, eyes wide and face red, clearly speechless, and maybe even a little embarrassed. You worry maybe your bluntness was a little too much this time, until you see the panic on his face.

“How did you- What makes you think-“ he fumbles over his words.

“I’m a girl, silly. I know when another girl is giving a man the ‘you gave me one of the best nights of my life and I want to do you again’ eyes. Nothing to be ashamed of, she’s gorgeous,” you interrupt, amused at his embarrassment.

You actually think its kind of sweet he seems embarrassed. You half expected him to meet your comments with a smirk and puff his chest out a bit, proud that he’d scored such a beautiful woman, but he’s not. You’ve met plenty of Jack’s previous teammates over the years, most of them cocky assholes that care about nothing more than who they can sleep with next, boasting to all of his buddies about the blonde chick he managed to sneak into his room last night. Nico’s response was the complete opposite of that. He almost recoiled at your words, looking like he wanted to crawl under the nearest table he could find and hide there until the end of the night. It’s a refreshing contrast to what you’re used to. You start to feel a little bad for even bringing it up.

Nico still stands, just staring at you like he’d rather be anywhere else at the moment, beer forgotten in his hand. You can see the wheels turning in his head on how he’s going to get out of this situation. “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m just used to Jack’s other friends that never shut up about who they slept with. My filter has a few holes in it I need to patch up I guess. I haven’t even had a drink and I’m already sticking my foot in my mouth-“

“I haven’t slept with her.”

Your mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. You stare at the man in front of you, noticing how he keeps fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable. He keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, switching his beer from left to right to run whichever hand is free through his hair. His eyes keep darting anywhere but your face, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well if you haven’t then she sure wants to,” you try to backtrack a bit, hoping you can humor your way out of the mess you walked yourself into.

“Yeah, I’m sure she does. Just like she wants to sleep with the rest of the team. Don’t get me wrong, Jess is nice and all, but she hits on all of us. Worked on a few of the guys, I’ve seen her drop a few of them off at practice in the mornings, but she never lets it go farther than that. Some of the guys prefer…arrangements like that, but it’s not really my style,” Nico replies, shocking you with his honesty.

“I find it hard to believe that beautiful blondes aren’t your type, but I’ll let it slide for now,” you narrow your eyes, not sure how else to respond to his unexpected candor.

“I mean, it seems lately my type has been talkative strangers, but I’ll let you know if it changes,” Nico says, his shift in personality giving you whiplash as he simply walks off, leaving you standing there with a red face and ears this time.

———————————————————————————

“So, where exactly are you from, y/n?” you get asked for the fourth time in about 5 minutes from the same man sitting to your right. You can’t exactly remember his name, only that he’s drank about 4 beers in the time you’ve been sitting here, considering Jack went down the line and literally rapid fired names at you once you returned to the tables.

“Dawson, she already told you three times, dude. She’s from Tennessee!” the man to your left shouts across you, a little too loudly. You flinch a bit at just how loud these guys can be, having been shuffled around from conversation to conversation for the past hour. Jack will come by whatever table you’re currently at about every 20 minutes and tug you in whatever direction he sees fit, going on and on about how you just HAVE to meet so and so because they’ll love you. You love that he’s trying to include you and integrate you into the group dynamic the team has going on, but you really wish he would just let you mingle on your own. His teammates have been nothing but welcoming and kind, but most of them are more than a few drinks deep and have been talking about whatever upcoming game they have and what strategies they need to improve on, leaving you lost and unable to add anything to the conversation.

“Virginia, actually. But close! I lived right on the border of Tennessee and Virginia, so it’s almost like I’m from both,” you shout back, explaining your origin…again.

“Wait, Virginia and Tennessee border each other?” mr. four beers questions, Dawson you’ve just learned.

“Mercer you idiot, of course they border each other. Have you ever even looked at a fucking map?” the man to your left responds, reaching behind you and slapping Dawson on the back of the head.

“Ow! I’m from Canada, Johnny! How am I supposed to know? Do you know what Canadian states border one another?” Dawson fires back at the man to my left, Johnny.

“Provinces.”

“What?”

“Canada has provinces, not states, Dawson,” Johnny says, blank look on his face as he stares at Dawson.

“Fuck you. And your Harvard degree,” Dawson crosses his arms and puffs up like a kid. It’s amusing really, watching the two bicker like siblings.

As the two continue to go back and forth, you can’t help but let your eyes wander around the bar, searching for a pair of brown ones. You haven’t spoken to Nico since your little exchange earlier, where he decided to unleash a field full of butterflies in your stomach after you stuck your foot in your mouth by accusing him of sleeping with the bartender. His words took you by surprise, having only known the man for a few hours. You can’t pretend you weren’t attracted to him from the moment you saw him standing in his doorway this morning, but you can’t let yourself go there yet. Can you? You’ve been in the city less than twenty-four hours. You haven’t even fully unpacked all of your clothes, yet here you are, not able get your best friend’s captain off of your mind.

Just as you try to shake the thoughts running through your head, a pair of eyes find yours, causing you to sit up a little straighter. He’s standing at a table with Jack and a blonde that you remember to be named Timo. He’s Swiss, too, you learned when Jack introduced the two of you. He told you that he and Nico played together before they both found themselves with the Devils, the pair going way back. Nico glances away, only briefly, before finding your eyes again, noticing the two men arguing on either side of you. He raises his eyebrow, as if asking you if you need help, but you just shrug and give a little half smile, rolling your eyes as if to say ‘boys, right?’. He lets out a chuckle, watching his shoulders shake slightly. You see him exchange a few words with Jack and Timo before stepping away from the table, walking in the direction of the table you’re sitting at. Just as Nico is only a few steps away, you feel your phone buzzing from where its laying on your thigh. You look at the screen, your mother’s name flashing across the screen. Realizing you hadn’t called her since your plane landed earlier in the day, you decide you should probably take the call.

“Sorry, guys, I gotta take this call,” you try to slide out from in-between the two hockey players, still arguing away. They don’t even notice your departure, too lost in discussing geography.

You look over to see Nico stop in his tracks, a confused look on his face. You hold up your phone and point to the screen, mouthing the word ‘mom’ before walking over to a secluded corner of the bar for some quiet.

“Hey, mom. Sorry I forgot to call earlier. It’s been a long day,” you sigh, leaning against the cool brick wall.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I just wanted to see how you were settling in. See how the boys were. Where are you? What’s all that noise in the background?” she questions, slight concern in her voice.

“You know Jack, he wanted to come out and ‘celebrate’ the fact that I live in Jersey now. Tried to get out of it, but Jack never misses a chance to go out. Still have a shitload of unpacking to do. I hope to have it all done before too long, though.”

“I should’ve known Jack would be ready to party as soon as you got there. You were always his favorite tag along,” she chuckles, referencing all the time Jack would drag to two of you to the various bonfires hosted at the surrounding lake houses during the summers in Michigan.

“Yeah, well this tag along is ready to make her way to her bed for the night, but I have to drive Jack home, so I’ll probably still be here awhile.”

“Honey just tell him you’re ready to go home. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Nah, I can wait it out a little bit longer. He’s too busy introducing me to everyone. He was so excited for me to meet his teammates. You’d think I was some local celebrity or something the way he’s been shuffling me from table to table for meet and greets,” you laugh into the phone.

“He’s just happy to have you around again, sweetheart. I know how much you missed him, I’m sure he missed you just as much. He’s just trying to make sure you’re included.”

“I know, I know. It’s appreciated, really, I just wish he would’ve let me have a few days before throwing me into a group of drunk hockey players, as usual,” you tell your mom, trying not to sound ungrateful. You do appreciate how eager Jack is to have all his friends meet you, but you’re growing sleepier by the minute.

“Welcome to life with Rowdy…again,” your mom laughs, using Jack’s childhood nickname.

“At least it’s sure to be an interesting one,” you reply, causing her laugh to grow. “Alright, momma, I better go before Jack comes looking for me. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I love you,” you say, looking over towards Jack’s table, watching him look around, likely noticing your absence.

“Alright, honey. I love you!” she says, hanging up the phone.

You lean your head back against the wall, closing your eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before returning to the chaos of bodies across the room.

“Did Dawson and Johnny really make that bad of a first impression that you’re hiding in a dark corner?”

Yet again, you jump at the voice that seems to be following you around today. You raise your head up and open your eyes, Nico standing a few feet away from you. You simply close your eyes once again and lay your head back against the wall once more, needing another minute to collect yourself.

“You know, I think I’m going to buy you some of those shoes with squeakers in them, that way I can always know when you’re coming,” you tell him, enjoying the feeling of the cool concrete against your head.

All you hear in response is a laugh, which has you raising your head to look at Nico again. You admire the way he scrunches his nose when he laughs, already thinking about how you can coax the sound out of him again.

“Where’s the fun in that now…Bouy was it?” he recalls your nickname from earlier, earning a glare from you.

“Don’t you even start,” you warn.

“You’re really not going to tell me why Jack called you that? I’ve been trying to get the story out of him for the past hour. He won’t budge, saying only you can tell it.”

“Trust me, it’s not even worth your time. I don’t even understand why the nickname stuck. They’re all stupid, the lot of them,” you shut down the request.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pry it out of you one day. I’ll solve the bouy mystery eventually,” Nico persists, not letting the subject drop that easily.

You remove yourself from the wall, sliding your phone into your back pocket. You run your hand through your hair with a huff, preparing yourself to join the others once again.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Mom called, so I figured I’d better take the call. A little tired, but I’m all good. Just hope Jack tires out sooner rather than later,” you shrug your shoulders.

“I can give him a ride home if you want to leave? I don’t mind, really. Not like it’s exactly out of the way,” Nico offers, a small laugh tacked onto the end of his sentence.

“No, I should stay. He was really excited for me to meet everyone tonight so I feel like I should at least stay a little bit longer. I don’t want to bail on him this soon.”

“Trust me, if it was up to Jack he wouldn’t leave until they kicked him out,” Nico states, nothing but seriousness in his tone.

“Well, we don’t call him Rowdy for nothing,” you joke. “Speaking of, we’ve been spotted,” you notice Jack making his way over to where the two of you stand.

“Hey, everything alright? I couldn’t find you and Timo said he saw you come over here awhile ago, then said he saw Nico come over here too. You okay?” Jack says as he approaches, glancing towards Nico before looking at you, concern in his tone and on his face.

“No, yeah, I’m fine. Mom called and I came over here so I could here her better, then Nico came to check on me. We were about to come join everyone again, I was just enjoying the quiet for another minute,” you tell Jack, watching the worry fall from his face.

“Oh tell momma y/l/n that her favorite surrogate son misses her,” Jack brightens at the mention of your mom, both of you viewing the other’s parents as a second set, just as close to them as you were your own.

“I will when she calls tomorrow,” you chuckle, knowing your mom will get a kick out of this conversation.

“I came over here to see if you were ready to go? We have morning skate tomorrow and Luke just texted me asking when we were coming home, which usually means he’s lonely and feeling left out, so we should probably get going,” Jack says, granting your earlier wishes.

“Oh my god yes, please. I’m so tired,” you sigh, letting your shoulders slump, relieved that you’re only a few minutes away from climbing in your bed.

“I thought so, you looked like you were having a grand time with Dawson and Johnny,” Jack laughs, recalling your earlier position between the two geography enthusiasts.

“They were literally yelling at each other about the geography of the U.S. and Canada,” you told the two men standing with you, both of them breaking out into laughter.

“That’s nothing. Once they argued for a full two hours on if pterodactyl was spelled with a p or not,” Nico adds in, having been silent until now, causing you to be the one filled with laughter now.

Jack looks over, seeming to just now remember Nico was also standing with the two of you.

“You need a ride home, cap?” Jack offers, looking over at you before looking back at Nico.

“Nah, I’ve only had two beers. I’m good to drive. Plus, I should probably make sure Dawson gets home and in bed. He’s going to regret all those tequila shots when we have to be on the ice at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Why I’m tapping out now. Be careful, Neeks. See you at practice,” Jack tells his captain before turning to you. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“Like it’s a hot summer day.”

Jack smiles, the phrase becoming a trademark of yours over the years. You don’t even remember what started it, just that it’s become the signature end to many nights of fun for the two of you. He turns to walk away and you go to follow him before you realized you didn’t say goodbye to Nico. The thought making you feel bad, so you turn around to say your goodbyes to the captain.

“Goodnight, Nico. Have a good practice tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, Bouy,” he responds, eyes dancing with amusement.

Fuck you, Jack Hughes.

#nhl oneshot #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #new jersey devils #hockey imagine #hockey #jack hughes #luke hughes

[merakiui]

The Most Dangerous Game [1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

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

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

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

“That right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

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

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

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

He said I’d look good in the uniform. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Most often do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

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

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

“Ah, you know him well.”

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

“Have you tried asking?”

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

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

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

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

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

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

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

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

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

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

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

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mushroom brownies?”

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

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

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

“I find that hard to believe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How routinely predictable of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

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

“What’re you getting at?”

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

“Moray courtship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jade—”

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

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

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

It’s just one kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

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

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

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

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

He kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s an added bonus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

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

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

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

“You literally are.”

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

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

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

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

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’d rather lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

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

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

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

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

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

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

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

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

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

“Jade.”

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

“I was just leaving.”

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

It’s not worth it.

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

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

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

“It’s for Floyd.”

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

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

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

“Do you…want that with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What was stopping you?”

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

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

“Floyd, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

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

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

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

“What’s it like?”

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

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

“And you’d never leave me?”

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

“But what if someone else—”

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

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

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

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

More. More. More.

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

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

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

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

But it felt like Floyd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

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

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

“Prolly.”

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

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

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

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

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

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

“Do you think he knows?”

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

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

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

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

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

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

“(Name)?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

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

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

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

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

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

“Back so soon?”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is… Is this for me?”

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

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

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

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

“That doesn’t sound very comforting��”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

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

“Mm, nah.”

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

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

“You think so?”

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

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

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

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

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

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

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

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

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

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

“Then could I talk to him now?”

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

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

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

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

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

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

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

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

“Sure he is.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, totally.”

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

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

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

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

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on…”

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

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

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

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

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

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

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

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

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

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

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

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

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

“What should I add?”

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

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

“Most potions never are, but this one is special.”

“Special how?”

“A lady of many questions, aren’t you?”

“Forgive me for being cautious, but you’re a man of many tricks and lies. Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

“If that’s the case, shall I call Floyd in here and have him give you the overview? Would that ease your worries?”

“Absolu—wait, no. No, not at all. I’m focused on working!” You open your palm to receive the fishbone pen he offers, its tip already submerged in pitch-black ink. “Work is in my brain. Not Floyd. I promise.”

“We’ll see.” Azul places the vial on the desk once more, its foggy opacity an unsolved mystery. “To review: You’ll work for me, show me that you’re not just here to follow a fluffy daydream—” his nose scrunches at that phrasing, as if it leaves a foul taste on his tongue— “and in return I shall so graciously provide you with plentiful opportunities to be near Floyd. You’ll also be expected to drink that potion at some point and retrieve a few things while under its effects. More on that at a later date.”

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

“And if I mess up three times, that’s it? I’m fired?”

“Three strikes and you’re out, as they say.” He smiles and gestures to the contract lying before you, an empty line awaiting a hasty signature. “Do we have a deal?”

You stare between the perfume and the scroll. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself and scrawl your name in messy script. The dim lighting contorts his enthused features into something devilish. Before you can even think to peruse the contract for its fine print—a trademark of any Azul Ashengrotto contract—the parchment rolls itself up and vanishes in a fantastical poof.

“A pleasure doing business, (Name). Should you find yourself in need yet again, you’re always welcome to consult me any time.”

You almost thank him, but instead you catch yourself and say, “You made me wait on purpose, dragging your decision out so I’d come to you when I was most desperate. You were probably going to hire me all along, weren’t you?”

“Let’s say my considerations have been successfully swayed.”

You roll your eyes, a fiery quip bubbling on your tongue, but a knock at the door draws your attention away from Azul.

“I’ll cook you if you’re playing any tricks,” you threaten before swiping the vial and stuffing it in the bag alongside the perfume. And then you pivot on your heel. “Turn you into something healthy. Like an octopus salad.”

“Oh, anything but that. I’m so terrified.” (He’s not.)

On your way out, you pass Jade. He looks partially surprised to see you, his widened, mismatched hues following you for a long, starstruck moment until Azul squawks at him with an impatient huff. You catch his chiding words just as the door eases shut: “Where have you been all day? I would expect this behavior from Floyd, but never from you.”

Your feet carry you into the busy lounge. Inhaling scents of food and drink, you hold your breath and let your achievement sink in.

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

And then you’re jumping up in celebration, punching the air with clenched fists, uncaring that students are turning to scrutinize. “Hell yeah! I got the job! Eat your doubtful, hater words, Jade Leech!”

You whirl towards the VIP room, all smiles and giggles, intending to barge in there and rub your success in his face. But then you take a bewildered pause.

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

Is it worth sharing with Jade? Would he even truly care? Something tells you he would—a tiny, nagging something that’s doing everything it can to convince you of a fact you’ve yet to prove. You think back to the night you spent in the Mostro Lounge kitchen, discussing the differences between land and sea while waiting for the brownies in the oven, and wonder if he was telling the truth when he said he’d choose both options. Maybe he only cares about the amusement and the entertainment and not the sentimentality of following a love across land and sea. He’s sly, a natural sycophant, and so that seems probable and much easier to believe.

Still…

“Ah, forget it!” you hiss, choosing to make your retreat now before you can talk yourself into divulging the good news. He’ll find out soon enough. He doesn’t need to hear it from you, but it would be immensely pleasing to be the one to deliver it.

Floyd is waiting for you in the tunnel that connects the lounge to Octavinelle. Backdropped by swirling blues and marine life, looking like a painter’s finest pièce de résistance, he slinks over to meet you halfway.

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

You stare at him, overwhelmed with love for his unruly charms, and nod ecstatically. Thoughts of Jade and revenge evaporate altogether, irrelevant now that you’re with your star.

“Hey, congrats! I knew you’d get it.” He leans over to wrap you in a harmless chokehold. “This means we’re gonna be workin’ together from now on. Make sure to pull your weight or else I might hafta squeeze ya…”

“Oh! Of course I’ll pull my weight! That and more.” Your fingers curl around his bicep and you lift your head to peer up at him, studying the droopy eyes, the messy hair, the sturgeon scale earring, and the curiosity curved on his lips. He’s perfect. You wish he was yours. “Floyd, can I tell you something?”

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

You’re inches from kissing him, hoping to confess your love in the most bodily of ways. Rather than acting impulsively you seize his fedora and, shimmying out of his arms, fit it on your head.

Before bitterness can seep into your smile, you strike a dramatic pose and ask, “It suits me, doesn’t it?”

Floyd’s eyes sweep over your form, starting at the hat and working down to your shoes. He grins. “It’s a good fit, yeah. Makes you look official.”

“Officially Octavinelle!”

Floyd’s brows knit together in concentration. He skips over to you and bends down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Now you’re officially Octavinelle. Got the seal of approval and everything.”

You gawp at him, hot all over, and bring your hand to your cheek. Though it was a quick kiss, the feeling lingers and sinks into your skin like a brand. Floyd pulls away, his hat in his hands.

“Cute,” he whispers, stoking the flames even further. “You look just like a li’l shrimp when you’re surprised. You get all small and hunched.”

“I do not.” You swat at him, but you aren’t annoyed with his observation. “Cheeky eel.”

He dodges your arm. “Aw, c’mon. Shrimpy knows she likes me.”

I do, you think. I really, really do.

“You’re delusional,” you say instead, stalking ahead. If you stay here any longer, your heart might just burst.

Floyd doesn’t follow, but his laughter floats down the tunnel hall, cloying like Cherry Crush perfume.

Jade is radiating an unusual energy when you step into the lounge kitchen. Restless is a good way to describe it, which can only mean one thing: Something’s up.

He’s wringing a rag in his hands, features alight with just barely suppressed ebullience. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet, yes?”

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

“You told me not to in your text. Why? Was I supposed to?” Skeptical, you sniff at the air and catch all kinds of savory scents. “Smells yummy!”

He nods, smiling wider than he usually does. You peer at the many pots and pans lining the stovetop, and he steps aside to obscure your view.

“Please close your eyes. I’ll guide you to the table.”

It’s then that you realize “the table” is not the island you ate at previously but an actual table set with a frilly tablecloth, utensils for two, and a vase of heliotropes. You gape at the display, wondering what in the world is happening.

“I don’t trust that. You’re gonna do something weird the minute I shut my eyes.”

“I would never. Not this time, at least.”

“You’re unbelievable. What’s all of this for anyway?”

“For you, of course.”

“I’m not following. Wait… Wait, hold on. Is this a dinner date?”

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

“Oh, I get it! You’ll play Floyd and it’ll be like I’m on a date with him. That’s actually genius! I haven’t even thought about date ideas yet, but with this I’ll be able to better prepare myself for when we—”

“You start your first shift tomorrow,” he interrupts, uncharacteristically crass. Although he smiles, his expression is tightened with turmoil. “I believe you’re due for a celebration.”

His startling abruptness aside, you smirk and rest your hands on your hips. “That’s right! I got the job and all it took was patience, persistence, and positivity.”

“Surely you mean to say impatience, annoying the ink out of Azul, and some self-deprecation, right?”

“S-Shut up. We’re not going to talk about it.”

Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Well, allow me to extend my sincerest congratulations. I look forward to seeing how you’ll fare tomorrow.”

“Do you work as well?”

“Azul tasked Floyd and me with training you. He doesn’t trust you to be alone with Floyd for more than three minutes.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself either. I mean, have you seen how he rolls his sleeves up when he’s in waiter mode? And when he’s balancing so many drinks without breaking a sweat… Ah, he’s the best!” Your sigh sticks in your throat when you register the rest of his words. “So it’s not just Floyd training me?”

“Fortunately, no.”

“So you’re just going to be a third wheel.”

“Not in the slightest. I’ll be your supervisor.”

You pull an ugly face at that. Being under Jade’s supervision sounds like a punishment pulled right from the recesses of hell, but it’s not like you have any sort of power to debate the decision. After all, in the eyes of every other employee, you’re just a new hire sitting at the bottom of the ladder. Or, if you want to be more accurate, at the bottom of the sea.

“That’s even worse. Ugh. You’re totally the villain in my love story!”

“Have I not been aiding you this entire time? Surely that warrants a title far kinder than that.”

“Okay, fine. You are…my sidekick—yeah, sidekick—and with your help I’ll get my happy ending with Floyd. Right! Speaking of, he bought me perfume and then he kissed me the other day! Kissed me, Jade! He said it was a seal of some sort. I’m ‘officially Octavinelle.’ Anyway, it’s definitely good progress!”

“Did he now?”

“Here, smell! I put some on before I came here.” You raise your wrist to his nose and he obeys, leaning down to sniff at it. “Isn’t it nice? He said it suits me because I smell sweet all the time.”

“He isn’t wrong. You wear the most delightful scents. Now, that aside, if Her Highness would allow her ever-so-faithful sidekick to serve dinner…”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m going.” You step towards the table and lower into the seat he pulls out for you. “So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“I’ve prepared a three-course meal. You do know what that is, yes?”

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” You fold your arms over your chest and scoff. “Asshole eel.”

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

The two of you stare at each other. You laugh first, the sound coming out as a snort, and Jade soon follows your lead. It’s not a particularly amusing exchange, and yet neither of you can cease chuckling.

Jade manages to settle himself before you do, but there are still traces of mirth evident on his face. It crinkles his eyes when he says, “Shall we put this conversation on hold for now? I’m not sure how partial you are to cold dinners.”

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

At your request, he serves the appetizer and entrée together. You’re too hungry to haggle him for dessert, and so you simply sit back and watch as he sets various dishes on the circular table. A large garden salad with tongs and a dozen different dressings in small bottles. A loaf of fresh, crispy sourdough bread and a tiny plate of margarine. Two bowls of a soup you can’t name, but one smell has your stomach growling like a starved beast.

Jade senses your blatant staring and looks at you with raised brows.

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not you.” You struggle to contain your giggle. “Okay, maybe you.”

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

“Mm, no. You look like Jade.” You bat your lashes at him. “And Jade looks very handsome when he’s doing something he likes.”

Jade stands there, nonplussed, his face reddening. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him fluster outright.

By the time you’ve started snickering, he’s already recovered. “You never fail to surprise. Might I ask why you’re suddenly so kind to me? It’s unlike you to think of anyone else outside of Floyd.”

“Consider it my very late revenge. For that time you compared me to the moon, remember?”

“And you claim I’m the vindictive one.”

“You’re not the only one who gets to catch others off guard like that.”

He hums, folding the rag away after setting the final dish down. It’s so wrinkled from his previous twisting and turning of it. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“Hell yeah it does.” You motion for him to sit and he does, stretching his napkin out and placing it on his lap. “Did you really make all of this from scratch?”

“Indeed. That is a wild mushroom and farro soup. It’s a recipe I recently learned. Do tell me how it tastes.”

“No fair. It’s hard to be mean when you’ve done all of this for me. And from complete scratch, too.” Pouting, you stir your spoon through the soup. It’s packed full of sliced mushrooms, carrots, celery, and onions. In short, it smells divine. You’re certain it’ll taste so when you bring a spoonful to your lips, blow gently, and indulge. After three more scrumptious spoonfuls, you conclude with an obnoxious assessment: “The broth is exquisitely…exquisite. And the vegetables taste fresh and…super good. Yeah, it’s really good! One-hundred out of ten! Kinda heavy for a soup, though, but that makes sense if you’re using it as the main course.”

Jade’s smile reaches his eyes. “Thank you for saying so.”

As if those are the magic words, he samples the dish for himself, wasting no time in eating more. You peer through the heliotropes while you reach for the bread and butter, watching him savor his meal. It’s almost…cute.

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

“How come you’ve never made any for me?”

“I wasn’t aware that the nature of our deal has strayed into domesticity. Shall we get fitted for wedding attire next? Are you fond of rings? How about pearls?”

“Shut up. You know that’s not it.” You spread margarine on your slice before dunking it in the soup. “I just wanted to ask.”

“In case you were wondering, Floyd favors takoyaki.”

“I know.”

His spoon stops at his mouth. Seconds after, he exhales through his nose, smiling behind his hand. “I would expect nothing less of his greatest fan.”

“I’d get perfect marks if Professor Crewel taught Floyd 101. But octopus carpaccio sounds delicious. Kinda awkward to think about it when Azul’s an octo-mer, though. Oh, he actually gave me something—a potion I’m meant to take as part of our contract. Do you know anything about that?”

“A potion? I’m afraid I only know as much as you do.”

“Bummer.” You munch on your bread, contemplating. “It’s not a love potion. That much he confirmed, but he said I have to add part of myself to the mixture, let it sit for a little bit, and then drink it.”

“How curious.”

“You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

“For the right price.”

“Ew, no. Forget it. You’ll just scam me.”

Jade chuckles and fixes himself a plate of salad. He drizzles a tangy vinaigrette over it next, pushing the greens around with his fork so the flavor soaks into every crisp vegetable.

“But whatever it is, I hope it’s safe. I’m sorta in the dark right now. That instruction about adding a part of myself isn’t a helpful clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“You never did tell me. How did your second attempt go?”

“My second attempt? Oh, the heliotrope! He accepted it. Told me it was pretty and that it looked even prettier in my hair. That was when he gave me the perfume. I’m just not sure why. I mean, I guess there’s probably not a real reason. He’s Floyd. He does whatever he wants when he feels like it. Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering…” You gasp when it hits you. “Do you think he gave me perfume because I smelled bad that day?”

Jade shakes his head, unfazed by your panicked conclusion-jumping, and continues to eat. “I can theorize,” he finally says, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

“Okay, so do it. Please tell me it wasn’t because of what I think it is.”

“Moray eels have a very robust sense of smell. We can tell many things apart purely by smell alone in the sea. We commit recurring scents to memory, such as that of food or family. Smell helps us return to those we cherish, so it acts as a helpful beacon.”

“I…don’t really get it. Are you saying you use smell to guide you? But you’re on land. Visibility must be easier here than down there.”

“To merfolk, one’s smell can evoke a variety of feelings. When you smell something delicious, does it not make you happy? This is much the same for us, even more so when it comes to other mers. Family smells like home and thus we feel safe and comfortable when wrapped in such a distinct scent. The smell of someone you care for will fill you with affection and tranquility. If that same someone is distressed, we can often smell it. Essentially, smell is special to us in a way that differs from humans’ understanding of it. No matter how far we may stray, we can always follow familiar scents to reach our destination. Our home. Our heart.” His hand splays across his chest to illustrate that last point.

“Wow. That’s…really romantic,” you mutter, chewing slowly. “So smell is like a type of unspoken communication?”

Accompanied by the gentle jazz notes from the radio, Jade’s voice is musical. “More or less. We don’t have to speak all the time to know what the other is saying.”

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

“Yeah, but we’re not that fascinating. Not like that.” You study your warped reflection in the soup. “So he gave me perfume to locate me?”

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. Even though he appears unbothered by this possibility, his lips are pursed in a thin line. You think he doesn’t like this admittance.

“Oh.”

“We’re rather territorial, you see. Relationships in the sea are unlike those up here.”

“Floyd—ah, no, that was you. Uh, you mentioned that once—something about morays not following monogamy. But I’m not dating Floyd. I want to, but even I’m not that delusional. So why would he do something like that? I really doubt it’s a jealousy thing. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play. See if I might take notice.”

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

Jade reaches for another slice of sourdough just as you do, the both of you seeming to need something to occupy yourselves. Your hand covers his, and for a taut minute you observe him with undivided attention. He twists his hand around to hold yours and something tells you to pull away—to run from this moment and never look back—but you remain, allowing the contact.

“Regardless of his reasons, your smell will always be identifiable to us no matter how much perfume you wear.” He squeezes your hand once and then releases you. “Shrimpy’s left her imprint on me and I ain’t gonna lose that so easily. Not ever. Not even in the middle of a feeding frenzy.”

You open and close your mouth like a beached fish, embarrassment crawling up your spine. You shove a slice of bread at him. “You forgot your bread, idiot.”

He laughs. “How kind of you to remind me.”

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

You spend the rest of dinner with heavy thoughts, your heart caught in a warring debate. If Jade’s theories hold any water, you might just have a chance with Floyd. Maybe he really does feel the same and smelling Jade on you triggered some sort of moray eel instinct. It’s all you can consider even when you attempt to distract yourself with eating.

Meanwhile, Jade regales you with exciting foraging tales and you try to feign attention, too occupied with dissecting his body language as if it’ll open a new avenue for clues. He’s so unlike Floyd—so different with his hobbies and interests and demeanor. But he masquerades as Floyd so seamlessly, reflecting that same level of capriciousness you’ve come to admire. It’s possible Jade just said something to satisfy your endless questioning. Maybe it had nothing to do with either of your scents after all. Maybe Jade’s just a liar, which isn’t news.

But to say that it was because he wanted to wash Jade’s scent off of me… That’s so embarrassing. So then he knew what we got up to in the botanical garden and he didn’t say a word about it. Does that mean he thinks we’re a thing? No, maybe not. Otherwise why else would he have been so adamant on giving me perfume? But then Jade could be lying, spinning some silly story just to trick me. Ugh, why can’t he ever be serious? My love life’s at stake here.

By the time he’s brought out dessert, a warm blackberry cobbler with scoops of vanilla ice cream situated on top, you abandon all of your conflicting thoughts and focus on enjoying your slice. As expected, it tastes like heaven and you lose yourself in the flavors, quickly forgetting about your burdensome romantic complications.

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

“There’s no need for that. It’s part of our arrangement, is it not?”

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m half-assing my part. You put in all of this work to be Floyd and you’re cooking amazing meals, and then all I’m doing is giving you useless critique.”

“It’s useless, yes.” He smiles around a bite of cobbler. “It isn’t very helpful either, but it is entertaining.”

“Way to soften the blow.” Suppressing a groan, you add, “And you’re also teaching me about moray courtship. I’m not contributing at all.”

“If you’re so desperate to do so, why not share some anecdotes about being human?”

“I doubt you’ll get anything out of it.”

“You never know.”

“Sure. All right. Um…” You stir melting ice cream with your spoon. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Floyd likes to dance, so I just sorta thought of it.” You chuckle sheepishly. “Uh, did you guys ever dance in the Coral Sea? Is that even possible?”

He nods, his lips quirking up slowly behind the convex of his spoon. “It is very possible.”

“Right. Of course it’d be. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Not at all.” He tilts his head, licking the metal. “Have you ever danced before? Ah, allow me to amend my phrasing. Can you dance, or is that not part of your skill set?”

“I can! I’ll have you know I dance best when I’m trying to impress. And when I’m alone! I’m practically a professional.”

“You’re so practically, professionally delusional. How simple a life you must lead.”

“Not true! Also, rude!” Scoffing, you scoot away from the table, the chair legs squeaking in protest. With a huff, you hold your hand out. “I’ll prove it.”

Jade’s lips split apart in a wild grin, his face tinged pink under the dim amber glow of the kitchen lights. “Oh? And have you prepared yourself for the humiliation that will soon follow when you prove inadequate?”

“I hope there’s enough appetite left in that bottomless stomach of yours because you’ll be eating those words soon enough.” You smirk, cocking your head. “And don’t look so excited. This is a competition, not courtship.”

“And yet they become one and the same under the sea…” You miss his whispered musing, so instead he rises from his seat and bows before you. “Do try to avoid stepping on my feet.”

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

You brush past him, swaying your hips. The challenging lilt in your voice is a siren’s song, tickling his ears with tantalizing tones. “Only one way to find out, no?”

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

You don’t have to wait long, for he steps through seconds after to join you in the lounge. It’s strange to admire the interior after hours, so empty and devoid of the usual bustling energy it’s known for, but it’s not particularly unsettling. It’s a serene silence, broken only by Jade’s clicking steps as he covers the distance to reach you. Backdropped by the colorful aquarium, bathed in pretty purples and beautiful blues, you really are what the moon is to merfolk: utterly, indescribably breathtaking. Every part of you, from your infectious smile to the way you stand with such confidence, is so magnetizing it leaves him mesmerized.

With a flick of his magic pen, the lights in the lounge dim, giving way to stretching shadows and aquatic phantasms, and the speakers crackle to life. The sophisticated notes of a whimsical waltz come tumbling out. Jade smiles at you, his eyes bright and warm.

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

You can feel your own smile carving at your cheeks and so you obey, your lashes fluttering. “I’m trusting you just this once.”

“I shan't let you down,” comes his suave promise.

There’s a mystical tinkle and chime, a bright flash of light that tries to sear your eyelids, and then you’re wrapped up in a soothing warmth. Silk rustles and flutters, twining itself around your body like a boa. The accessories come next, draping across you like an ocean lapping at the shore.

At Jade’s gentle command, you open your eyes. He’s conjured a mirror, which allows you to see yourself dressed in an azure gown, its train swishing with every twirl you take. The ruffles and ribbons, in white and variations of lighter to darker blues, bounce when you, overcome with childish glee, shimmy. They settle in waves, refined in a way that speaks of marble and alabaster. Even the dress’s straps, made of pearl strands and cut out at the shoulders, fascinate you. It’s masterfully crafted, all the way to the snug, form-fitting bodice adorned with more pearls and a pretty bow with a rose. Like a cherry on top, the matching choker is secured around your neck.

Lifting the gown to reveal a pair of shiny black heels, you peer at the frilly white stockings, your mouth dropping open in awe. The mirror is magicked away, and now nothing stands between you and Jade.

“It’s so… It’s amazing,” you mutter, running your fingers over the shimmering fabric.

“A transient illusion befitting my moon princess. Ah, but your attire suggests otherwise… Perhaps you’re more of a jellyfish princess.”

You gasp, flattered beyond words. “Can I be both?”

“Greedy. Greedy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Rolling your eyes, you offer your outstretched hand. The corners of your lips twitch upwards. “Well, will you have this dance, loyal sidekick of mine?”

With his hand resting over his heart, he bows. “It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

The music swells just as his hand closes around yours, fingers twining, and the two of you settle into the proper stance. His other hand rests delicately on your waist, and for a moment you struggle to place your free hand somewhere. He smirks at you, his eyes narrowed in unspoken jeer. Your glower isn’t harsh in the slightest, for your scrunched features give way to a wide, toothy grin when you tug him towards you. His delight is palpable, and he falls into the pace you set with measured finesse.

It’s easy to recount the steps crucial to a standard ballroom dance, and you execute them as if it’s as natural as breathing. The two of you glide effortlessly across the sleek floor, your reflections cast in dappled light. Swaying to and fro like a marionette, your dress billowing behind you, you lift your gaze to his. He’s smiling—truly smiling!—and the sight fills you with satisfaction. You can’t explain it, but it’s so very wonderful to behold a side of Jade that isn’t the reticent walking danger he subjects the school to. Not that that side is bad. For all of the trouble he causes you, you don’t mind it.

You thought you could dislike him, if only to make it easier to pursue Floyd, but rather you gravitate towards the companionship he provides. And not because he’s a phony Floyd, but because he’s Jade.

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

Jade twirls you with minimal effort, and you giggle, following the pace he sets alongside the magnificent tempo. You gaze into his mismatched eyes. He’s nothing like Floyd. Tonight he’s Jade, and for the first time that’s much better than any performance he could ever put on.

“I learned back home, but I never stuck with it because I didn’t have a partner to try the routines with. But then I was transported here and I found out Floyd loves to dance, so I practiced in hopes that one day I might be able to—whoa!”

He lowers you into a dip just then. Startled by the sudden change in position, you cling to him while your heart spikes up into your throat.

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Jade smiles down at you, unaffected. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“You just did.” He lifts you up, spins you gracefully, and pulls you flush against his chest. “Your body says everything your lips do not.”

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you hook your arm around his neck and turn to smirk at him. His arm wraps around your stomach, firmly holding you in place against him, while his other hand splays across your chin, guiding your gaze towards his. You hold his stare with a smoldering determination, your hearts beating as one amidst intimate proximity. And then, with his eyelids fluttering to a near-close, he tilts your head further up, leaning down to capture your waiting lips in a soft, soulful kiss.

There are no squirming tongues, clicking teeth, or bloodied maws. Just a precious press of his mouth to yours, an unvoiced declaration of desire.

“That you’re immensely proud,” he whispers, his lips now centimeters from yours, “because you’ve proven my assumptions wrong. More than that, you hoped to catch me off guard.”

“And did I?”

“Why not read my body language and find out for yourself, hm?”

“Sly eel,” you mutter, impressed with his temerity. “You know that’s not gonna work on me. Not unless you’re Floyd.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade spins you out of his hold, disentangling the both of you from your propinquity. “But it’s worth a try, no?”

“A valiant effort.” You pull him along, easing back into the waltz like well-oiled clockwork. Your feet follow the steps in time with the tinkling melody. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Can’t get enough of me?”

He flashes his teeth at you in a menacing grin. “Is honesty not the best policy?”

“It is when you follow it.”

“In that case, we share a commonality.” His fingers crawl up your shoulder to brush the ribbon around your throat. “We’re both liars seeking the comforts of dishonesty.”

“Don’t group me with you.”

“Are you not just as shameless, or am I mistaken?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeaaah? Even though I’m Shrimpy’s favorite? Ain’t I the most congenial?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “You think he’d say it like that?”

“Not in the slightest, and yet you’d still manage to fall for it.”

“Every time. Without fail.”

Exhaling a disconsolate breath, his smile thins and his eyes cloud over with despondency. “Very predictable.”

The two of you waltz until midnight, exchanging banter and recalling dance-related stories while gliding across an illuminated floor. Your gown falls away in diamond-shaped patches when you step out of the lounge and into the tunnel hall, now back in the clothes you were wearing when you first arrived. You frown when you catch sight of your plain reflection, the fast-paced, upbeat glamour of the evening withering into something slow and quiet. As if it was all but a fleeting dream.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” you say after he’s caught up to you, “but I had fun tonight.”

Jade nudges you. “Ain’t it always fun when you’re with me? You sayin’ this is the only time?”

“Oh, shush.” You return his Floyd-like prodding with some of your own antagonizing pokes. “I had fun with Jade when he’s Jade. There. I said it. You’re not so terrible to hang out with.”

“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I should return the favor. You aren’t so difficult to manage either.”

“That’s a completely different statement. And so backhanded, too!”

“Was yours not worded the same?”

You roll your eyes as the both of you exit Octavinelle via magic bubble. Pressing your palm against the smooth surface, you admire the endless sprawl of ocean, lit by deep-sea bioluminescence and the few artificial lights surrounding Octavinelle territory. Despite the creeping shadows and occasional darting of sea creatures, it’s prepossessing like a mystery. You’re so absorbed in your ogling, so transfixed by the aquatic scenery before you, that you fail to notice he’s watching you closely.

It’s so pretty… I wonder if Floyd thinks so every time he returns to Octavinelle. Or maybe it’s nothing spectacular to him because he lives this back in the Coral Sea. You spot Jade’s reflection then, your eyes zeroing in on his placid smile. Jade probably thinks the same. Actually, what even goes through his head? I can never tell.

With a contented sigh, you turn to slump against the bubble and cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to walk me back, you know. It’s out of your way.”

“No, but I insist.”

You shoot him a dubious look, wondering what it is he might possibly want in return for his act of goodwill. Unable to read his intentions, you resolve to take it as it is: a kind gesture.

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

Under a velvety sea of stars, Jade escorts you all the way to Ramshackle. You hurry to hold the gate open for him and he catches on to your scramble with pointed perception.

“In case you’re unaware, I am capable of doing good deeds without the need for compensation.”

“You’re such a liar!” you exclaim, shaking your head and ushering him through. “No Octavinelle student has ever said that and meant it.”

“Then I shall be the first.”

You swat at his arm and then skip ahead two stone steps. “Yeah, right. You’re way too opportunistic for that.”

Jade stops beside you at Ramshackle’s front door. “I’ve heard a new hire will be joining us. It would be quite convenient if she was made to do all of the work under the guise of training, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That poor new hire. I wonder who it could possibly be,” you say, your delivery flat and unamused. “It’ll be my first day. Have mercy on me.”

“I’ll consider it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I’m demoting you back to villain. No more sidekick privileges.”

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

Just then, a cacophony of chortles pierce the air. You whirl and find three transparent heads poking through the front door, their features alight with mischief.

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

“Hah! I’m surprised you can even remember that far back!”

Your eyes widen to a comical size. “G-Ghosts?! What’re you doing here? How long were you listening in?”

“Long enough,” they answer in eerie unison, all giggles. Hungry for gossip as usual.

“You finally get your kiss with the Leech boy?”

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

“Can’t really age anymore, though, but it sure did feel like an eternity. You’d think we’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

Burning with embarrassment, you swat at the three of them, seething through your teeth. Your hands pass through their frigid apparitions no matter how much you flail. They reshape themselves with ease, laughing throughout the process.

“Ew, no! Wrong twin!” you hiss, shaking your head. “That’s Jade, guys. Jade.”

They peer past you at him. He smiles and lowers into a respectful bow. “Good evening.”

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

“Greetings! Fine evening for a little smoochin’, don’tcha think?”

“Stop!” You gasp, your face hot with humiliation. “You’re making it worse! Please go back inside. I’ll be in in just a second.” Your attempt to push them through the door is made in vain, for they can’t be moved or touched. “Shouldn’t you guys be scaring Grim or something? Give me a break!”

Jade catches your wrist just as you attempt to bring your fist down against the door. The ghosts vanish into thin air, their cackles a haunting echo.

You huff, offended that they left before you could scold them. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

He squeezes your hand to soothe your bubbling temper. “There’s no need to fret. They’re merely teasing.”

You’re slow to snatch your hand back. “Yeah. Well… Still.”

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

“You’ve made so many bold declarations regarding Floyd, so I was under the impression you weren’t capable of feeling even the tiniest shred of shame. If I recall, weren’t you begging to be bitten in the botanical garden? You wanted my teeth in your shoulder, did you not? You wanted ‘Floyd’ to mark you in such a way so that everyone would know—so that they’d see physical proof of our relations.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

“S-Shut up! Stop talking!” You bound forwards, pushing him down the stairs and towards the exit. Jade allows this, covering each step without scrimmage. “Seriously, you just love to run your mouth, don’t you?”

“You’re more than welcome to remedy that. According to your friendly poltergeists, tonight is prime for kissing.”

“Kiss me and I’ll kick you in your kneecaps.”

“How cruel.” He feigns a pout, eyes glossing over. “Shrimpy’s so violent…”

You’re about to retort when you remember the kiss he snagged at the lounge during your waltz, and suddenly his crocodile tears are rendered ineffective.

You shove him through the gate, refusing to dignify his nonsense with a reply. “Goodbye! Farewell! Get out!”

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night.” You flick your hand at him in a shooing motion before latching the gate shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jade.”

Shrugging off his Floydness, he returns to himself and pauses as if reflecting. He places his hands on the fence and leans closer to you. Without thinking, you meet him halfway. Before either of you can linger, he closes the distance to kiss your cheek.

“Officially Octavinelle,” he reminds you with a wink.

You stumble away so fast you almost trip. Jade chuckles behind his fist, annoyingly kittenish.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that. Shrimpy loooves me,” he calls out in Floyd’s voice as he departs.

“As if, asshole!”

You scowl at his retreating figure until he’s a mere speck. Once he’s gone, you relax and rub at your face. The feeling of his lips is branded into both your skin and memory, and you fear it will remain like that for a long time. Not wanting to think about what that could mean, you spin on your heel, stomp the rest of the way to your dorm, and throw the door open.

“Ghosts, get back out here!” The authority in your voice morphs into uncontainable glee when you spot them peeking at you from the ceiling. You squeal and jump about the foyer, spinning and whooping all at once. “Oh my gosh! I have so much to tell you! Wake Grim—he’s gotta hear this!”

second part.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader #n/sfw #tw: pregnancy #tw: baby trapping #tw: choking

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

#manager!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one #fanfic #angst #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33

[delcakoo]

enha giving you partner privilege ˖ ࣪ ˒ ‎♡⃕

requested <3

PAIRING ! enhypen x gn!reader

GENRE ! cavity inducing fluff!

WC ! 3.1k

WARNINGS ! being judged for wearing a skirt in jungwon’s

a/n: help i’m sorry this took literal months but finally feeding u all an enha reaction-ish T-T i took multiple long breaks between most of these so. sorry if it’s weird lol

LEE HEESEUNG !

if literally anybody tries to tease or make fun of this man.. oh no

he is NOT afraid to retaliate and tear them to shreds, even if it’s his closest friends or members <\3

when it comes to you though..

he just ,, LETS YOU ?!

and everyone else agrees that it’s totally unfair, INCLUDING YOU because you wanted a reaction.. that’s the whole point of teasing :(

but instead he just sits there with a dumb little smirk because he thinks you’re so cute and wants to give you a kiss as you continue calling him a loser 🧌

“hah, you suck. i don’t even play video games and i won,” you taunt with a big, victorious grin

heeseung doesn’t even complain or fight back, continuing to go past the results screen with a nonchalant smirk, “yeah yeah.. you just got lucky”

however, you begin to pout slightly, earning no actual reaction from your relentless teasing

so you try and push him further, “nuh uh, i think you’re just bad. but it’s okay seungie, you can’t be good at everything~”

well, that doesn’t work either

instead of getting mad heeseung just GRINS, quietly admiring how cute you look when you’re all cocky and smug about your little victory

aaand then everything goes downhill when sunghoon enters the room 😟

the tall boy snickers immediately at the sight of the tv, watching your character dance in victory, “nice one, y/n!”

you grin up at the younger with a wink, “thanks hoon, i must admit, it was an easily won battle.”

he laughs harder, “next time you gotta go easy on him,” feeling brave apparently, sunghoon has the nerve to ruffle your boyfriend’s fluffy hair with a mischievous smirk, “you know how hyung gets when he loses.”

yikes

heeseung’s once adoring expression turns into one of (half joking) annoyance, jaw clenched as he swats sunghoon’s hand away from his head

“really bro? 1v1 me right now then, i’ll kick your ass and we both know it,” he sasses, getting ready to throw the other controller at the boy

the speed in which sunghoon bolted outta the room in pure terror

you’re just 🧍

“no fair, how come you don’t get mad when i tease you?” you complain, crossing your arms like a toddler

heeseung’s expression softens again, pulling you towards his side of the couch for a warm hug, “s’cause you’re my baby,” he murmurs cheesily against your skin

“and ‘cause i let you win.”

“aw— wait what?” 😕

// PARK JAY !

the amount of privilege you have as this man’s partner?? lord

there is a lOt

you get excused for every little thing

even though jay hates ppl touching his hair he lets you?! and of course will make you food ALL the time

while if anyone else asks, they’ll prob have to spend some time convincing him for a while or bribe him y’know

but perhaps the biggest one..

disturbing jay during his naps is equivalent to asking for a punch in the face

it’s pretty much common knowledge amongst the members that it’s impossible to wake him up anyway

but if they somehow do get him up, they should expect many annoyed grunts and remarks and probably a middle finger before he inevitably falls back to sleep

naps are very serious business for mr park

BUT when you’re in the picture..

suddenly he gets all soft and compliant..

his members find this very annoying and you’re just like hah losers 🥰

at this point they start facetiming you whenever he’s napping because bro practically launches out of bed at the sound of your voice

“hyung, hyung wake up!” jungwon is literally shaking the older boy, pushing him back and forth on the bed

yet he is sTiLL asleep

there has to be some kind of sleeping competition they can sign him up for because god he deserves an award <\3

jungwon eventually gives up, calling for sunghoon’s help

and how does he help?

giving him a big smack on the head of course

finally, jay flinches awake, groaning as he touches his head, “what the hell hoon?!”

“dinner’s ready! ” jungwon quickly announces with a grin, “me and sunoo tried cooking this time and i swear, we didn’t burn anything and it actually tastes—“

“don’t care. let me sleep.”

“but hyung the—“

*snores*

sunghoon sighs, “alright, it’s time we pull out the big guns.”

by that, they mean forcing you to come over there in exchange for some of the boys’ homemade dinner

jungwon and sunghoon watch from the doorway as you tiptoe over to the bed, doing what you do best: tricking your boyfriend

“pretty boy,” you whisper, tracing down his sharp jawline with a feathering touch

and like that, jay starts stirring, eyes eventually fluttering open

“oh, so i have to slap him, but they just cARess his face and suddenly he’s rising and shining— ow!” sunghoon groans when jungwon elbows him into the wall to shut him up

jay yawns, “y/n? what’re you doing here?”

he reaches up to give you a peck, and you nearly coo at his raven hair all tangled cutely

“wanted to have dinner with you guys,” you lie, grabbing his hand to pull him up

“yeah but i was napping..” he protests childishly, making jungwon roll his eyes in the background

it was rare for jay to have his baby moments, but it happens !!

you continue rubbing his hand, “well you also have to eat babe, and i’m gonna be here too.”

at that, he sighs, but gets up from bed, stretching with a yawn

“hallelujah!” sunghoon cheers, prancing over to give you a high five

jungwon groans, “what would we do without you y/n”

jay is just 🧍

“aish.. you were forced here to wake me up weren’t you?”

all three of you make nervous eye contact before running off to the kitchen jungwon claps his hand at last, “who’s ready to have the most life changing meal of your lives?”

// SIM JAEHYUN !

jake’s a little shy about it

but if someone takes something of his he will definitely go D:

he does a little pout!!

and if it’s something that he absolutely REFUSES to share

like a straw

then he’ll be like “ay that’s mine, go get your own!!” in a half joking, jake way y'know?

but when it comes to you…

he cant say no to your cute face <3

everything jake owns? yours

congrats you have a whole second closet now

want some of his food? take the whole plate !!

he even calls you layla’s other parent despite being very very protective of her :(((

thats when you knew you’re extremely special to him !

jake’s just peacefully lying on the couch, waiting for you to finish up showering

when all of a sudden heeseung strolls in, humming as he goes to fill up a glass of water in the kitchen

as jake was about to greet him, his brows furrow at the sight of a familiar logo on the back of the older boy’s green shirt

“hyung..?” he calls suspiciously

“hmm?”

“is that my shirt?”

heeseung looks down for a moment, scanning his outfit before shrugging

“maybe. found it on the floor,” the older replies

jake just frowns

“bro, i don’t wanna share shirts with you! you’re always sweaty as hell after playing league until 3am!”

heeseung takes a leisurely sip of his water, uncaring of the whiney younger boy on the couch, “well too bad. stop leaving your shit on the floor then.”

before jake can give him another pouty complaint, the sound of a yawn coming out of his room leads both boy’s to turn and investigate

a huge smile rushes to jake’s face at the sight of you in one of his t-shirts just like heeseung, the soft white fabric overflowing down your thighs

“angel! is that my shirt?” he giggles cutely

“uh yeah, is that okay?”

“what, of course! you look adorable, c’mere angel,” your boyfriend demands with grabby hands, ignoring heeseung’s disbelieving eye roll nearby

“but when i wear your shirt it’s the end of the goddamn world, huh?”

you snicker quietly as you walk over to jake, letting him pull you in for a kiss

jake smirks, “mhm, now give it back or i’m eating all our ramen without you.”

“you wouldn’t..”

“try me, hyung~”

then he sticks his tongue out in his classic jake way 💪

// PARK SUNGHOON !

getting straight to the point here

when someone touches sunghoon he’s immediately on guard

he’s a lot better with those who are close to him, but he still gets a bit stiff and awkward

and with strangers.. he’ll just try and find an escape right away

this goes especially for his facial area

he will not hesitate to swat anyone’s hand away or flinch in annoyance if they try to pinch his cheeks or poke his nose >:(

similarLY to how sunoo was now

“i saw you blushing when that engene in the front row called you hot~” the younger boy snickers, “you’ve been an idol for two years now, and you’re still not used to that?”

then suddenly hoon’s cheeks are being pushed together, making his lips form a pout

“our sunghoonie is so cute~”

his hand is quickly slapped away 😒

“ow!”

before sunoo can even complain you’re rushing into the dressing room with a vip pass around your neck, running over to give your boyfriend a hug

sunoo watches with a pout as you cup sunghoon’s jaw, reaching up to give him a peck

“you did amazing as usual, i’m so proud!”

yeah

contrary to pretty much everyone else, sunghoon wants your touch and enjoys it thoroughly <3

in your hold, he’s completely relaxed; pushing his cheek further into your hand as he wraps his arms around you

“thank you,” he whispers with a cheeky grin

feeling playful, you even go to pinch his cheeks

and instead of getting mad the boy just gigGLES like a whipped idiot

sunoo crosses his arms, “what!? no fair!”

hoon kinda forgot his bandmate was there to witness everything 🧌

“yah, why’re you still there?” he barks, “shoo!”

you purse your lips to hold in your laugh, waving bye to the sulking boy who only rolls his eyes

you snicker once he’s gone, “so.. what was that about?”

sunghoon sighs, “don’t worry about it..” you raise a brow when he scoops you up, placing you on the makeup table, “now, where were we? celebrating how good i did, right ;)”

// KIM SUNOO !

this one’s a lil’ hard because sunshine is kinda bad at saying no and lets his members get away with a bit toO much

but he still tries to be is very strict when it comes to paying for things because why should he be paying for niki’s new pokemon game ??

of course if it’s his members birthday, an occasional treat, or maybe if he lost a bet it’d be an exception

but besides that he’s pretty good at not falling for the members puppy eyes and pouty whining

this of course isn’t the same for you

you’re literally the love of his life!! his partner of COUrse he has to spoil you and buy you absolutely everything you want >:(

sunoo will literally tell you beforehand to not let him sEe your wallet on dates or he’ll get upset

(even though when he becomes all pouty you only think he’s adorable)

sunoo would be doing his skincare

having the time of his life y’know putting his face mask on and—

“hyung, can you—“ before he can even finish, riki starts CACKLING and sunoo already knows it’s because of his green face mask ..

“you— you look like-“ he snorts, “the little green guy from monsters inc-“

sunoo slaps his arm, “yah, i do not. what do you want, brat?”

the younger boy grins, staring at him through the mirror

“so… splatoon 3 came out and..”

“absolutely not”

riki gAsps in offense, “why not!? it’s only like 90$!”

“do i look like your mom?”

“kinda—“

“shut up. go ask jake hyung, you know he can’t say no to you”

then suddenly

you, who was on your boyfriend’s bed waiting for his return, prance into the bathroom as well

“sunnie guess what!?”

sunoo smiles brightly at your arrival, pausing his ministrations to meet your eyes

“hmm?”

you grab his arm, shaking him back and forth, “seventeen is coming on tour here next month! we have to get tickets!”

he gasps, “really!? okay, i’ll get us tickets tonight!”

but then riki.. 🧌

“hyung, why will you buy y/n a concert ticket but i can’t get a game?”

“because they’re y/n and you’re riki ☺️”

ouch <\3

// YANG JUNGWON !

AWHhh won’s the cutest with giving you privilege T-T

there’s a lot of super small things that you might not even notice

like letting you touch his dimples, wear his clothes or play with his hair

you may not realise your privilege ‘cause if anyone else did those things he proBably wouldn’t say anything

because he’s jungwon

BUT when you do it he genuinely encourages you and gets all giggly <3

one thing you’ve definitely noticed though is how protective wonnie tends to get over you compared to others

he’s already quite protective of the people he loves as is

but 99% of the time he won’t mention or say anything if an issue comes up:

say an interviewer makes a comment he doesn’t approve of

some backhanded compliment to one of his members

or maybe a joke gone too far

he isn’t the type to say something rude in response or bring it up off camera, at most the interviewer would receive a very harsh glare and frown

when it comes to his partner though..

no no absolutely nOt.

you are his responsibility!! his person, his love and therefore he will not hesitate to defend you and fight anyone who dares to bring a tear to your face

suddenly his normal coherent thoughts of ‘it’s okay jungwon, don’t say anything, be professional’ FLIES OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE no. he will not accept this

for example!!

one day you and won were going on a cute lil picnic in the park <3

you decided to wear a skirt for the heck of it, thinking it’d look cute especially with the picnic idea and the weather getting a tad warmer

so once you’re both out of the car, jungwon holding the basket of pastries while you carried the drinks and blanket, you were both pretty sure nothing could ruin the cheery mood

jungwon even complimed your skirt, mentioning how he thought it suited you perfect :D

“wah, i’ve been wanting to have a picnic all year. really, this is gonna be perfect!” your boyfriend says cheekily

“mhm, next time we should bring mauemi though!”

you wait for jungwon’s reply with a smile, but it quickly drops when you look up to see an old woman on a bench staring at you as if you’d done something terrible, her wrinkly face pulled into a displeased frown

brows furrowing, you follow her gaze to your bare legs, a tug of insecurity forming in your stomach as she scans you up and down

“..and the squirrels would be perfect to chase—“ jungwon pauses when he glances over at you, worry increasing as he notices your visibly deflated expression, “jagi?”

his eyes follow yours, widening when he sees the lady send you daggers from across the park

jungwon’s brows furrow, holding your hand tighter with every step you take closer to her

if it was anyone else, he knew that he wouldn’t say a thing; probably brush it off, maybe send her a frown back

but he simply can’t help the words that tumble from his mouth, “is something wrong, ma’am?”

your eyes widen right away because wonnie nEver has the guts to call people out like that usually???

ESPEcially not an elderly person ..

of course, the old woman only scoffs rudely in response, muttering something in a malicious tone under her breath

the boy holding your hand smirks in satisfaction and you sigh, quickly leading him away as fast as possible

“yah, why’d you do that?!” you whisper-yell

he gives you an obvious glance, “because i didn’t like how she looked at you”

jungwon looks cute 99% of the time, but at that moment with the harsh glare on his face, he’s a bit intimidating even to you <\3

you gulp, “still..”

“no, y/n,” he interrupts sternly, “i refuse to let my pretty s/o stay upset when there’s something i can do about it”

with that, jungwon places down the picnic basket and starts pulling out your snacks like nothing happened <3

“so, what should we eat first?” :D

// NISHIMURA RIKI !

sigh.

now for this boy your partner privilege is THROUGH THE ROof okay

the difference in how he treats you to everyone else??

literally anyone can see the difference even if it’s their first time meeting you guys

riki’s a combo of all the previous ones

lets u wake him up whenever and even interrupt him while dancing/gaming

definitely gives u all the pda u want but if anyone else tries it he may bite them

and ofc defends you withOut hesitation even if it’s just some lame joke he will roast them right back mf !!!

the most noticeable point though is for sure how a majority of the time he listens to whatever you say ON THE FIRST TRY

it’s ‘majority of the time’ because if he didn’t annoy you at least a bit that wouldn’t be riki

it could be something so small

sunghoon and you would be chilling on the couch, then he’d see riki walk in

“yah, can you get me a water?”

mans gets ignored as niki pUshes him over to sit next to you instead

“no, i’m lazy.”

sunghoon just rolls his eyes, meanwhile you were on your phone; completely oblivious to the conversation as you reach over to kiss the younger boy’s cheek

“babe, can you go grab me a drink please?”

bro SPRINTS to the kitchen without another word 🧌

nobody knows why he’s so enthusiastic to serve you but !!

sunghoon is tempted to call him a simp

or exhibit b

you’re at the dorms watching jake and niki play some video game

or at least. they were supposed to be playing together

but apparently it was a single player game and your boyfriend was being a bit of a hog judging by how they were practically wrestling on the carpet for the controller 😟

then after a while longer jake desperately calls out for you

“y/nnn he won’t give me a turn!”

you realise at that moment that this is what having kids must feel like

meanwhile riki gives u that innocent look as if he did nothing

you sigh, “yah, give jake a turn. haven’t you been playing for like 15 minutes straight?”

jake nods furiously in agreement

he pouts, “well yeah but..”

you give him the stink eye

aaand he passes the controller over without any more complaints <\3

jake lets out a vEry sarcastic thank you while riki wanders all the way over to you and plops down in your embrace like a whiny toddler

then he just looks up at you from your lap

“you look pretty today.”

jake groans in the background while you nearly choke

“all of a sudden??”

“yeah,” he replies simply, “i don’t mind giving up my spot to jake ‘cause i have a much better view now~”

what will you do with this boy 😞

if u enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments r always appreciated!

© delcakoo on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not rewrite, cross-post, translate, copy, etc.

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[am-i-interrupting]

hazbin hotel vees who cheat on their s/o bc they just wanted to hurt them and manipulate them but instead of crying or yelling heir s/o legit laughs when they find out and then dump their ass bc they won't waste their tears on them? sorry I just dumped by bf bc he cheated on me and I'm a little sad and need a confidence boost

The one time I will add in Valentino. I don’t normally write for Valentino but for this one, I absolutely will.

Valentino

He’s not as secretive as he thinks he is.

Not that you think he was trying to be secretive.

You knew getting into a relationship with him that he would still be having sex with other people.

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was when he’d act like that wasn’t exactly what he was about to do.

Then he’d come back just smelling of sex. Of course, that was normal for him but it always felt different those times.

It was when you figured out that he was going out to abuse Angel that you stopped caring.

You just waited. You wanted him to be the one to bring it up or slip up badly enough that it was extra fucking obvious.

It wasn’t long until that happened.

“I know.” “You— what? You already knew?” “Yeah, I did.” “Well, where are the tears, muñeca?”

You laughed.

“You wanted to cry? Cry over what? You? No. No, I’m not crying over a rat like you.”

He seethed when you called him a rat. His eyes narrowing.

“I have nothing to cry over except the abuse you put me and Angel through but I’m done doing that too. I’m gone and so is he.” “And how do you intend to do that?”

Not even a week later, his studio got blown up.

Velvette

She’d been acting weird lately.

You noticed it in the way she’d turn her phone away from you when she was on it.

She started going out more.

She started. . . wearing a different perfume?

Which was odd. She never strayed from her favorites.

Then she left her phone in the room with you, unlocked and facing up. It chimed.

Not wanting her to miss something urgent (as this was her business phone) you picked up.

It was not a business message.

You just stared at it. She came in the room.

“You got a message,” you told her as you handed her the phone. You silently got up. “I’m going to go pack.”

“Why are you doing that?” “Because I’m leaving.” “That’s it? That’s all the reaction I’m getting? Shouldn’t you be heartbroken?” “Why should I be heartbroken over someone who clearly doesn’t love me?”

Vox

Vox was probably the most successful at keeping his secrets.

He’s a very busy man so him working over time for multiple days in a row is nothing that isn’t normal.

It’s when you go into his camera room and see the security feeds still playing that those over time hours click in your head as to not being over time.

You’d come into the security room to try to convince him to come back on time but clearly, he wasn’t over working himself as much as you thought.

You sunk in his chair and watched, watched him flirt and tease and kiss and touch.

You felt anger bubbling up inside yourself.

You were angry, angry that your time and care had so clearly been disrespected and disregarded.

Slowly, you got up as you heard footsteps, his footsteps come closer.

He opened the door and closed it, leaned against it and sighed. You knew that sigh. It was his content one.

Well, if he was so content without you.

You began walking towards the door and that’s when he noticed you. He opened his arms with a grin.

“Darling, what are you— oh shit.”

You brushed past him and yanked open the door.

“See how well you do without me.”

The door slammed shut.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #Hazbin hotel Valentino x reader

[jjkeverlast]

hello beautiful baby !!! can i request a drabble w some bday sex for the reader 👀🫶🏻 reader is absolutely stupidly infatuated with his hips and waist and cherishes them with kisses 😭 anything else is down to you !!! 🩷🫶🏻

baby, come here | jjk (m)

<> pairing jungkook x fem!reader

<> genre/au's est. relationship | birthday!au | smut smut smut

<> summary jungkook surprises you with something special for your birthday...

<> word count 4.1k 😼

<> warnings they're both switches | fingering | grinding | handjob | cowgirl | jungkook touches reader’s rim | lots of kisses | jungkook has his iconic long hair | reader rides his thighs and abs | lots of worshipping | cute nicknames like angel & baby 🥺 | soft koo | fluffy & slow sex | reader worships jungkook the most | they're so in love you might puke | ft. co-worker jimin

<> author's note hi sav!! i hope you enjoy this filth hehe, thank u for re-sending the request after my ass was stupid enough to delete it 😭 jsfhksjfh and early happy bday from me!! take this as a gift hehe, thank u for requesting pretty ♡

[keep in mind i do not do taglists for requests <3 thank you!]

baby🥺: i have a surprise for you when you get home 

you: oh? 

you: i’m guessing this is a birthday surprise? 

baby🥺: don’t ruin it babe!! 

baby🥺: just get home before i change my mind 🙄

you: you wouldn’t 

baby🥺: wanna bet? 

You roll your eyes, wanting to grin because you know he’s not serious. Jungkook should know better, you almost know him better than he does himself — one of the perks of dating for five years. 

It had been a good day so far, your colleagues had greeted you with balloons when you entered your office early in the morning, cheering a loud “Happy Birthday!” when they caught a glimpse of you. 

Birthdays were never that important for you, but it did warm your heart that all of your colleagues took the time of their day to surprise you and celebrate you so loudly. You found out later how it was all Jimin’s idea, creating a whole group chat to make sure everyone was in on the idea. 

Everything worked out in the end. The smile on your face didn’t fade once, too overwhelmed by a huge amount of happiness. 

It was the end of the day when Jungkook decided to text you. He was still sleeping when you were getting dressed for work, and knowing you’ll be seeing him later you didn’t bother, instead admiring his soft snores and his long hair messily laying on the pillow. 

“Any exciting plans for tonight?” Jimin peaked inside your office, wearing a grin when you shut your phone off, too busy giggling over what Jungkook has planned for you. 

“Maybe…” 

Jimin rolled his eyes at your attempt to be mysterious. “Save it, I know Jungkook probably has something planned.” 

“You’re on the right track.” 

“He probably put his dick in a present box.” Jimin jokes, earning your mouth to drop, a scoff escaping your parted lips. 

“Jimin!” 

He brings his hands up in a surrendering motion. “I’ll shut up.” 

“Thank you. Well, I’m about to head out.” You begin to log off on your computer, grabbing your bag while Jimin watches you with a careful gaze. 

“I’ll see you on Monday.” He says before leaving your office door, returning back to his own.

“Jungkook?” You call out when you enter your shared apartment, the lights being completely off. 

There’s no response, and even though he told you earlier over text that he had planned a surprise, you begin to worry. Subtly, you begin to walk inside, fetching for a light until someone grabs you by the waist. 

“Happy birthday, baby.” Jungkook whispers, pulling you forward so both your chests collide. It’s then you realize he’s not wearing a shirt, his skin feeling soft and delicate under your fingertips. With no second thought, your hands begin to roam on his arms, squeezing at his muscles. 

“Thank you.” You respond softly, pulling Jungkook down for a soft and tender kiss. He gently wraps his arms around you, clutching himself tight as he indulges into your lips. 

“Mmm, you want your surprise?” Jungkook says against your lips, and you nod before he completely lets go and guides you towards your shared bedroom. 

There’s a small box on the covers, next to a bouquet of tulips, your favorites. 

“Koo… this is—“ You pick them up carefully, admiration and love soaring through your veins as you trace your fingers over the purple petals. 

Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, determined to not miss out on any reaction from you. He can tell you’re content with the flowers, after all he went to a specific flower shop outside of town, certain that the tulips you commented on a few months ago were still available. 

“Thank you. I love you.” You bring your hand forward, caressing his cheek as tears begin to form in the corner of your eyelids. 

When you had first met Jungkook, you never expected to be here today, five years later in a shared apartment, in love and filled with utmost happiness. It feels like a dream, which is pretty cliche to say, but it feels this way because how come everything is just right with Jungkook and you? 

“Open the box.” Jungkook grins, holding himself back from doing his tiny jumps when he’s excited. 

“Okay, okay!” You begin to laugh yourself, grabbing onto the white box. 

The box clicks open and your mouth drops. It’s a necklace, with a bunny accessory hanging by the end. 

“You didn’t.” 

“Hey! You’re the one who constantly refers to me as a bunny, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and make this a reality!” God, he’s such an idiot, and you’re completely head over heels in love with him. Fucking Jeon Jungkook and that darn smile.

“I can’t believe you.” You take the necklace out of the purple cushion, holding it up in the air as you study the details. 

“Can I?” You hum out a yes, letting Jungkook reach for it as you turn, exposing the nape of your neck. 

The metal feels cold against your skin for a second when Jungkook puts it around you, ending it with a simple click. You hold tightly onto the bunny ears, turning back around to look at your boyfriend. 

“I love it.” Jungkook sighs with a smile, pulling you once again in for a kiss. Instead of it being a simple peck, you wrap your arms around his neck, letting your lips move in an identical tempo. 

Kissing Jungkook always feels new. It feels as if you’re still on that second date when he took the courage to kiss you goodnight at your doorstep. The same butterflies are settled into the pit of your stomach. It really feels like yesterday you started dating, but no, it’s been five fucking years. Five years with this silly boy who’s shown you what love truly can be about. 

“Baby.” Jungkook mumbles, tilting your face as he plunges forward on your neck, pressing his soft lips. The wet open kisses make you grow hot, needy and fuck, was Jimin right? Because surely, this is leading to sex and you don’t want to stop. 

Also, he’s shirtless which doesn’t really help either because fuck how can he look this good? Abs and built bodies never truly impressed you, but there’s something about how Jungkook carries it proudly, yet subtly. He’s aware he’s hot but he doesn’t show it off and wow, you’re so lucky you get to have him this way. 

You pull his face upwards, kissing him again, wanting to taste more of him. Gently, you grab onto the strands of his long hair, fiddling with them as he bites your lip in response. The kiss is soft yet rough, both of you pulling on each other to get closer while your tongues dangle softly in between. 

“Wanna show you how much I love you.” Jungkook mumbles against your lips. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what he means and he’s in luck, cause fuck — you really want him. You clutch yourself tighter to him, continuing to kiss him with adoration and love. Jungkook keeps his hold tight, hands drowning further behind your back and onto your ass. He grabs onto it, making you gasp before it’s engulfed by his tongue. 

Jungkook takes a step backwards, letting himself sit down on the edge of the bed, while you still stand upright. Your hands roam on his shoulders while his clutch beneath your ass, pulling you down on his lap. 

Even though you love kissing Jungkook, there’s something about kissing his neck and collarbones. Showing admiration to every part of your boyfriend is one of your favorite things. So you do exactly that, tilting his head upwards while your tongue and lips trail further down. His collarbones are defined and you kiss the prominent edges. Every detail of Jungkook is beautiful. 

“I love your collarbones.” You admit in the open while sucking on the skin, leaving a small mark. Jungkook sighs, keeping his hands roaming on your ass, grabbing it when he feels you bite down. 

“Baby—“ 

You don’t respond, instead you pull your hands downwards on his abs that tense beneath your touch. Fuck. It’s no secret that you’ve wanted to kiss and touch every part of Jungkook— maybe even ride his thigh and especially his abs. There’s something exciting about feeling the muscles beneath your exposed core as you mark him with your slick. 

Although, you’ve never gained the full courage to do so. It’s not because of judgment, Jungkook would never judge you. Which also explains how the sex between you is that good. It’s a free space to try out new things and feel comfortable with one another, but this was a fantasy and you weren’t mad that it’ll continue to be that. 

To distract yourself from those thoughts, you focus on Jungkook hardening beneath you. You feel the excitement grow in your gut, grinding shamelessly down on him, making him hiss. 

“Fuck.” Jungkook mumbles, tracing his hand on your face while he smiles down at you. His thumb begins to trail on your lips, feeling the soft edges before he pops it inside your mouth. You suck with zero hesitation. Jungkook’s mouth is agape, in awe of how your mouth feels warm around it. 

Whenever you had sex there was never truly a routine. It was always natural, both of you giving in to showing how much you adored and loved each other. No matter how rough, or soft the sex was. There was always a balance. 

Jungkook retracts his thumb, reaching for the zipper of your pants and pulling them down enough to reach down to your clit. His slicked thumb starts rubbing it carelessly, pressing down while rolling it around in circles. You buck your hips into his hand, making him chuckle due to you becoming so quickly desperate for him. He knew how much you loved his touches, and especially when he reached downwards, teasing you on your most sensitive parts. 

“J-Jungkook, ah fuck!” You let out when he gently pinches your clit between his thumb and index finger, while two of his fingers rubbed themselves in between your lips, collecting the wetness that grew with every touch of his. Fuck, Jungkook loved feeling how soaked you got because of him. 

Feeling too overwhelmed by the feeling, you decide to return the favor, grabbing onto his clothed cock that’s fully hard beneath his sweatpants. He feels heavy in your palm as you grope him, while squeezing the tip by the edges. Jungkook seems to really enjoy your hands, when he chooses to pull his pants down, revealing it. He doesn’t ever stop touching you, you feel how his fingertips curve around your hole, teasing around it even though you need them in you. So to play it fair, you hop on the teasing train and give it back. When Jungkook realizes how you don’t exactly touch him as he expected, he pulls a frown on his face. 

“What?” You hold back a smile, biting on your bottom lip. 

“Don’t do that.” His frown remains, eyes dropped down to the sight of your fingers caressing the soft skin of his cock. You don’t say something at first, letting him wonder for a little longer why you’re suddenly pulling that card right now. 

“Then stop teasing me.” You whisper in his ear, biting down on his earlobe before your mouth runs down to the tiny mole on his neck. You kiss it gently, feeling Jungkook take a deep breath by how his chest moves forward. 

“I’m not. I’m just—“ Jungkook pauses, waiting for you to look at him instead of smothering with small kisses. When you finally do, you quirk an eyebrow. 

“You’re just?” 

“I’m just taking my time, angel.” 

Angel. A nickname Jungkook picked up on quickly after you started dating. He tells you it just simply fits you, but you know deep down it’s because he loves your little angel wings tattoo on your rib cage. 

“But I need your—“ You gasp when Jungkook pushes both of his fingers inside of you with no warning. He catches you completely off guard, smirking when he notices how your eyes are closed, immersed by the feeling of being full. 

“You were saying?” He teases you now, latching his lips on your shoulder. 

You aren’t keen on answering him, instead you push yourself up and down on his fingers, fucking yourself on them. 

“S-shit.” Jungkook says, in surprise of how dirty you are, as you don’t even hesitate to chase an orgasm, by simply having his fingers inside of you. While you’re enjoying the feeling of his fingers, you’re tempted to have his tongue on you as well. Letting your thoughts aside, you finally stroke him as he wishes, noticing how the tip is already wet. Somehow you find a synchronized tempo, your hand stroking him with your every movement in your hips. Jungkook groans against your shoulder, his tongue moving on your exposed skin, letting you feel how wet it is. 

“Hold on.” You stop abruptly, too impatient, so you remove yourself from his lap to stand and remove your clothing as quickly as possible. Jungkook’s eyes pop open when he sees your naked form, so focused on how beautiful you look that he forgets to take his own off. 

“Come on, wanna see you.” You encourage him, standing in between his legs. 

Jungkook gulps down, biting his lip before grabbing the waistband of the sweatpants along with his boxers. When everything is off, you’re exposed to his tattoos that adorn his thigh. Jungkook had gotten them all in one night while he was drunk, wanting to be able to endure the pain even though he secretly had a pain kink. The tattoos are so random, but very Jungkook. 

You reach forward, tracing your fingers on the details of the three black stars accompanied by two gaming consoles. Till this day you still don’t understand why he picked those as tattoos, but he was always impulsive when it came to anything but his sleeve. 

The sleeve was something he worked on for a long time, finding different designs and how they could connect all together and hang in a harmony. You remember how you watched it day by day become the sleeve you’re met with today. The memory of sitting down next to him when he got his first tattoo, is clear as a day. 

Jungkook tries to get your attention again, noticing you spacing off as you admire his tattoos. “What are you thinking?” The question is simple, but fuck the answer isn’t. You’ve seen and heard about thigh riding and how it somehow manages to stimulate the clit. You’ve never tried it. Yes, you and Jungkook were open and honest about whatever you wanted to experiment, which explains how you’ve done almost anything, but minor things weren’t really spoken about. Fantasies were meant to be kept as those simple wishes that are never meant to be made into life, but somehow you wanted to risk a bit today. It is your birthday after all, and you really want to have his thigh under you while you ride. 

“I wanna…” You start, positioning yourself on top of his thigh without a question, testing the waters a bit to see his reaction. Jungkook’s eyebrows raise at your chosen position, awaiting for you to finish. You move closer, pecking his lips softly before murmuring. “Wanna ride your thigh.” 

Jungkook stays quiet, which causes you to worry, until he moves backwards, lifting his thigh a bit, causing your core to graze the skin. “Yeah?” Jungkook glances at you, his lips curving into a somewhat smile. 

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement, grabbing the nape of his neck to kiss him again. Both of your knees rest on the comforters, while you slowly begin to find a pace. Jungkook can feel how wet you are whenever your core moves back and forth on it. He wants to look down, to see his tattoos covered in your slick and see them glisten. Instead, he lets you experiment, while holding his hand on your back to guide you. 

You never stop kissing each other, groping and gripping on whatever you can get your hands off, as you begin to pick up another pace. Jungkook starts to tense under you, the edges of his muscles becoming more prominent as you feel your clit rub against it. It feels different but good. 

Even though you’re fully focused on the new sensation, you don’t miss out on stroking your boyfriend who’s watching you with pleased eyes by this new sight. You’re not sure if he’s been wanting to try this too or if it’s only you — by the looks of it Jungkook seems to be getting even more turned on than earlier watching you do this. 

Jungkook doesn’t even know where to look. He wants to watch your hand stroke him, he wants to watch your expressions as you move your hips back and forth and of course, the tattoos covered in your wetness. 

You’re in too much pleasure to even have your eyes open. Therefore you settle on resting your head in the corner of Jungkook’s neck. 

“Feel good, angel?” Jungkook pants out, starting to feel his own orgasm emerge with each stroke. 

“Y-yeah—“ You can barely form it into words, aiming for that orgasm you’ve been wanting since Jungkook decided to tease you earlier. You really fucking need this. 

It’s there, in the pit of your stomach, about to pull the final string when Jungkook forces you to stop. His hand feels warm against your lower region, while he’s trying to catch his breath himself. 

“I don’t want to come like this. Wanna fuck you.” Your hand retrieves from his cock, letting out short breaths while you try your best to remain calm over being interrupted in the middle of an upcoming orgasm. Jungkook can easily tell you were close, he could hear how your moans suddenly turned strained and how your fingers were tightening their hold on him. But, fuck, he really didn’t want to come like this. He wants to feel you, stretch you out as you engulf him. So, he’ll do just that. 

“Baby, come here.” Jungkook murmurs, pulling you forward to plant a soft kiss on your temple. Now he’s trying to smother you with kisses, and you giggle softly at the tickling sensation when he starts rubbing his nose on the apple of your cheek. 

“I love you.” You remind him again, never being tired of catching that tiny sparkle emitting in his eyes when he hears it. 

“I love you.” Jungkook repeats, while you push him down on his back. The long hair spreads out on the white sheets, curling around while he tucks it back with both hands. There’s something extremely hot about Jungkook’s new length of hair, because it’s new. 

Your hands fiddle with the curled hair, while you prop your wet core on his cock, grinding back and forth on it. Jungkook moves his head upwards, his lips biting down on your bottom lip while he groans. His hips move upwards, showing desperation to get you inside and frankly you can’t really wait either. So, you move downwards, kissing his stomach and sucking down on the mole by his rib cage. 

“So pretty.” You mumble on his skin, showing love to his tummy and tiny waist. He whines at the contact and how you worship every part of him. 

“I love every part of you, Koo.” You admit, settling upwards to push yourself down on him. Jungkook nibbles on his lip ring, blushing at your comment. 

“I’m so lucky to have you, angel.” Your body grows hot, the love soaring through your veins before you ease yourself down, letting it stretch you open. Both of your mouths fall agape with a moan when his cock is finally buried inside. 

“C-come here, fuck.” Jungkook pleads, grabbing your back with both hands so your chests collide. His skin feels warm and soft against yours, sweat beginning to accumulate with each thrust from your side. The movements are slow yet rough, Jungkook’s grip never stops being tight on your body. He seems overwhelmed by everything, his eyes watching you all while you buck your hips. 

“Shit—“ He lets out, his hand trailing up to your nape, holding it while your lips glide over his. 

“Mhm.” You begin to quicken the pace, wanting to come. Jungkook feels you clench with every thrust, sending him into an orbit of pleasure. 

You lean your forehead on his, catching your eyes trailing down to his abs and the view of his cock disappearing inside of you. 

The fantasy of riding his abs keeps coming back at you, the urge climbing higher when they tense with every movement. 

Somehow Jungkook can sense you’re thinking about something, noticing the frown while you’re solemnly focused on his abs. 

“Hey, you okay?” Your eyes move back to his, nodding yet Jungkook isn’t convinced. “Tell me.” He breathes out, wanting to know but fuck, he can’t even fully concentrate when you feel so warm and wet. 

“It’s nothing—“ You moan again, his cock almost fully out before you place yourself back down. You’re certain he won’t ask again, so you go back, riding him fully. 

Jungkook grabs ahold of your waist, moving his hand from your nape to your jaw. “Baby, it’s your birthday. Wanna give you everything. Just— ah! Tell me.” Jungkook once again bites down on his lip, a groan escaping due to the feeling of you around him. 

“J-just… wanna ride your abs.” Honesty is something you both have been really good at. If something’s bothering either one of you, you express it. 

“F-fuck.” Jungkook’s cock twitches at your words and you’re surprised that he’s even more turned on after you admitted one of your fantasies. 

You don’t really know what to say, instead you go back to chasing an orgasm for you both. You haven’t even thrusted once and Jungkook stops you. “I want you to.” 

Oh. 

“Are you sure—“

Jungkook pecks your lips, “yes.” 

Therefore, you pull yourself out, moving upwards to face his abs. You keep your eyes locked on Jungkook’s, to make sure he wants this. After all, this is brand new territory for you both. 

Without thinking too much, you prop yourself down, your core being able to feel the prominent details of Jungkook’s tensed abs. 

“Fuck—“ You whine, shamelessly picking up your earlier movements and fucking yourself on them. Jungkook grabs a hold of his cock, jerking it off behind you. The slick sounds are loud with every stroke. 

Jungkook takes you by surprise when his thumb traces in circles around your rim. “J-Jungkook.” It almost sounds like a warning, but it’s rather a surprising shock. You kind of didn’t expect for him to touch you there, not that you don’t mind. 

It only increases the pleasure for you, as you continue with no care in the world. Fuck, why didn’t you do this before? 

“That’s it angel.” Jungkook says, caressing the edges of your rim, while watching you in complete awe. There’s just something about you loving every part of him that you want to do more than just simply touch it. When you had first expressed the idea, Jungkook already found himself imagining the scenery, which caused his cock to twitch. 

When he’s watching the actual scene, he can’t even describe what he’s seeing. Fuck, you’re so beautiful, sweat accumulating on your shoulders and breasts, mouth agape letting the sweet sound of your moans roam the room freely. 

Whenever Jungkook tenses his abs beneath you, it meets your clit, the friction being completely different from anything you’ve felt before. It also explains how you’re not even a few seconds from coming. Your pants turn shorter, your body twitching slightly as the orgasm is closer to the edge. 

“Come on baby, wanna see you come.” Jungkook expresses, close as well, his cock about to give in but not before he sees you cover his abs with cum. 

“Mhm— fuck.” That’s all you needed for the band to snap, your body returning to normal after dragged itself one more time. While you’re trying to catch your breath again, Jungkook lets out a loud whine followed by a gasp when he finishes right behind you, all over his hand. 

“Holy shit.” Jungkook says, giggling shortly right after, still in shock of what just happened. 

“Yeah.” You agree, moving down to lay down next to him. Your hands begin to caress his cheeks while you both just lay in silence. 

“Happy birthday, bub.” Jungkook finishes it off with a small but heartfelt kiss to your lips.

© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.]

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook one shot #jungkook bts #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 10: Love is... Missing each other (Prompt by @lihhelsing)

wc: 723 | Rated: T for suggestive language & flirtacious banter | cw: None

Tags: Phone Calls, Rockstar!Eddie, Homesick, Eddie Misses Steve

Stevie, what are you wearing?

Eddie flips onto his stomach once he finally hears a dial tone. He didn’t think it would take this long, calling the concierge to transfer him to an international call, confirming his credit card and then waiting eons for a connection.

But fuck it, he misses his not-legally-binding husband.

It’s only been a week and the band has been killing it so far but…

Call him selfish, but Eddie misses the hell out of Steve, he is desperately resiting the urge to flee back to the airport and fly home. And he feels like a pathetic sap about it.

Maybe next time he should force the boys, their management and basically everyone around Corroded Coffin to set their touring to fit in with Steve’s school schedule. Yes, that could work – certainly much better than admitting how much he wants to be snuggled up in his comfy bed with Steve, drifting off to sleep together, hopefully without their cats bothering them too much.

The ringing continues and he worries that it is going to run out entirely. He bites at his thumb nail in anticipation – it’s not like he pre-organised this phone call and god knows what time it is in Hawkins.

“Hello?” Steve grumbles on the other end.

He sounds groggy with sleep, his voice a little far away as he likely fumbles for his glasses. Eddie grins and crosses his ankles, giddy like a goddamn schoolgirl calling her crush.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams, earning a whine at his equitable lack of volume control.

“S’early,” Steve mumbles, “Miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Eddie coos down the line. 

Steve huffs a laugh and echoes, “Miss you so much…”

There’s a rustling sound that follows and Steve hums.

“What are you doing?” Eddie wonders aloud.

“Getting comfy again,” Steve replies, “Closin’ my eyes and pretending you are next to me.”

“That so?”

Steve hums in the affirmative.

“Stevie…” Eddie purrs as he flips onto his back, “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants,” Steve replies, a smile evident in his voice.

“Nothing else...” he wonders.

“Nope!” Steve sounds a little more awake now.

“The barest chest,” Eddie continues, squirming around, feeling a teasing tingle at the thought – 

– Until the phone cord almost cuts off his air supply.

He palms around (though if anyone were to see him, it would probably be better described as a full-bodied flail) and tugs at the cord enough that something topples off the nightstand.

Whatever. As long as he can still hear Steve’s quiet and even breathing on the other end.

“What about you, Elvis?” Steve soon teases.

Eddie grimaces but responds nonetheless.

“I’m in my jeans,” he supplies, trying to remain at least a little coy, “And a t-shirt.”

“So, you aren’t ready for bed?” Steve teases, giggling out a little tee-hee that makes Eddie’s heart flutter – god he loves this silly man.

“Not until after I speak to you, precious,” he deadpans.

There’s another sound – like Steve is moving around amongst the bedsheets again. Eddie wiggles his brows and hastily hooks a finger under his waistband. But he soon scrunches his nose. He probably should have removed his belt and unzipped his fly during the never-ending dial tone.

“Shit,” Steve curses before groaning in a very unfun manner, “Oh no, buddy, c’mon!”

“What is it?” Eddie asks, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Go on, scram!” Steve commands, ignoring the question before whining again – one that sounds like whatever he is doing is an exercise in futility, “The cat won’t get off the bed.”

Eddie sinks back down.

Goddamn it.

“Which menace is bothering you, my darling?” he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

“Freddy.”

Eddie stifles a whimper as his heart swells. Of course, it’s the most adorable, scruffiest, wide-eyed and mischievous cat that’s annoying the heck out of Steve. A cat Steve himself only barely tolerates. Eddie can only imagine what Freddy must get up to when he touring.

“Fredrick?” he can’t help but beam, “Put him on the phone!”

“Eddie!”

“Please?” he begs, “I want to talk to him.”

“But what about…” Steve says, “Well, y’know?”

Eddie waves Steve’s worry away (even if he can’t see him).

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy. We’ll get to that. Now put my son on the phone this instant!”

#this is only a suggestive little ficlet but it's under a 'read more' just in case #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #rockstar!eddie munson #steddielovemonth

[vickyzangels]

% “..but i kinda hope they catch us, anyway.”

# synopsis ; an anon asked for sfw and nsfw headcanons for tom but i accidentally deleted the ask while trying to fight for my life against tumblr because every time i added a border two other pictures would disappear tumblr i hope you fall down the stairs

# pairing ; tom kaulitz x reader

# word count ; 551

# tags ; nsfw further under “keep reading” (mdni)

a/n ; i’m gonna drop this first but i have a nearly finished smut oneshot literally sitting in docs rn if i get decent enough feedback on this i’ll drop it

sfw

y’all remember that interview where he said he’d “fall in love for only a night but that he’d be down for true love later”? yeah unfortunately that applied to you, too

this can go one of two ways, you work close to the band as staff or you were a fan at one of their concerts that for some reason has to keep coming back and tom took a visual liking to you

what goes down between you two after he first notices you is vague but tom keeps seeing you every time you’re around and you started weaseling your way into his head at every hour of the day

he’d never admit that though (yet), so he’s still gonna keep up his playboy act for a bit but you’re gonna pick up that he’s being closer to you like making small jokes with you and being a little nicer

god it took you so long but he finally let you squeeze through his shell enough to be relatively close friends for a while but this definitely became a “do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways” situation

yes the feeling did flow both ways, too bad he was still a player and you didn’t wanna ruin anything so you just endlessly flirted with each other

i am 92% sure he came to you first at an afterparty absolutely wasted and told you in german “du bist so unglaublich schön und ich will dich so sehr.” you are so infuriatingly beautiful and i want you so bad.

unfortunately, bill had to translate for you

i’ve been talking a lot so i’ll try to sum up a relationship with him and add miscellaneous points

he makes an effort to act like a boyfriend in your relationship, like he doesn’t openly flirt with other people out of genuine respect for you

first date was something like you two staying over at one of your houses for the night like a sleepover or doing something in the city

he has never forgotten any important day for you. never. and on that topic, he’ll get gifts for those days nearly months in advance

he appreciates a person with aesthetic

i’m lying, tom would fall head over heels in love if you wear something even remotely close to his style

nsfw

tom is a dog, y’all have seen the way he talks about what he wants to do during sex but he’s the most respectful person someone could probably ever ask for, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to pause everything if you told him you felt a little uncomfortable

the type of guy to fake bang you from behind when you bend over to grab something.

he’d spit in your mouth, having you kneel in front of him and holding your jaw open by squeezing it then making you swallow it if you wanted to be touched at all

this almost isn’t a headcanon but he’s a tit guy, regardless of size he’d froth at the mouth just to hold them

there’s not a big dom/sub thing between you two but he’s a switch because i said so

y’all… his favorite position is doggy or prone bone doesn’t matter as long as he gets to pull you by your neck up to him

a/n ; wow. didn’t think i could write something like this but i have a lot more so lmk if i should make a part 2?

© ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO VICKYZANGELS. do not steal, repost, plagiarize, or use my work for anything.

#tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #tokio hotel #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel fanfic #tom kaulitz fanfic #tokio hotel x reader #kaulitz twins

[onegirlatelier]

April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

#knitting #knitblr #shetland lace #lace knitting #gift-knitting #stories

[alexthetrashyracoon]

CW// Smut (It’s probably real bad and sucks) Age Gap (Price is 40, Reader is 25-30) Cheating (Readers’s partner is an asshole and deserves it) MDNI 18+

Price who is hearing you having a fight with your partner about him barely having time for you and probably sleeping with his secretary which they doesn’t actually deny.

So when he hears your scream that they should never come back again, followed by the banging of a door, Price knows, it’s time to make a move, even if it was wrong.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

He knocks, three quick rasps against your front door and a second later, as if you were waiting for someone, probably that loser you call your partner, you rip the door almost out of its hinges. When you see him instead of someone else, you’re visibly disappointed.

“Brought wine and a shoulder to cry on, luv.” He grinned and held the bottle up. You chuckle and step aside. “Thanks, John.”

You sit down on your worn couch, you talk most of the time, Price listens. And he looks, he looks how your lips move with every word you say, how your nose crinkles when you get angry. Or how the disappointment in your eyes was bigger than ever since he met you.

“I could make you forget all about them, luv. Can make you think about nothing else but me for a while or forever, however you like.” Price said and squeezes your thigh.

You both know you shouldn’t go down that way, because Price knows, despite your partner being an asshole with an ego the size of Mars, you’re loyal. But also desperate to be treated like you deserved it.

It’s not long after that he has you riding his cock on the worn couch, Price had worked his way into your pants, gentle touches to your shoulder down to your chest over the swell of your belly and to the waistband of your pants. He has a hand in them the second you nod and give him permission to move on, hand slipping in and playing your most sensitive parts, rubbing, tugging, everything to make you a sensitive mess in his arms.

But Price isn’t a cruel lover, far from it, he makes sure you cum at least twice before he thinks about himself and his pleasure and removes his hard, straining cock from his pants and boxers, strokes it a few times before nudging its red, leaking cock against you winking entrance, Price makes you feel every inch of heated meat he pushes into you, your walls clenching around him, making it hard to move, while he sucks and licks around your pebbled nipples, playing with them until even the smallest hit of cold air makes your eyes turn inwards.

Price will definitely remember all the special spots that make you scream for more, for the next time you and him are together, he’s a simple man who loves to hear more of your sexy noises.

“Shit, so good, taking my cock so well…” He grunts into your ear while plunging into your hole, short cut nails digging into the fat of your thighs, pulling you down at the same time to make it even more delicious for the both of you.

He grins when he feels you clenching around his thick meaty dick a third time, another orgasm building, squeezing harder than before, making it almost impossible for him to keep control. You moan and whine, nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, biting his skin as if to lay claim and Price can’t say he’s against it. “God, I’m close…” He says, squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise, not that you mind.

You cum before him. A choked up, broken moan spilling your lips before he crashes his against yours to swallow every single sound you make while pounding even faster into your hole and seconds later spilling himself inside you.

“Fuck…” You pant when the adrenaline starts to wear off.

“That we did indeed.” Price grins and squeezes your hips, bucking his hips to drive the point home with his softening cock still inside you.

He helps you clean yourself, a real gentleman this one, wiping away the sweat that gathered on your body, massaging your calves and thighs until you’re groaning again, but no (maybe a small amount) sexual tension between them right now.

“Thanks.” You smile, dressed in your oversized sweater, voice still a bit hoarse from your previous activities.

“What for, dear? Fucking you so well or for listening to you?” He asks while sipping his wine.

“Both I guess… I needed that. Think I picked my self-worth back up again thanks to you.” You sound much better now, voice still slightly wrecked but less sad about this loser you call a partner.

Ex-Partner, John thinks to himself.

“Mhm, glad I could help, sweets. Now, let me take you out on a real date, so I’ve got an excuse to fuck you again.” Price grins before catching your lips in another kiss, swallowing your giggles before glancing over to the open apartment door, hiding the grin in that kiss. Price was glad he made you forget about that dick of a partner and he was even gladder to make your partner see how well Price could treat you.

#john price #price x reader #captain price #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod x gn!reader #gn reader #alex writes #smut

[friendly-neighborhood-boricua]

Squint And You'll See It

Summary: Sirius and his potions partner are trying to brew Polyjuice Potion for class, and he can't seem to figure out why she won't wear her glasses.

Notes: Sirius Black x shy!reader. All fluff, really. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I'm weirdly self-conscious about the sounds I make, how loud they are, if they could annoy/distract people, etc. so I wrote this just to comfort myself about it lol. I ended up using Y/N a bunch because using too many pronouns in a row makes my brain bristle so oh well. Still though, this is the sweetest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy! <3

Y/N squinted up at the blackboard as Slughorn collected the class’s attention once again, and Sirius just about melted. The all-too-familiar scrunch in her nose and the crease between her brows gave him more comfort than he probably should have taken from her struggles to see the properties of Chinese Chomping Cabbage from so far back in the classroom. After an especially rapid flurry of blinking, she scribbled a couple notes on her parchment before fisting her knuckles in her eyes tiredly.

Sirius nudged her gently. As if it wasn’t already, the honey-doe eyes she gave him had his heart overflowing with a plush fondness. 

“Your glasses, love,” he whispered, nodding to her book bag, which hung off of the back of her chair. Y/N looked at it, then blinked twice. The glasses were a new and quite helpful development—one she hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of using yet. She eyed the bag again.

“I’m alright,” she whispered back and returned to her notes. 

Sirius frowned. “You sure?”

She nodded, giving him a light smile. 

Sirius frowned slightly but returned to his notes when Slughorn chided him for having his eyes elsewhere. But how could he be blamed? Only a madman would rather learn about ingredients than watch her. 

For a surprisingly long while, Sirius managed to stay focused on his notes, sometimes copying Remus’s, who sat on his right side, and only occasionally sneaking glances at Y/N, who sat on his left. After what felt like an eternity, Slughorn finally let the pair work on their Polyjuice Potion at a work table in the far back of the classroom. Sirius had come down with a nasty case of spattergroit several weeks previous and missed a week and a half of the brewing process. Unfortunately, Y/N had missed several days herself due to a family matter (now resolved with nothing to worry about, she had assured Sirius countless times), ending in the complete devastation of their original Polyjuice batch. And so, Y/N, unwilling to take a bad mark, and Sirius, ready to do just about anything to keep spending time with her, decided to make another batch. 

“Do you want to gather the ingredients or shall I?” she asked as Sirius scooted his stool closer to hers (to better reach the cauldron, of course).

“I can get the ingredients,” he said, flashing what he hoped was his most charming smile, and she blushed.

“Alright, I’ll, erm … I’ll work out our next instructions …” Sirius nodded as Y/N fell into her reading, smiling to himself as her brows furrowed once again to scan the page. 

Sirius skirted the classroom towards ingredient shelves, passing by James, Peter, and Remus, who all raised their brows at him with smirks. He simply rolled his eyes, rummaging through the shelves until he had gathered the correct ingredients. But when he turned around, ready to make his way back to Y/N and their Polyjuice Potion, he was met with a horrible sight: Remus, holding a tight-lipped frown in a near-futile attempt to ward off a smile, Peter, doubled over with laughing cramps, and James, turned around in his chair and arms wrapped around himself, raking them up and down his back in a sultry fashion as he pretended to make out with someone. 

With a peeved sigh, Sirius chucked a bundle of knotgrass at James, seed pods bursting and small nettle-like seeds clinging to James's hair. Of course, the three burst into peals of raucous laughter. Sirius groaned, and quickly made his way back to the back work table as Slughorn chastised the rest of them.

“Sirius, are you alright? You’re looking a bit … erm, warm.”

Sirius’s ears burned even hotter, and his eyes flew to examine the grout between the floor tiles.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m perfect, lovie.” He set down his armful of glass jars and clay bowls, trying desperately to change the subject. “Found what we’ve got to do yet?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Just here, it says we must add three bits of boomslang skin—”

“Got that here.”

“—crush the bicorn horn and add that—”

“Got that as well.”

“—and then there are some cooking instructions, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Sounds good to me, love.” Sirius smiled warmly. 

The two worked in harmony, Y/N checking and double-checking that she was measuring everything correctly and Sirius adding the ingredients once she had prepared them. The two worked in sweet, warm peace, managing only one easily-averted disaster, all while keeping quiet as Slughorn continued to teach the rest of the class. There was a strange sort of domesticity to it that made Sirius’s heart skip beats, and he imagined himself with Y/N in their future home, huddled around a cauldron and brewing something to keep them warm on a Siberian night—

“How long should it be at a high temperature again?” Sirius asked, forcing himself from his daydreaming and adding the crushed bicorn horn.

“Erm …” Y/N’s nose practically brushed the page with how closely she peered at the instructions. With the smallest sound of annoyance Sirius had ever heard, her head moved to allow her eyes to travel along the far wall, where a dozen or so posters displayed recipes for a variety of potions. She sighed lightly, squinting heard and pushing herself on tiptoe (as if it would help).

“Use your glasses, love,” Sirius suggested but was quickly brushed off.

“‘M fine, really,” Y/N murmured, eyes still squinting. 

“Sweetheart,” the word caught Y/N’s attention, and she fell back onto her heels, eyes barely meeting Sirius’s before drilling into the bubbling cauldron, “you’ll give yourself a migraine. Use your glasses.” Y/N glanced uneasily from Sirius to her bag on the back of her chair and back. Sirius’s brows furrowed. “What is it, love?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Then … wear your glasses,” Sirius reasoned, and she let out a little huff. “Why don’t you want to wear them, lovie?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to wear them, it’s just …” Sirius watched her with soft, almost concerned eyes.

Y/N sighed, pushing herself onto the stool with knees pressed together. The thought was silly, but she had known Sirius long enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go. 

“The buckle on the bag, it’s …” Sirius’s knee knocked gently against hers. “It’s loud—it clatters about when I open it. Catches people’s attention. And my glasses are in the bag, so if I open the bag, people will stare, and then people stare at me when I have my glasses on anyway—not that I’m not grateful for the glasses! They’re a great help for seeing the board during cl—”

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, and he almost felt bad at the pout Y/N dealt in return. “First of all, love, people stare at you and your glasses because you look fucking divine when you wear them. I should know.” He brushed her arm playfully with his, and she flushed a brilliant shade of red-pink. “And second, no one thinks anything about your loud bag buckles, I promise.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I just—I don't want to disrupt them is all …” 

Sirius chuckled again, but still, Y/N didn't make a move for her bag. It took only a moment and a half of contemplation before Sirius burst into the most fake-sounding fit of coughs ever created in the history of this Earth. Nearly the entire class turned to stare at him as he seemingly hacked up a lung, and he hung himself dramatically off of the table’s edge to play it up just that little bit more. 

“Mr. Black, are you quite alright?” Professor Slughorn asked, eyes slightly wide with concern.

“Y-yes, Pro—” Sirius coughed a dozen more times, discretely winking at Y/N, who seemed to get the point and quietly retrieved her glasses from her bag. Not a soul noticed.

#sirius black x you #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #marauders era #sirius black fluff #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader #sirius black x shy!reader #sirius fluff

[hoedamn-eron]

shut up, kid

You awake to your first Mother’s Day with baby Bateman.

Warnings: Nathan is honestly the only warning you need. I suppose some hints of breastfeeding too (a fed baby is a happy baby, whether bottle or breast). Actually proofread for once, but probably still mistakes that I missed. Word count: 750 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

This was written VERY last minute (by last minute, I mean at 9:30pm on Mother's Day in the UK 😂). Anyway, happy Mother’s Day to all the parents out there! 😊 I’ve recently been very broody and very Nathan oriented, so I created this mostly self-indulgent fic (loosely based on this post from a few weeks ago).

I struggle to write Nathan, I feel like I can't get his personalty, or his demeanour right, so please let me know if I can improve anywhere! I want to write more Nathan!

It was the sound of a loud, high-pitched, excited squeal, that woke you up.

“Hey,” came the voice of your boyfriend, sounding distant and muffled as the sweet caress of sleep called back to you. “I know we came to wake up your mom, but that’s not the way to do it. You want to deal with the dragon before she’s had her morning coffee? No? I fuckin’ thought not. Shut up, kid.”

“You shouldn’t swear at your son,” you muttered into your pillow, knowing now that sleep was just a distant memory.

“Ah, shit.”

You grin into the pillow before you look up, your eyes blurrily settling on your boyfriend, who had a mug of coffee in his left hand (in your favourite mug – one you got from a Blue Book convention back when you were in college, long before you met Nathan...Nathan hated it), and his other hand was occupied supporting your seven-month-old son, Silas, who was happily sitting on Nathan’s hip, still in his footsie pyjamas, chewing on his pointer finger. It was sickening how you carried the kid for nine months, and going through a 36-hour labour, sacrificing your body and your boobs (your nipples will never be the same again), for him to look exactly like Nathan.

You still love the bones off him anyway.

“Kid doesn’t know what I’m saying, it’s fine,” Nathan continues, coming over to you and holding out the mug. You take it, smiling up at Nathan as he leans down to you and presses a kiss against your lips, murmuring a ‘good morning’ to you before he straightens up.

He’s so hot. Even now, he’s just wearing some old sweatpants and a t-shirt (it even has a stain of old baby throw up, which you just couldn’t get out), but it’s the way he’s holding your son...it does things to you.

“Good morning,” you greeted back, taking a sip of your coffee. You nod at Silas as he continued to chew on his finger. “Lost another pacifier?”

“I don’t know what he does with them,” Nathan said, shaking his head, gesturing with now free his hand around the room. “Spend all my fuckin’ spare time trying to find that blue one that he refuses to nap without.”

“Language,” you tell him, take a sip of your coffee.

“Sorry,” he says, almost on autopilot. “I’ll request more for the chopper next week. Think 50 will be enough? Obviously fuckin’ not, he’ll lose them all within a week.”

You laugh as you shake your head at him before looking at Silas. “Is your dada silly?” you ask him in your most annoying baby voice.

The kid loves it. He smiles widely at you and kicks his legs in excitement.

“Anyway,” Nathan says, adjusting Silas in his grip as he looked back at you, evidently choosing to ignore your comment to your son. “Happy Mother’s Day, or whatever. I made you breakfast, your favourite. The kid had some, he loved it, so now we’ll probably have to make it for him every day. I’ll run you a bath and by the time you’re finished it should be ready. While you’re being a lazy ass in the tub and skirting your duties as a mother - “

You go to swat Nathan on the thigh, but he dodges you swiftly and carries on like he was never interrupted.

“Me and this one,” he nods to Silas. “Will work on some tummy time, see if we can start crawling today.”

“Not all kids start crawling at seven months.”

“Not all kids are mine.”

“Debatable, regarding all the sex you were having before we met.”

“You’re reaping all the benefits from ‘all that sex’.”

“You pig.”

“You love me.”

You do. God, you do. So much. But you’re not going to tell him that.

You take a gulp of your coffee, hiding your smile.

“Get your pretty ass out of bed,” Nathan said, already turning away from you, grabbing Silas around the tummy and tossing him lightly in the air and catching him, causing Silas to laugh that cute baby giggle he has that melts your heart. “Come and celebrate your first Mother’s Day.”

He leaves the room, and you laugh to yourself as you distinctly hear the sound of Nathan giving Silas a raspberry on his belly as he walks down the corridor, the squealing sound of laughter from your son following right after.

It sends a warm feeling of joy and happiness through you.

#nathan x reader #nathan bateman #nathan Bateman x reader #dad!nathan Bateman #nathan Bateman x f!reader #ex machina #oscar isaac #dad!nathan bateman x mom!reader

[sunlightmurdock]

The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can’t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home — with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That’s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

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[seat-safety-switch]

This is important, and it could save your life: the firefighters say that you should replace your smoke detectors every ten years. A whole-ass decade is a surprising amount of time for any electronic device these days to last, even when legislated to the nines. Although I don’t know that for sure, it probably isn’t this way out of guilt, at least.

Throwing something away after a mere ten years is antithetical to my very way of life. Every single thing has value, even when it might potentially malfunction when it comes time to keep you from dying. Even I will shoplift a new armload of the bastards (albeit wearing my most Home Depot-y shirt as I do so) and install them as need be.

Due to my hobbies and general dislike of throwing things away, I tend to have more risk of fire in my home than most. This results in a large surplus of sorta-good but untrustworthy smoke detectors, which slowly pile up in the corners of my home, unable to be banished at last to the municipal dump, who I am no longer on speaking terms with, ever since they didn’t let me take that old ceiling fan out of the junk pile. The foreman tried to taze me, even. Me, who has thought about paying taxes on at least two occasions this year. Customer service is awful these days.

What do you do with the old smoke detectors, you ask? Unfortunately, modern detectors no longer use exciting radiation sources as their emitter, so you can’t collect several thousand of them and then become the subject of a magazine article about how you got a new kind of cancer while trying to unlock the secrets of nuclear fission (it involves atoms.) That said, a “used-up” device is still an important safety device, but the kind of safety it provides has somewhat shifted. It doesn’t take much of an imagination to get the most basic ones: wheel chocks for when your parking brake (and transmission) don’t work on a hill. Imitation landmines to keep Bobby By-Law off of your property. Something to plug that open sewage pipe in the middle of what used to be the previous owner’s bathroom, so you stop falling in when you get up in the middle of the night to check if the power company has finally cut you off.

I’m sure there are hundreds of other ideas, but I only have like two working smoke detectors, and – due to the intransigence of the aforementioned power company – they’re both currently powered by a gas generator that I have welded onto the trunk of my Plymouth. It takes awhile to pile them up if I can only replace them every ten years. Maybe those eggheads in the government should consider cutting it to five years, give me some real inventory to work with. Hell, I bet if I had enough of these, I could use them as a tazer shield.